#photocopy your memories ??

[enviedear]

😀

if i get one more ask about why there’s so much smut instead of angst/fluff in the jace tag i’m going to scream. maybe because smut fics are the main fics getting traction? maybe because it’s all i ever get asks for? i can’t speak for other writers but i know my ask box. i’m just so tired of seeing complaint after complain in the tags or in my asks—while simultaneously—no interaction happens for the type of fics a majority of people are complaining for.

also the way in which asks are phrased now is just vile. i’ve had people come into my ask box demanding fics, sending multiple of the same requests because i “didn’t get to it quickly enough”, and shit talk other writers and my own mutuals. it’s all so tired.

eventually the people doing all of this are going to be ostracized from this little sliver of the fandom because we’re just going to block you. this is for fun, for whimsy, for joy. if you don’t like what someone writes—block them. if you don’t like the way they characterize the character—block them. there’s actually no other option than that. i cannot control what others write, it actually, literally, has nothing to do with me!

i like brain dumping and using words so i write fics, i love interacting with people who also enjoy the same media as me, i love reading other peoples fics—but as of recent it just feels like a lost cause, because no matter what we do, there are complaints.

i’m genuinely not calling out anyone in particular, most of the issues i’ve had have been with anons and handled privately (y’all know i don’t post hate, i never have. i never will) but it’s very disheartening to see jace nation become this clusterfuck of complaints.

i think, as a writer, it’s nice to have some genuine constructive dialogue about what i put out—but when it’s begins to get mean i have to tap out.

and again, to reiterate, if you see a fic that you do not personally agree with (babe i’ve been there, i honestly think we all have at one point) block them. don’t go to another users ask box to try and stir up drama. i have never, in the four years i’ve had this account, interacted with any. i don’t like it, simple as that. other writers may be different but this is my boundary. i’m literally one person on a blog with a full time job i swear i do not have the time or mental capacity to police this hellsite.

other than that you’re all quite lovely and i’m sorry that some bad interactions have kinda turned me away from writing for the time being :( i know most of the people that follow me are only here with pure intentions and for shared community, so please don’t feel like my ask box is a scary place! i’m still here if you need me, you can still send requests (nicely please), and all your jace thoughts! i just hope this may curb some of the negativity in my asks/blog at least.

[beefrobeefcal]

KEPT feat. Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Summary: You might just have bitten off more than you can chew by possibly becoming Javi G's sugar baby.

Pairing: Javi G x F!Reader | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 5,369

PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING Content Warnings: smut (p in the v intercourse), imbalanced power dynamics, birth of a toxic relationship, alluded sugar baby/sugar daddy relationship (not officially called it in this fic), slight dub-con (Javi is the aggressor, but reader is consenting), talk of weight gain, ambiguous ending, Javi jerking off, clothes tearing, pet names and a few sentences in Spanish manipulation, swearing, this is not your regular Javi G - he is overweight and a complex man with many facets [might have some BigFish energy here]

Author's Notes: This was written for my beloved @noxturnalpascal, who requested this way back when we were celebrating 900 friendos and I have finally delivered! I don't know if I nailed the request all the way but Javi is fat in this so I got one thing right!

Thank you to @noxturnalpascal, @neverwheremoonchild, @strang3lov3 & @bitchesuntitled for their wonderful eyes, minds and grammatical skills. Also tagging @xdaddysprincessxx bc this is right up her alley.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

“You hear who’s coming to the office today?”, Loretta, one of the legal support staff members whispered as you used the photocopier by her desk.  

You smiled as you correlated your documents and fed them through the copier. “Who?” 

Her grin widened. “Javi Gutierrez.” 

It had been a long time since you’d seen Javier Gutierrez - not since before his big Hollywood break, courtesy of Nic Cage. You’d gotten the low down on his current events from people in the law office you worked in, given your boss, Craig, was one of the partners at the firm representing him as his entertainment lawyer and had done most of Javi’s legal work remotely. Your last interaction with him had been nothing short of unforgettable as he was congratulating you on your promotion to becoming your boss’s executive assistant – a role you resented given your education. He’d curled his tongue around your name as he took your hand into his larger one, then let his eyes wander over your frame. You’d returned the intensity of his gaze in kind and put his broad shoulders and soft-yet-sturdy frame, his pouty lips, gorgeous nose, and deep brown eyes to memory. If it had been the first and only time you’d met, you would’ve sworn it was love – or lust – at first sight. But you’d met with him many times over several months and each time, he seemed ever so slightly bolder.  

That was almost three years ago.  

You looked at Loretta and she grinned wildly. She was there when Javi had asked about you once you’d moved up in the company and no longer handled his affairs, and noted the disappointment that flickered in his eyes when her boss would tell him again that you wouldn’t be joining the meeting. She’d bothered you and teased you about this, but you’d tried to act aloof. Oddly, she’d only let up when she saw him again about six months ago, randomly telling you about the encounter. Her bringing him up again now seemed oddly suspicious. 

“Loretta…”, you sighed. “What gives?” 

“Just thought you’d like to know. He’s coming here. To the office. Today.”, she grinned incredulously. 

You gave her an irritated scoff as you collected your documents, copied and printed. “Not sure what you’re playing at.” 

You turned and walked from her desk as she called out to you. “Might not recognize him anymore. Figured I’d give you a heads up!” 

You shook your head and walked back to your office.  

***** 

A few hours later, you were buried in case law regarding a dispute over the ownership of vintage hand-blown glass dildos when there was a knock at your door.  

Not looking up from the file folder, you called out, “Come in!” 

The door opened and you heard his honey toned voice. “Hola hermosa.” 

Your head shot up and the person who you’d assumed that voice would be coming from was not standing in your office. This man had the same eyes and nose and lips, but his frame was larger and softer. The pale blue dress shirt he wore was tucked into his tailored sand-coloured chinos and his belly stretched both to their limit. Your eyes roved over his body as your brain screamed at you to say something. 

“M-Mr. Gutierrez!”, you finally spat out with a smile. “Oh… wow, you’re here!” 

He gave you a slightly nervous smile, seeming to be just as flustered as you felt but was better at hiding it than you were.  

“Sí, yes, here I am.” 

You awkwardly exchanged pleasantries standing either side of your desk before your office phone rang, pulling you both out of the trance of your meeting.  

He motioned to your phone with a nervous smile and asked, “Do…. Do you need to get that?” 

The smile dropped from your face, and you clumsily reached for the phone, pulling it off the cradle and up to your ear. Before you could even start the first utterings of ‘Hello’, Craig began a f-bomb laden tirade, ripping into you about that Miller vs. Miller case that he had bungled and was in turn getting heat from his partners about. Momentarily forgetting that you had someone else in the room with you, you rolled your eyes and silently sighed, then caught Javi out of the corner of your eye and straightened up, mouthing ‘sorry!’ to him. But he no longer looked nervous or bashful. Gone was his sweet smile and big, brown baby cow eyes; in their places was a tight-lipped scowl and dark, storm filled eyes, glowering at your phone. You furrowed your brows in confusion at him and watched as he reached forward, pressed down on the receiver, and ended the call. You stood motionless and gob smacked, staring at him wide-eyed. 

He kept staring back at you, his eyes like dark, burning embers, seconds away from causing a flash fire, when you heard the heavy and quick footsteps of Craig.  

He threw your door open and stormed into your office. “What the fuck is wrong with y- Mr. Gutierrez!” 

Craig’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Javi turned and looked at him, narrowing his eyes.  

“What are you – I thought you’d left!” Craig tried to hide his nerves behind a chuckle and moved to shake his hand. 

Javi didn’t move. His arms stayed firmly at his sides, both fists clenched.  

“I had business to attend to with your assistant.” His voice was cold as he spoke through clenched teeth. “And you are interrupting.” 

“B-business? With her?”, Craig prattled, pointing at you. 

“Yeah.”, Javi nodded with a vicious smile. “Business. With her.” 

You swallowed hard as you watched Javi control the room with a quiet fury. Craig was not a small man, but Javi seemed to grow larger and more intimidating with each movement he made, no matter how small or minute.  

Craig took a step back, recognizing that Javi was mad, and he was more than likely the reason for it. You needed to diffuse the situation, knowing if you didn’t and Craig lost Javi as a client, you’d be in the doghouse, and hot-tempered words would be the least of your problems. 

“I’m sure that any business you have to discuss, Mr. Guiterrez, Craig is the more capable out of the two of us.” You kept your voice bright and feminine and forcing a sweet smile on your face.  

Javi’s head snapped to you, his look giving you a silent warning, then slipped into a wry grin.  

“Of course! How silly of me!”, he chuckled a little too keenly, smiling at Craig, setting him a little more at ease. “Of course, I should discuss with you that I’m poaching your employee and firing you as my legal representation.” 

 ***** 

You weren’t really sure how you ended up sitting across from Javi on his private yacht in the Mediterranean. It had been less than 48 hours since you were escorted out of the law office with a small box of your personal effects and slid into Javi’s limo. It was a whirlwind of packing a few things, grabbing your passport, and being told that you’d never have to worry again as long as you agreed. Agreed to what? You weren’t sure and Javi insisted that business would be discussed once you were settled. 

You nodded, not realizing that ‘settled’ meant being on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean.  

“Hermosa, I  -“ 

“Mr. Gutierrez, I think th-“ 

“Javi.” 

“What?” 

“Call me Javi.” 

You took a breath and nodded. “Javi. I think tha-“ 

“I love hearing you say my name.” 

You smiled, slightly confused and a little nervous at the way he smiled at you. He picked up his champagne flute and clinked it against yours, then downed the contents and waved the glass at one of the staff who then quickly filled it again. 

“Uh… Javi. I think that we should talk business n-“ 

“You’re more beautiful than I remembered.” 

You sat stunned. You were jet lagged, unemployed, and completely disoriented. You didn’t feel beautiful and, gauging by the warped reflection of yourself in the grapefruit spoon at your place setting, you didn’t look it either. 

“I… uh… oh. Thank you?” 

He chuckled and flashed his smile at you. “I was so excited when I knew I’d be in your office and get to see you again.” 

You gave him a tight smile as you started to lose patience. You fidgeted with your napkin and tried to hold back your temper.

“Javi. I think we really need t-”

“You looked even more perfect than I remembered.”, he cooed with a dopey grin on his face. “But I have to say, hermosa, you look a little-uh… stressed.”

“Well, Javi, that is because I would like to talk with you about whatever business you managed to have me quit my job and fly all the way to the Mediterranean and sit here jet lagged with you for!”

You blurted out quickly before he could interrupt in a sharp tone that became harsher and snappier as you spoke. When you were done, both you and Javi sat staring at one another in a stalemate.

Your shoulders rose and fell, and you cocked your head and raised your eyebrows, daring him to provide an answer.

A few seconds passed before a huge smile erupted on Javi’s face. His eyes were wide and his pupils were nearing the size of his irises, leaving the deep brown engulfed in them. His own breathing was a bit labored, almost panting, and he licked his lips, and growled. “Yes… yes, mi amada [my darling]. You are perfect.”

“Perfect for what?!”, you demanded, standing up and slamming your fists on the table. 

Javi looked as though he may either pass out or orgasm, nodding dumbly as he looked up at you. 

“Perfect for me. Perfecto para mí y mis millones [Perfect for me and my millions]. I need someone like you, mi amada. Someone like you on my arm at events and next to me during business meetings. Someone who not only has the beauty but also the brains!”, he declared dramatically. He then stood up to face you, banging his own fists on the table. “And the passion!”

You stared at him, your own frustration temporarily paused as your confusion took over. “What?”

“You shall be with me, guiding me, helping me throughout my business ventures. And in return, all I ask is that you let me take care of you.” His voice was calmer but there was an undertone of dominance. He paused, then said with a darker, slightly sinister tone, “And we are going to make sure you look lovely doing it all.”

+++++

You sat in your private room on the yacht, staring at yourself in the mirror. It had been just shy of 11 months since you’d arrived and your whole life felt surreal. You’d been to parties with people you’d only ever seen in magazines as you waited to buy your milk, you’d been handed a credit card made of metal - apparently having no limit - and told to shop for a whole new wardrobe. You’d been gifted with jewelry that seemed too ornate to be real, but came with certification papers proving otherwise. Even your slippers were worth more than a month of your previous salary.

Because of all this, you didn’t feel you could say no to Javi’s requests. It started out with him asking. He would ask you to join him for a meeting, you would go. He would ask you to wear a specific shade of azure for a party, and you agreed. Then his asking turned to requesting, and then turned to him just telling you. He would tell you when to go to bed and when to wake up, when to eat, when to work out, when to shop, when to relax… He was always kind and gentlemanly when he did dictate what your next move would be, but there was an undercurrent of “or else” with each order.

There was one thing he still only asked of you - and didn’t demand - to call him Javi. He said once that he felt like you were othering and demeaning yourself when you called him Mr. Gutierrez. That, and he remarked that he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

The only thing he hadn’t demanded of you - or mentioned at all - was sex. Some nights, he would retire to his room, and there was never an inkling of him waiting for you to follow, nor did he ever express any interest in entering your private quarters, regardless if you were on the yacht or one of his villas. You never shared a room; in fact, any bookings were made to have as much space as possible between your quarters. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t catch him looking you over. There is one dress you figured out that he really liked you in. You’d bought it in a soft pink colour, and after wearing it once, 16 of the same dress in various colours appeared in your closet soon after. When you walked into parties and events, he would hold you close to his body, his hand on the small of your waist and he would keep you there all evening. Without giving you the strict instructions verbally, his body language alone told you that you were there for him and him alone -  no one else. During fancy dinners, if anyone spoke directly to you, his hand would migrate slowly to your knee and halfway up your thigh. It wasn’t a warning, it was more of a reminder. 

You were lonely every night. Yes, you had any and everything money could buy, but there was no emotional connection. You’d never brought it up to him but in the contract you’d signed, there was a clause that forbade you from having intimate relationships with anyone while you were ‘employed’ by him. Javi was denying you the chance to find love so he could have you by his side - untouched and unloved.

The idea that he had essentially bought you should have made you recoil in horror. Instead, it left you most nights, whimpering his name into your fist as you came on your vibrator, imagining his weight slamming into you or him under you, gripping your hips as you rode him. But they were only fantasies; fantasies that were becoming harder to ignore.

The way his fingers would gently graze your collar bone to brush the hair away as he adorned your neck with a new necklace. How he would straighten out your shoulder straps. The way he would look you in the eye for just a brief moment before asking if you were ready as the car came to a stop in front of the venue. All of it said he wanted something more; so why did he not just tell you what to do?

You’d decided as you ate breakfast that that evening, post dinner, you were going to broach the topic. He had said that you could speak freely about anything, as long as it was never in front of anyone else -  you had to be alone.

The day had been uneventful, filled with meetings and business calls. By the time you were back in your quarters on the yacht, getting ready for dinner, the mundanity of the day had almost erased the reminder to ask for a moment alone with him. You quickly fixed your makeup then changed into one of the dresses you know he enjoyed. 

Javi smiled up at you as you walked into the dining room. He stood up, as did the other two men who sat at the table, and moved to take your hand and pull out your chair. His eyes trailed up and down your body and a satisfied smirk adorned his mouth.

He moved in to kiss your cheek as he took your hand, softly breathing out, “You look beautiful tonight.” His words smelled of whiskey. 

You leaned in quickly after he softly kissed you, and responded.“I’d like to sp-.”

He interrupted you with a quiet yet firm, “No.”, then winked and gave you his characteristic half grin as he pulled back. His fingers gently nipped your chin so demeaningly, then motioned for you to take your seat.

You felt deflated, never having been denied anything like that by him before.

+++++

Dinner, while delicious, was nothing of note. The men were talking amongst themselves, occasionally including you, while they got even more drunk and ate their food. You just sat there pushing your fork through your food, keeping a sweet smile on your face as you internally panicked about what you had done to upset him or if Javi knew what you were going to talk about and that’s why he cut you off.

It seemed that being lost in your own thoughts made time pass quickly; before you realized it, your barely-touched plate was being removed from in front of you and Javi was standing with a slight waver to see his dinner guests off. You looked up at him, noting how apparent his enjoyment of dinner was by the stretching of his buttons across his belly and glazed look in his eyes.

You stood up as you were abruptly brought out of your thoughts and Javi gave you a predatory smile, a slight chill in the way his lips curved insincerely.

“Mi amada, if you please. I think it’s time for you to retire.”

You fought the lump in your throat and forced a small, polite smile onto your face. 

“Oh… of course, Mr. Gutierrez.” 

You held eye contact with him for a beat and he looked back at you with his jaw tightened, then turned to leave the room. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and you hoped that using formalities when he had almost begged you to not would give him a taste of how disappointed and hurt you were. 

+++++

You were back to sitting at your vanity, post shower and in your silk night robe, removing the last remnants of your makeup. You’d cried once you got back to your room, and again in the shower, feeling so humiliated that you’d let yourself fall for a man who clearly wanted you around for keeping up appearances and nothing more.

You replayed every interaction you’d had with him, trying to see where you’d misinterpreted his actions, his touches, his gaze, making yourself feel even more humiliated and foolish for convincing yourself you were just seeing what made your ego take less of a beating over being this man’s paid arm candy. You had an excellent education and were on track to doing great things and now you were whoring yourself out for a hollow lifestyle that was never meant for you. 

After the last smudge of mascara was removed and your night cream was absorbed into your skin, you heard Javi down the hallway. You paused and listened, hoping he might stop at your door, but he continued past it and towards his room. Sitting on the chair, your mind whirled. You could just wait until morning to confront him, to demand that he release you from this humiliation and torment. You’d had enough. If he was unwilling to give you what you wanted then you wanted out. 

It took you some time to get riled up enough and have the courage to rip open your door, stomp down the hallway and bang on his door. At first, there was no answer, then you heard what could have been a ‘come in’, but you couldn’t be sure. You waited a moment, then heard another sound, and decided that was all the permission you needed to enter.

The door was unlocked, and you pushed it open and stepped into the entryway of his suite. You heard a grunt and a few heavy breaths. Your brows furrowed and you stepped around the corner to see Javi seated on his couch, pants around his calves, his shirt buttons open over his belly, one hand pumping his erect cock furiously and his other bunching a pair of panties that were unmistakably yours under his nose.

You covered your mouth as you gasped and he looked up, wide eyed, his hand stopping and squeezing his cock. 

“Oh god! Jav-Mr. Gutierrez! I am - I am so sorry!”

He stood up clumsily, pulling his pants up and stepped towards you, helplessly panting your name. You turned and tried to bolt, but as you opened the door, Javi’s arm shot out and shoved it closed with a loud slam. His body was behind you and his heavy, whiskey-laden breaths were painting the back of your neck. Your hand was still on the door knob and the hand he held up on the door came down over it. His other softly came to your hip, gently holding you in place.

“Mi amada.”, he breathed as his lips tentatively ghosted over your skin. “Por favor quédate [please stay].”

You almost choked on how dry your mouth had gotten, and you trembled slightly in his hold. You knew he was drunk and that this wasn’t supposed to be how it happened, but you wanted more than it made you uncomfortable. The hand on your hip moved, his palm now splayed below your belly button and he pulled you back against him, his stomach forcing you to arch your back. 

“Please. Just…” His voice sounded desperate and he pressed his still-hard cock against your backside. “Don’t run…”

“M-Mr. Guti-”

“Please, for the fucking love of god!”, he snarled through rough breaths,angrily squeezing you harder against him. His large hand grabbed your wrists, holding them firmly against your chest and the other came down and began bunching your night robe up in the front, exposing your thighs and black lace panties. He forced his hand between your legs and cupped your mound. “How many fucking time do I have to ask you? Beg you??”

You struggled against his hold and let out shallow breaths as his fingers pushed against the scrap of fabric and felt them becoming damper with your arousal. He roughly pushed your panties aside and the pad of his fat finger found your clit, circling it roughly. You whined out, gasping and dropped your head forward, watching his hand be engulfed at the crux of your thighs.

“Try it again… what’s my name?”

You were slipping under his spell until he spoke, being brought back to reality when his tone was less pleading and more commanding. Then you were reminded of why you were coming to confront him in the first place and you felt the determination to at least make this harder for him ignite.

“Mr. Gutier-”

His hand came up quickly, and his fingers slick with you gripped your chin, turning it to face him. 

“Don’t you dare do this.”

You stared at him, your breath hitching with the tension in your body. The haze of alcohol was in his eyes and you couldn’t help but continue to tremble in his hold, given the way you were restrained against him.

“Mr. Gu-”

As soon as the first syllable left your mouth, his eyes burned and anger erupted over his face. He yanked you back away from the entryway, cursing under his breath in growls and tossed you onto his bed. You tried pushing yourself up, adrenaline and arousal screaming through your body, but his large frame stood over you and he gripped your ankles, hauling your backside to the edge of the mattress and the force of his pull made you fall back again.

“So fucking difficult. I give you everything you could ever want and you can’t be decent enough to even use my name.”, he snarled as he got onto his knees on the floor. “You walk through my halls, adorned in my gifts to you, but you won’t even use my name!”

His fingers dug into your thighs harshly, and you squirmed. It didn’t deter him, and each time you moved, his grip tightened. 

“And then tonight, you show up for dinner looking so fucking beautiful and you sit at my table and you woo my guests. You’re testing me, mi amada.” Javi’s words come out in a low snarl. You felt one of his hands grip your panties’ waistband and rip the flimsy fabric off you. You yelped out at the sudden snap! followed by him pulling your thighs further apart and he grunted as he moved his face closer to your core.

He sighed and his voice was softer. “Teasing me. I can’t have you like I want, hermosa.” He pressed his face into your cunt and inhaled, forcing a choked gasp from you. “Te quiero tan mala, mi amada [I love you so much, my darling]. You can’t have it both ways.”

You let your hand move down to his hair and you gently let the tips of your fingers feel how soft it was. The caramel streaks mixed with the deep mahogany curls felt like heaven, and the way his head moved with each breath caused the soft light to catch the odd grey woven into the beautiful waves of his hair. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek on your inner thigh, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself this comfort.

“Javi…”

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you through his brows menacingly. “Oh, now you want to behave?”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, shaking your head. What had he done to you? He was reducing you to a needy mess, with no hope of having a backbone with him again.  “Javi…”

“You’re so fucking sweet when you want something, huh?”

He pulled his heavy body up from the floor, his normally fluid movements slightly awkward from the whiskey, and stood at his full height. Pulling off his jacket, his eyes stared daggers at you.

“Take that off, mi amada. Or you want me to buy you a new one of those, too?” He spat out at you as his mouth pinched in a bitter scowl as he stared at you, and you knew that was an order, not a real question.

You sat up and began removing the robe, but you weren’t moving fast enough. He reaches forward and ripped it off your body, tossing it onto the floor. You were shaking at this point from pure adrenaline, arousal and fear. Your arms quickly covered your chest but his hands yanked them away. “Don’t you fucking dare! I want to see what my money has gotten me.”

He released you and stood up, licking his lips and smirking as his eyes stared at your tits. He shoved his already open pants and briefs down, and his thick, hard cock bobbed heavily, slapping against his full belly.

“J-Javi…” Your voice came out in a meek whimper.

He pumped his cock. He smiled darkly back at you, and sneered,  “That’s right, hermosa. Fucking Javi.”

The smile and his movement towards you egged you on. “H-how do you want me?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest as he kneeled between your parted legs on the bed and shoved you back down. He lifted your knees, then gripped his cock and lined it up with your entrance, and loomed over you menacingly.

“I want you to take it like you take everything else I give you. With a thank you and a fucking smile.”

Javi pushed in, the pressure and stretch forcing the breath from your lungs. You clung to him and as he buried himself as deeply as he could, Javi grabbed your leg, securing your ankle on his shoulder, and began pounding into you. Any memories you had of his soft touch and gentleness were turned to ash in that moment with how hard he was fucking you, but you were reveling in it. Even if this isn’t what you thought you wanted, you took solace in the truth of it all - you were right. He did want you; you didn’t misread the signs. Closing your eyes, you lost yourself in the feeling of him and the thought of how right you were and smiled as he pounded into you, groaning praises about your pussy. 

He pulled out and shoved you down onto your side and flopped down onto the bed behind you. Engulfing you in his arms, he slipped back in and pounded into you from behind. He held you firmly and your hands gripped his thick wrists. His sweaty body was sticking to yours, and he pushed his bulk halfway on top of you, crushing you sideways into the mattress and his mouth was sucking sloppy kisses onto your shoulder, face and neck. It was overwhelming; the heat and the friction and the stretch and the way he was coating you in his alcohol-infused sweat and spit - you could feel your climax building. You wanted him to stop but you needed him to keep going.

“Feel so fucking good, mi amada… m’close…”…”

Crying out, you came and he groaned and bit down hard on your shoulder. You writhed and squirmed, screaming into the mattress, as his thrusts fell into disarray. Your core was spasming as he fucked into you a few more times, grunting and panting through the clenched teeth in your flesh, then he went rigid and stilled. 

Both of your breathing was rapid and staggered as your bodies relaxed. His bite lifted and he kissed the angry skin softly, then he sighed.

“I can’t, mi amada.”

Javi disengaged from you and pulled away. He stumbled as he got up, pulled on his night robe and left his room. You laid in silence alone, waiting to see if he would return. Eventually, you got up and went back to your suite, no Javi in sight.

+++++

The days that followed bore nothing that would have hinted at your encounter other than the invites in your e-calendar for upcoming meetings had been wiped clean, your schedule was now open and both your night robe and black lace pantied had been replaced silently without your knowledge. 

Javi was distant, but still kind. The odd hand on your leg still happened, but the gentle looks and soft edges of his words were missing. 

One evening after you had been dismissed from the dinner table, signaling that he didn’t need you in a meeting you had organized, he knocked at your door. 

You opened your door and he pushed his way in without a ‘hello’, and crowded you against the wall, pushing his mouth to yours. His hands were trying to make quick work in getting your clothes off. 

Shoving him back, you yelled angrily, “Javi! What the fuck?”

The same fury you knew was written all over your face was staring back at you in his. He stepped towards you again.

“What? This not what you wanted?”, he sneered, grabbing your waist and pulling you towards him. 

“No! Not like this! I wanted - “

“No!”, he barked. “No! You cannot have it like that!”

“Javi - why? I though you want- -”

“Thought i wanted what? Wanted you as my partner? My fucking equal?”

You stared up at him, feeling your heart sink and your eyes start to sting with unshed tears, and the realization of what he was saying washed over you. You really couldn’t have it both ways.

Sensing that you were finally understanding him, he leaned in, mouth ghosting over yours and said softly, “You think just because you finally got what you wanted that I'll let you have a say?”

He nudged his nose against yours and shook his head slightly, keeping his tone soft. “If you wanted me to respect you and your opinions on my business, then you should have kept your fucking legs closed.”

You sucked a breath in and your chin quivered. The tears that had threatened to fall finally did. He nodded and kissed you and you didn’t push him off you again. He may have won this round but you were smart and we’re ready to demand that seat back at his table in due time.

You weren't going down without a fight.

No more tag lists - follow @beefnotes + turn on notifications for fic updates!

[gingiesworld]

Blurred Lines

Requested

CEO Wanda Maximoff x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Strap On (Wanda Receiving) Fingering (Wanda Receiving)

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic

AN: In memory of our fave Friends actor, Matthew Perry. The guy who brought us all to laughter with the best character ever. RIP Matthew Perry you awesome legend.

Word Count: 2.9k

18+ MINORS DNI

Maximoff Industries, run by the most respected woman in all of New York, of course her recent divorce was publicized and her children were also thrown into the limelight, which made having a private life extremely difficult for her and her family. But one thing she never expected to happen was meeting her secretary's room mate and best friend.

"Who is this?" Wanda asked as she spotted the taller woman standing beside Natasha.

"This is Y/N, my bestie." Nat smiled as she introduced the two.

"It's nice to meet you." Y/N held her hand out for the brunette to shake. "You also look better as a brunette, the red didn't suit you."

"Thank you." Wanda smiled as she shook her hand. "It was my ex who preferred the red."

"Well, he is clearly stupid." Y/N smiled as Nat watched the two. "I have to go back to work." She told them both with a smile, Wanda watched as Y/N disappeared down the hall, biting her lip before she turned to Nat.

"Does she work here?" Wanda asked her as Nat shook her head.

"She had an interview with Peggy in Finances for the assistant supervisor." Nat informed her.

"Can you ask Peggy to see me in my office please." Wanda told her. "Immediately." She entered her office, only waiting a moment before there was a knock on her door.

"You wanted to see me ma'am?" Peggy spoke as she opened the door.

"The interviews from today, who is the highest contender?" Wanda asked as she looked over the schedule she had received.

"There are two who would be extremely beneficial to the company." She started. "Pepper Potts, she is fresh from being Tony Stark's assistant." Wanda shook her head no. "And there is Y/N Y/L/N, she worked closely with Norman Osborn at Oscorp."

"Y/L/N is the obvious option." Wanda stated. "Hire her." She told her as she didn't want to hire her ex brother-in-law's assistant. So the following Monday, Y/N had carpooled with Nat to work, and the two made their way up to Wanda's office. Y/N sat waiting for Ms Maximoff to arrive as Nat started to get to work, sorting through Wanda's schedule for the day.

"Y/N, follow me." Wanda told her as she walked past the two. Y/N was fast on her heels, closing the office door behind her. "I will need you to fill out these forms for me, give Nat your I.D. so she can make photocopies for our company files." Y/N nodded as Wanda spoke. "Also, you and I will be working closely together as you will soon be taking over for Miss Carter, she is retiring soon and I need a fully qualified CFO."

"Yes ma'am." Y/N nodded as she took the forms from her hands.

"I will need the forms back at the end of the day." She told her. "And please call me Wanda."

"Of course Wanda." Y/N smiled as she gazed at Wanda intensely before leaving. Wanda couldn't understand the way she made her feel. She had never really looked at another woman like this before, she didn't even know it was possible since she was forced to marry her Ex by her parents or they would have disowned her. Of course with their passing, she had built up the courage to get out of her marriage as she ran the family business.

As the days turned to weeks, Wanda found herself working late on some days, Y/N was always the one who stayed with her, working on strategy plans to keep some of the company deals that they were at risk of losing.

"Do you want a drink?" Wanda asked Y/N who only hummed a quiet yes, going over the information she had before her eyes.

"I think we need to let go of some employees." Y/N told her. "Cut back by one or two in each department. We can split the work between the remaining employees accordingly."

"I don't want to talk about that right now." Wanda groaned as she took a seat beside Y/N, handing her a glass of bourbon.

"I didn't know you were a hard spirit kind of woman." Y/N teased her, watching as Wanda leaned on the back of the sofa. Observing Y/N's movements as she came up with a viable strategy for the company's future.

"How are you single?" Wanda questioned as she watched Y/N intently, the pen between her teeth as she turned to meet Wanda's gaze.

"I guess I never really found the one." Y/N shrugged. "My ex hated my dedication to my previous job, so she left me. Well, I caught her with my old friend."

"I'm sorry that happened to you." Wanda spoke softly as Y/N shrugged.

"It's ok." She smiled as she sipped her drink. "Love isn't for everyone."

"I think it is." Wanda spoke as she placed her glass down. "There is someone out there for each of us, it's just that we don't usually see what's right in front of us."

"And what do you see?" Y/N asked as Wanda inhaled deeply.

"You." She spoke as Y/N's eyes darkened as she gazed at Wanda's flushed chest, rising and falling rapidly. "A woman with strong arms and anyone would be lucky to have you. To just be in your embrace for the rest of their life."

"Is that what you want?" Y/N asked as she leaned in slightly.

"I don't know what I want." Wanda whispered, her underwear becoming damp with her arousal. "But I know what I need." With that she closed the gap, taking Y/N's lips on her own, her hands resting on Y/N's shoulders as she moved to straddle Y/N's lap. Her hands instantly held Wanda's waist before her hands ventured up her spine, holding her close as the kiss deepened. Neither of them were drunk enough for this to be known as a drunken mistake, all they both knew was they needed each other.

Y/N lay Wanda down on the sofa, unbuttoning her blouse as she kissed her passionately, their tongues dancing together as Y/N took all control. Wanda became a panting mess as Y/N's hand ventured under her skirt, pushing her underwear aside as her fingers ran through her folds, collecting the arousal before she made tentative movements on her clit.

"Fuck." Wanda gasped as Y/N moved her kisses down, taking a nipple in her mouth as Wanda arched her back, needing more than she was getting at this moment. "More. Please." She whined. "I need more."

Y/N complied as she plunged two fingers deep inside her, watching how Wanda's face changed due to the pleasure she was receiving. Y/N's name falling from her lips as she came undone, a panting mess as she soon calmed down.

"You taste so fine." Y/N smiled as she pulled her fingers from her mouth before kissing Wanda hard.

The next day, the two needed to set boundaries, so that was what they had done in the privacy of Wanda's office.

"We can't be anything more." Wanda told her as she sat in her chair. "I've just gotten through a messy divorce and I have two boys."

"I can be mature and just have fun Wanda." Y/N smirked as Wanda chuckled. "Besides, I am not going to blur the lines, I can keep my emotions in check."

Well, the two of them thought that was the case as what started out as quickies in the office turned into Wanda staying over at Y/N's and sneaking out before Nat woke up.

"We can't keep doing this." Wanda whispered as Y/N locked the office door before approaching her. A solemn look on her face at the realisation of the feelings the two share.

"Wanda." She started as she took Wanda's hands on her own. "We can do this." She held them close to her chest as Wanda closed her eyes, allowing Y/N to pull her closer. "I don't care that you have children or an ex husband. I know I will always be third."

"Second." Wanda corrected her. "It will be my children and then you."

"I thought the company." Y/N started as Wanda shook her head. A small smile on her lips.

"You will always come before the company." Wanda caressed her cheek as Y/N smiled, leaning down and claiming her lips with her own. Her hands soon wrapped around Wanda's waist, pulling her impossibly closer, causing a moan to escape Wanda as she felt the toy concealed within the confines of Y/N's dress pants. "Fuck, are you packing?" She questioned with a raised brow as Y/N just smirked, her hands trailing along Wanda's waist, pulling her blouse out of her skirt. Wanda's hands started to undo Y/N's blouse as they sloppily kissed roughly. Y/N had Wanda on her knees in no time, groaning at the sight of her red painted lips around the silicone toy.

"Fuck. You look so pretty on your knees for me." Y/N groaned as she gripped Wanda's hair, thrusting her hips into Wanda's face. "The great Wanda Maximoff on her knees, my little cock slut." Wanda moaned at her words, her cheeks flushed and her arousal dripping down her thighs. She whimpered as Y/N pulled her hair, pulling her away from the strap, the saliva leaving a string behind as Y/N brought her to her feet. "Face the window." Y/N ordered as Wanda was quick to do as she told. Spreading her legs as she looked over the busy city below, people rushed to and from lunch breaks as she stood bare against the cool glass. Her nipplea hardened against the glass as she moaned as Y/N slapped her ass before massaging it. "Such a good girl." Y/N bit her ear as she teased her with the strap. "Give everyone a good show, I want everyone to see how good I make you feel." Wanda moaned as the toy slipped past her entrance, Y/N's hands on her hips helping her remain steady as her hands were flat against the glass.

"Oh." Wanda moaned as Y/N snapped her hips, the toy moving out and leaving just the tip inside before thrusting harshly once more.

"Keep your eyes open." Y/N told her as she groaned, fastening her pace as she fucked her. The sound of Wanda's moans and the squelching of her arousal was music to her ears, her now favorite song. "Fuck. You take me so well Wanda." She went harder with each thrust, her fingertips bruising the skin on Wanda's hips. Neither caring for the people in the neighbouring skyscraper having a show. "You have no idea what you do to me." She groaned as she pressed her body up against Wanda's. The heat building between the two as Wanda's orgasm neared.

"I need to cum." Wanda whispered as Y/N grunted at her small tone. "Please let me cum." She pleaded as Y/N's head moved into her neck, licking and biting the skin.

"Let go for me." She whispered as she pressed tender kisses to Wanda's skin. A loud moan left her lips as she came, just in time for her machine to pick up a call.

"Miss Maximoff, the twins school had called, they need to see you asap."

"Fuck." Wanda whimpered as Y/N pulled out, Wanda was quick to gather her clothes, throwing Y/N a blouse, not bothering to see who's it was. "I have to go." Wanda said as she fixed her hair. "But I need you to stay here." She reached inside her desk drawer, a set of handcuffs as she pushed Y/N to sit on her chair, putting the handcuffs on her wrist as she handcuffed her to the chair.

"What?" Y/N tried. "Wanda, what if someone walks in and sees me? I am practically nude with a strap!! And I am wearing your blouse because it is abnormally tight!!"

"Please Y/N." She pleaded as she fixed herself. "Here, I'll be back as soon as I can." She places Y/N's jacket on her lap before placing the keys on the shelf above the bourbon. Y/N groaned as she walked out, leaving Y/N alone and handcuffed to the chair.

"Fuck." Y/N mumbled as she tried to wriggle free, hoping to break the plastic arm rest. Soon giving up and counting the ceiling tiles above. As an uncertain amount of time past, Y/N was left feeling uncomfortable. Soon the phone rang and it was Wanda's voice.

"I'm so sorry Y/N, Billy had a fall and I am currently at the hospital with him." She spoke in a hushed voice. "I know I said I wouldn't be long but we are just waiting for the x-ray results. I'll see you soon." Y/N slammed her head on the desk with a tired groan, closing her eyes for a brief moment, only to look up like a deer in headlights at the sound of keys in the door.

"Oh, I am so happy to see you." Y/N smiled as she saw Nat walk in with some files.

"What are you doing here?" She questioned as she hurriedly closed the door.

"Well, Wanda and I have been having sex, for months." Y/N told her. "And we have obviously had sex earlier and now I am handcuffed to this bloody chair." Y/N gradually raised her voice as she spoke, shaking the chair with her whole body. "But." She took a breath to calm down. "The key is just above the bourbon, so if you would please uncuff me so I can get dressed."

"Y/N." Nat shook her head, an unsure look in her eye. "Wanda will be expecting you as such." She gestured to her posture. "And I can't afford to lose my job because I actually like working here. Without the sex part."

"Come on!" Y/N pleaded as she moved from around the desk, her jacket falling from her lap.

"Oh come on!" Nat covered her eyes as she spotted the arousal stained strap on. "Wheel yourself back."

"Please Nat." Y/N pleaded. "I will buy you anything."

"I need a new Nintendo Switch." She told her. "Yelena borrowed mine and we both know that I will not be getting it back."

"Sold! Now get me free." Y/N told her as Nat moved to get the key.

"So, those nights you had someone in your bedroom, that was Wanda. Our boss?" She questioned as Y/N nodded.

"Yes it was." She answered. "Now please let me out of here!" She begged. "This shirt is unbelievably tight and these cuffs are starting to hurt me."

"You and Wanda do have the same style, which is weird." Nat admitted as she approached her. "But she did look much better in a looser blouse."

"Don't you dare." Y/N snarled. "She is mine." Nat just giggled as she undone one of the cuffs, Y/N massaged their wrist before the door soon opened.

"Nat? What are you?" Wanda rambled as she looked between the two.

"I know about the two of you." Nat told her. "But please don't fire me. I can't live off of Y/N's paycheck."

"Can you sit with Billy, he's just outside at your desk." Wanda asked as Nat nodded, closing the door behind her.

"She took the key." Y/N pointed out, just a moment later, Nat opened the door slightly and handed Wanda the key. "How is Billy?" Y/N asked her as she undone the other.

"He is fine, he has a hairline fracture so nothing too serious." Wanda told her as Y/N bent down to put on her pants, soon hearing the blouse tearing causing Wanda to giggle. "I think we need to wear different blouses."

"You think?" Y/N asked with a raised brow.

"It's not my fault you are buff." Wanda squeezed her biceps as she looked up in Y/N's eyes. "But it is a bonus to have strong arms wrapped around me, making me feel safe."

"I'll always keep you safe." Y/N kissed her softly as she grabbed her jacket. "Luckily I have a spare in my office." Y/N approached the door, hand resting on the handle as Wanda spoke.

"I think I love you." She told her, a smile formed on Y/N's face before she turned around to Wanda, approaching her and kissing her softly before pulling away and looking in her eyes.

"I think I love you too." She smiled before kissing her once more before she left the office. Wanda smiled as her heart swelled at the growing love between the two of them. Love comes to us all at different times of our lives, the journey we take to find the one who makes your heartbeat rapidly and your smile grow impossibly bigger. Wanda has finally found that love in the woman who works alongside her.

[ceilidho]

work wife you and work husband gaz........

he always helps with you with the printer because you can't figure out how to work it even though you've been working there longer than him (he was special forces for years before a medical discharge). smiles and jokes all cheekily with you while you make a dozen photocopies.

everyone in the office jokingly refers to gaz as your work husband. he brings you coffee in the morning exactly the way you like it and on the days when you surprise him with coffee instead (when you wake up a bit earlier in the morning to stop at the really nice coffee shop that's an extra ten minutes away), he palms your hip and gives it a little squeeze when you sidle up next to his desk. sometimes he'll turn his chair to you and spread his legs, angling you until you're almost right between them.

you're always flustered when you go back to your desk. any work you get done over the next hour is due to sheer muscle memory.

for some reason no one joins you when you ask them out for drinks after work. it always ends up being just you and gaz, chatting over a couple beers at the pub around the corner, his eyes soft and lined with just the beginnings of wrinkles at the corners. sometimes when the light hits him just right, it reminds you that he's lived a whole life before joining the corporate world.

if there's a work event, he'll always ask you if you're going because "not gonna waste my time if you're not there, love." it's so easy to pretend that he's just being kind, making you feel wanted until you find out that he genuinely won't show up if you aren't able to attend for some reason.

[sluttywonwoo]

randomly gifting seungcheol like a photobook basically of pictures of you that are all suggestive (some way more than others) but it starts out with nice and cute pictures of you guys for the first few pages

since it’s his birthday… (edit: since it was his birthday)

“baby.” seungcheol pouts up at you from where he’s sitting on the bed, hands smoothing over the cover of the book he’d just unwrapped.

on the cover is a picture of the both of you, taken by dk on a night you were all out together. you’re sitting on seungcheol’s lap on a park bench underneath a big oak tree adorned with twinkling lights. he has his arms around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder. it’s your favorite photo of the two of you and you’ve been wanting to get it framed for a while so putting it on the cover of your boyfriend’s birthday present seemed like an obvious choice.

“i know it’s kind of cheesy…” you say shyly.

“no, it’s perfect. i love it.” he reaches out for one of your hands to squeeze. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome.”

you spend the next few seconds looking at each other like lovesick idiots before your impatience gets the better of you and you ask, “well, are you going to open it or what?”

he clicks his tongue. “just give me a second!”

“you’ve had several seconds! just look through it already!”

your boyfriend chuckles but gives in, making a big show of flipping open the cover. there’s a sweet note on the inside that had been photocopied to match your handwriting. seungcheol reads it to himself and then flips the page. he takes his time looking at every photo, likely letting the memory of each wash over him like you had when you picked them out.

there are pictures from dates— to the museum, to local restaurants, to bars… pictures of trips you took together, pictures from when you moved in together… your first apartment and all the ones after that.

you can tell seungcheol is trying not to cry which makes you start to second guess the other half of the book because it isn’t as… wholesome.

maybe you should have gotten two books.

you can tell when he gets to the middle when he furrows his eyebrows. you’d tried to ease the transition from sweet to spicy with a picture of you both in bed. you’re under the covers but you can tell you’re naked from your bare shoulders peeking out. you figured it was just suggestive enough to not give your boyfriend a heart attack when he got to what’s next.

“what…” his eyes get wide. “oh.”

flip.

“oh my god… baby,” he murmurs.

flip.

“are the rest of them… like this?”

“why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“maybe i want to save them for later.”

“later? why?”

“because the first three pages of this section were just you in lingerie and i’m already getting hard and we have dinner reservations in thirty minutes.”

you smirk. “you can’t handle a few provocative photos?”

“i can, but knowing you these pictures are going to turn into full on porn by the end of this book. tell me i’m wrong.”

you purse your lips and clasp your hands behind your back. “i can’t do that.”

“so fucking predictable,” seungcheol muses.

“but i want you to look at the rest!”

“baby, i just told you what would happen! these pants are already tight enough.”

“maybe i could help with that,” you suggest, quirking an eyebrow at your boyfriend.

“what do you mean?”

instead of answering with words, you sink to your knees in front of him.

“keep looking at your present,” you insist as you unbuckle his belt. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

[bleedingcoffee42]

The only thing I'm taking away from all of these new files is that the men of Easy company gossiped like a bunch of highschoolers.

And I love it.

THEY DID. And it doesn't help that Ambrose has an agenda for the interviews which is A)Talk shit about Sobel B)Tell me about Mr. Mysterious Ron Spears and I'll cut you off if you actually liked him C)Was Lewis Nixon always drunk? D) fangirl over Webster and try to get the guy he was interviewing to agree with him.

AND Then there was the reunion where some guys got a 13 chapter preview and others didn't. THEN the reunion when the book came out which is implied to be like a book club gone nuclear. And all the letters to Ambrose apologizing on behalf of their friends which means it got back to Ambrose somehow the boys were pissed.

AND MY FAVORITE BULLSHIT is the ye old screenshot of private conversations circa 1990s which was Ambrose photocopying everything and sending it to Winters and Winters immediately coming out of the unsuspected sender's mailbox with a folding chair to set them straight, with documentation. Dick sent Lip a nasty letter. Hit General Matheson with a frickin 'Maybe you're old and your memory is shit here is the map to refresh your memory' and the poor West Pointer from Fox company who tried to step in and say Henry Jones was super loved by his men when he died and he didn't remember the patrols going like that only to have Dick slap back. It's wild.

I don't know how these guys survived this book.

And Nix IS the smartest man ever for just Noping out of this bullshit. And Sparky is honestly super polite about it even though Dick goes into harassment territory to get him to talk to Ambrose/Show up for the reunion/get interviewed. I honestly think Ron's wife left the phone off the hook when they went to Montana because her husband already had major heart surgery and was talking he was on death's doorstep and talking to Dick more than likely got him riled up and had him popping blood pressure pills like TicTacs.

I do want to go back in time and fight Ambrose on Lipton's lawn. Chalk it up to an affront on my professionalism for how he conducts interviews. Plus how everyone tried to protect Compton, Ambrose even goes in saying 'I'm not sure how I'm going to write this' and then goes about it in the worst possible way so that his mailbox is filled with Letters of 'YOU CAN NOT PUT THIS IN PRINT'.

But up until this time, up until Ambrose stepped in, they were already all creating these different narratives of how things went down. 30 ft away in one foxhole dudes were probably gossiping.

Buck Taylor was the last one I read who sends Dick a letter and the gist of it it "So..I am not dead like the rumors say. I didn't die in a plane crash in the Pacific. I was working for the CIA. I have no idea where anyone got that?" NO IDEA EITHER man.

It's wild. I'm loving it.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 3, Episode 12. "Lorelai Out Of Water" Part 1

Ladies, we have more filler. I can't complain. This episode was so easy that I watched it twice.

Lorelai has offered her garage as rehearsal space to Hep Alien. But first! They have to clean out said garage, which they haven't attempted to enter in years. Then they debate whether or not Lorelai ever remembered to call the Garage Cleaner Uppers that one time a few years ago. Thrilling stuff! It's been a while since we've last had a sexually tense Luke vs Taylor showdown.

Meow!

Gilmore Girls is bought to you by our sponsors, Office Depot, Circuit City, and Blockbuster Video. Hold on. I'm getting word that Office Depot still exists. Really?

Nothing to see here folks, just Rory comparing her mother to a woman famous for having sex with rockstars...then insinuating that she should sleep with Zach. I'm sorry Rory, this MILF only has eyes for one teenage boy. One who is a lot less talented than Zach.

This is weird, but hoo boy, it's about to get weirder.

Well well well. Who would have ever thunk that the deeply repressed Christian girl has a submssion kink? Soggy Rygalski is her Daddy ordering her around and reminding her that her drumming is inadequate. Lane personally requested that Dave verbally berate her in front of the other band members in order to...distract them? The plan is that if they see Dave treating Lane like a kicked dog, they won't realize they're crushing on each other? That's kinda messed up? This presumes that Dave and Lane are both confident that Brian and Zach will see Dave treating her like crap and have no thoughts about it except "I guess they're not smooching." Although we've yet to see if this plan, once put in motion, actually works. Anyway. Sure Lane's Dom Daddy is a lispy geek in a patterned sweater, but SaltyGilmores does not judge. It’s always the quiet ones am I right?

Seems like they’ve found a creative way to get off while staying in God's good graces. Have fun you kids.

"Rory, this is all I have" Thanks to Rory I can cross off the "cockblocking" square from my End of Episode Bingo Card.

Rory tries to come to Lane’s defense, but since it was all just part of Lane and Soggy’s sex games it wasn’t actually necessary.

Oh, we know why.

From the messed up mind of AmyShermanPalladino.

"Yes Daddy"

SAME. Oh. She's talking about the place. The place with all the coffee. Alex's kids are named Hilary and Jeff, 6 and 9.

Once again, Lorelai is no Miss Cleo.

Of course she said yes. Alex is totally worth waking up at 5 am for. Back in The Hollow, Lane is chipping away at Mama to obtain permission to go to the prom and hatching another harebrained scheme to bring Soggy Rygalski into Mama's good graces, it involves a Korean wedding and Rory is invited apparently. Whatever.

Well well well. Look who took the place of Stars Hollow Beauty Supply's worst (dead) employee. No respect for the dead, huh. Not even a little shrine or memorial plaque or photocopy of her obituary displayed on the counter. Tragic. #Honk

Where did Lane get 40 bucks? At the Inn, Lorelai is speaking to Sookie regarding her Fishing Date Regrets.

He sounds dreamy. Tell me more.

And the Mid Season Temporary Love Interests just keep on comin! Now we just have to wait for Lindsay. Oh dear God. I just remembered Max comes back in this season too. And maybe even soon. Help. While Lorelai seems to have terrific chemistry with her new temporary Luke substitute (Alex), Luke's Lorelai substitutes (Rachel, Nicole) have always fallen flat and seemed dreadfully boring to me. That's probably on purpose. We're stuck with her for a while. Whatever.

Hey look everyone. There's the baby. Where have you been, young man? I've hit my 30 screenshot maximum. Stay tuned for part 2. (As always, your comments, feedback, reblogs and tags make my day)

[chaosheadspace]

second chance dreamling 👀

Okay, so @beholdme infected me with the idea of Dreamling and a second chance relationship after having spectacularly fucked up their first try (maybe even their marriage, who knows). I really like thinking about it. The hurt. The care. What could have happened? What would both of them need to say "yeah okay, I wanna try this again? I also blame "Someday out of the blue" by Elton John.

Snip:

Hob is standing in the staff kitchen with his back to the door when he hears his colleague Julie chirp up, “Oh hello, I haven't seen you here before.”

Hob smiles. Julie is a good friend, and very competent in Spanish lit, but she's hopelessly clumsy in all things romantic (or even just flirty). And, sure enough—”I could stand to see you more often, though. Mind if I give you my number?”

Hob easily hides his snort with the sound of the coffee machine hacking up its probably last batch. It's been here as long as he has, and even back then it had been old. He'll miss it.

Hob sighs. He's been approaching fifty on paper, which is the furthest he can stretch his eternally set face. He's been putting grey in his hair and beard, and starts his day with a subtle makeup routine. One more year. He's already arranged to go to Australia for his next life, see a bit of the world. He needs some distance. Has needed some distance for the past twenty years, really, but back then he found he couldn't just pack it all up and chuck it away. Maybe he's been grieving. But it was time.

He's shaken out of his thoughts rather violently by the reply of the mystery person though.

“Julia Andrews, it would probably be advisable that you turn your misguided attention to the tea running over your wrist rather than myself.”

The deep rumble shakes Hob to his core, and he turns, hastily. He didn't think he'd hear this voice in the next three thousand years, at least. He faintly registers that Julie yelps, and then swears.

And sure enough, there, in the door of the kitchen he stands, like a photocopy out of Hob's memory, like a mirage, like a fever dream.

They haven't seen each other in twenty years. Twenty years since Hob has burned the brightest he's ever had, so sure he'd be consumed but instead of burning down they'd filled galaxies with new stars. Until, at last, it went to shit.

Hob looks, because he can't not, looks and looks at alabaster skin, at blue eyes, at feathery hair that he knows for a fact is as soft as a cloud, at a buttoned up coat that he's taken off of him countless times, at thin, pink lips he's kissed even more times. No. *NO*.

“Hello,” he says, carefully avoiding a name or any descriptor of their relationship. “I hope you're well.”

“Robert,” Dream says, curt and cold. Only *Robert*, not his supposed last name for this century, so Hob could mistake it for the courtesy of keeping his cover. Not Hob, as a friend would call him. *Robert*. The most distance Dream can put between them with outsiders present.

“There is something that slipped my mind, yet is of utmost importance,” he continues with the regality of a king, cold, so cold. Hob knows for a fact that there's warmth in him, and softness, deep down. But not for him, not anymore. “At the disagreement before our last recent one, I left something. It is vital that it is returned to me.”

Hob's stomach swoops. Dream's hat and gloves, left in haste and fury in 1889. The only tangible things Hob has ever had from Dream, still shiny and new as they had been then, still smelling of rosewater and rain and salt. Hob swallows.

“Of course,” he says, swallowing down a “my lord”, because Dream would definitely take it as mockery. “Of course.”

Hob takes a deep breath, fortifying himself. “As I'm sure you're aware, I'm not carrying them around, so you would have to come back later tonight. I'm home at about half past five, today.”

There's the little crease on his forehead, the displeased slant of his mouth. “I thought it possible that I might—”

“That you can just go into my flat and take them? No.” Hob interrupts. He's been working on this. With multiple therapists. *Boundaries*. He needs more boundaries. And even after twenty years of work, he's tempted into flinging it all out the window for him. Bugger. “I'm afraid you will have to wait.”

Dream sighs, put-upon and haughty. “Very well. I shall be at your door at half past five.” He turns and walks away without any kind of goodbye. Hob exhales through gritted teeth. He's fine. He's *fine*. He's lived with this kind of longing for literal centuries. Why can't he just let it go?

*Because you've had it, once,* his mind whispers, *because you're not sure that you're really done. Not sure you've really let go. Because you're not able—*

“Woof,” Julie comments, making Hob startle. “Bad past? Hey, I'm sorry for—”

“Don't worry,” Hob interrupts her, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It's long past and gone. Don't really know why he's turned up now.”

“Well, if you ask me, there's regret pouring out of every perfect pore of him,” she retorts. “Not that I'm—um—”

Hob laughs, self-deprecating, hurt twisting through his guts. “Can't be. Believe me. Not him.”

Julie shrugs and takes her mug. “Have it your way. I'm gonna go and bash some Spanish into the minds of twenty seven unwilling undergrads.”

“Good luck,” Hob calls after her, his mind spinning with the same questions—why now? And why at all?

[zzzennin]

would've, could've, should've.

I haven't written anything in so long I just type vomited here, so no beta read. English is not my first language. Heavily inspired by this song.

TW: alcohol consumption, mentions of infidelity, abuse, age gap (you 18 and endeavor on his 40's) , depression, mention death a couple times too, very indecent relationship, power abuse, virginity loss, Endeavor is the bad guy, he is taking advantage of the reader. lmk if I forgot something.

You were way too drunk to be speaking like this, always being quiet and so private about your life, maybe the silence caught up on you. Maybe was seeing that stupid post on Facebook from that friend from your mom praising that perverted old man for being such an inspiration for the younger generations, a role model as a hero, as a husband, as a father.

If they only knew what a piece of shit Endeavor was.

Fresh 18, your first job was an internship actually but who cares, you were so excited about not only making some cash so you could afford your own place when college started but maybe if you're lucky you could even get a date with that new hero Hawks he was so cute and charming. A hero did actually put their eyes on you, just not the one you expected.

Now, at 27 all those memories feel like weapons pointed at your head, land mines in random places that when you forget about them they explode you back to your younger self, stupid and naive. You would be lying if you said that getting his attention didn1t make you feel important and seen. He was so charming with small smiles and little chocolates he left at your desk, the post-shift he stayed with you when you have to do tons of photocopies Endeavor made you laugh and carried all that paper for your little arms.

He walked you home, he was a hero after all just couldn't let his inter go home by herself the city is so dangerous when the sun goes down. So he took his big fancy car and drove you home listening to soft love songs, he was so handsome. Took you to the diner the first time cause you worked so hard, deserved a belly full of good food, he'll pay. On the way home, he put his big hand on your tight. Your core pulsed.

He's married, older than you, maybe is an old man thing? you thought to yourself.

But soon enough it got clear that he was, in fact, hitting on you, silly you got so happy blushing like a school girl, you were just two years older than his younger son. You wish now that you tasted like poison on his lips every time he kissed you so passionately, he would spit you out and never speak on it again. But you were sweet, a honeypot he couldn't get enough of.

So he started to consume your days, nights and all your thoughts were about him, how to please him, become better for him. And Endeavor loved that shit, the adoration on your eyes. How he got to corrupt you slowly in every single way. You begged for his time, for a drop of love and attention, and got you hooked on him. His smell, his skin, lips, dick and he fucked you so good.

Endeavor was your first, to clear the tears from your face as you lay under him in a love hotel by the beach, your parents think you went with some school friends, but you were in that dirty hotel in a faraway city with a married man taking your virginity.

If there's lucidity in death why this just doesn't die already? He broke you so many years ago and you still mourn the person who you were before him, you still fight him in your sleep in your restless nights. You still regret him all the time. Every second he happens to cross your mind.

He used, abused you, and trowed away like you never existed in the first place.

Many years later you sat in a dirty bar with bloodshot eyes while your fourth drink is in your hand and you just spilled everything out to the random person who happened to sit near you, he didn't know you anyway.

"What a fucker" his deep voice replies and for the first time in what feels like hours you get your head up and look at the man the eyes, bright blue eyes, and dark hair, half his face is burned and you are pretty sure you saw him on the news the other day. You are too tired to care, if he kills you tonight maybe this could be a closure, not a satisfactory one, but still. "you know, I live by one philosophy, think you gonna like it".

He takes a sip from his drink.

"Don't get sad. Get even"

[michellemisfit]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY - FIRSTS!

Tagged by @suzy-queued @deedala @darlingian @heymrspatel @lingy910y @energievie @mybrainismelted @blue-disco-lights

Name: Michelle

Age: Currently getting a kick out of telling people that I’m nearly 40 and having them go ‘NO WAY!!!’ - It’s funny and flattering :)

First Pet: Siberian gerbils called Tom & Jerry

First Word: No idea. Turns out my parents kept a baby book for my older brother where they painstakingly recorded all of that stuff. I found mine a few years ago and it’s got a grand total of 3 entries, one of which is talking about how chubby I am, and how I am yet to find a food I’ll say no to, and let’s hope that’s not a sign of things to come… after which it was abandoned. Thanks mum.

First Celebrity Crush: Leonardo DiCaprio

First IRL Crush: Dominik. We hung out basically every day after school. I would go round to his house and he would play me the latest Michael Jackson tape and show me new dance steps that he’d taught himself. I thought he was so cool.

First Kiss: Age 14 with my first boyfriend. He was 20 years old. We were in a relationship for over a year. Shit was fucked up. At the risk of repeating myself… Thanks mum.

First Car: Bebop 🚙 He’s my baby and I bought him this year and I love him! He’s a turquoise 2013 Toyota Yaris Hybrid.

First apartment/house/dorm/whatever away from your parents: Heh. I moved straight from my childhood bedroom to a different country. If you’re gonna do something, do it right! lol

First Time on a Plane: I was… 18 months old? Parents went on holidays to Florida. I have about 3 memories from that trip.

First Cellphone: Nokia 3210 😎

First Concert: David Hasselhoff. I was maybe… 6? And I got very tired and slept through the second half, but my parents woke me up for Looking for Freedom, which was my favourite song of his.

First Foreign country you visited? Italy or France most likely. Pure proximity, and most of our family vacations were done by car from Switzerland so…

First sport you ever played? Hmm. I did competitive swimming when I was very young. And then gymnastics. And after that… about five minutes of football (the only sport I to this day do not understand. How do I run AND kick a ball simultaneously?!?), then 3 years of tennis, 2 years of basketball, 8 years of roller hockey, and a whole smattering of other sports on and off.

First career aspiration? I mean… I basically wanted to be a Disney Princess, purely for the Animal Best Friend aspect! And then any form of Animal Whisperer would have done the trick. I watched all the TV shows and movies where characters had magical bonds with animals, and I wanted that. And then I realised that the characters in the shows and movies aren’t real, but the people training and handling those animals *are*. However that wasn’t something realistic to aspire to, being Swiss, so instead I became a bookseller (somehow that made sense at the time… 🤷🏽‍♂️). And then 15 years later, in a different country and a different life, I did end up training animals for TV and film. So that’s kinda nifty.

And finally… tell me about the first time you wrote/drew/created/whatever something that made you think “wow”

Hmmm. I dunno. I thought I was really fucking talented when I was about 12. I wrote a novel and sent it to publishing houses and literary agencies. One of them invited me for an interview, because they thought my writing was great and they wanted to meet the kid that had sent them a manuscript aged 12/13. They ended up giving me a job, working as a admin/secretary/slush pile reader. They also gave me lots of feedback and constructive criticism on my writing. I scrapped the novel I had sent them in favour of writing a different, better novel. I still think that novel was pretty fucking good. I tried to get my mum to proof read it and give me feedback so I could do any necessary corrections before I spent my pocket money on photocopies, C4 envelopes, and a whole bunch of stamps so I could attempt to get it published again. She was dragging her feet and I tried to explain the urgency, because I was clear that it needed to happen before I turned 14. That was the goal in my head. I had huge ambitions and dreams. I was also convinced that if it happened after I turned 14 it wouldn’t be special anymore. Like anyone could do it after 14… 🙄 In response to this my mum told me that she’d had ambition and dreams, too, when she was my age. But not to worry, that’ll go away, and once you’ve put away the fanciful notions of being talented then you can just get on with your life…

Not sure if this actually answers the question, but that was kinda the first and last time I remember feeling uncomplicatedly good about and proud of something I created. After this anything creative I did was always immediately followed by the doubt of ‘is this actually good, or is this just a fanciful notion I have about being talented, when in actual fact it sucks?’ 🤷🏽‍♂️

Wow. Ended that on a downer, didn’t I?

…

Erm… I wrote Tell me we’ll never get used to it,

They’re the only two people left that know what it’s like to have loved and to have lost a Lightwood.

And it’s a good story.

There.

I said it…

Tagging @crossmydna @palepinkgoat @too-schoolforcool @vintagelacerosette @heymacy @loftec @mikhailoisbaby @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @ian-galagher @andthatisnotfake @francesrose3 @faejilly @jrooc @creepkinginc if you fancy playing? I’m just very exited I’m actually posting this on a Wednesday still! Whoop!!

[anticmiscellaney]

no pressure to answer and im sorry if you've said this before but where did the title new/old/rare come from?

It's named after a very average record label compilation that I bought way back in 2002 because it included a song I couldn't get anywhere else by a band I used to go see all the time. I always liked the title and it seemed appropriate for this project for a range of thematic reasons, but also Blueline Medic came from a band called Caustic Soda, who wrote a song called Photocopied, which was the first song I successfully turned into visual artwork, and I discovered Jawbreaker from the sticker on the bass guitar when I saw that video on Rage one night as a teenager, and then when I finally saw Jawbreaker in April 2022 I came home and wrote this comic about Louis seeing them in March 1996, which led to me figuring out the overall story of what had up until then just been a series of loosely connected drawings.

Before everything was available on the internet, releases being old or rare often meant you couldn't get them, you might not ever hear/see them, and new releases may take months or even years to become available to you. Part of being into film and music was searching, archiving, collecting, sharing, bootlegging, waiting, and speculating. These days I likely wouldn't have to buy a whole CD just to hear one song. Smalltime local band singles are available on Bandcamp, not just at their shows. Archives of old or niche films are often hosted on streaming sites, or even lovingly restored and rereleased. This is all cool and I enjoy it, but it's new. Please remember that it's new, that in my relatively short lifetime it has changed hugely.

People have always cared and now it's so much easier to share these things, but there's still value in things being tied to times and places, in parts of life being ephemeral and transitory. I think you need external markers of times in your life that you can revisit or avoid as you choose, otherwise you'll end up adrift. Something being rare or limited isn't always bad; of course we don't get to experience everything we'd like to and it's important to pursue and value what you can. I pursued live music single-mindedly from when I was 12 or 13 until I moved overseas at 19, and while I've never stopped going to see bands or being very into music, that particular time of my life was unique. I can't replicate it and I don't want to because as much as I joke I've not changed (and wear band t-shirts I bought in 2001), I'm not the same person. I still remember though.

This story is partly about the balance between digging through the past and making space in your life for new things, about handling change and choosing what to let go, what to archive, what to keep, what to keep looking for. It's also literally about music and film.

Most of the places I used to go are gone now of course, and most of the bands have broken up and moved on. I'm gone too, I live on the other side of the world, but I like to put references in my work. I guess it's my way of saying this happened and it was important to me, these things other people made, those places, that time, they were small and brief but they mattered and I remember. Some things don't come back and all you have is memories of them, but sometimes bands who broke up in 1990 do a reunion show and you score a ticket.

Don't count on it though. Enjoy what you can when you have it, and if you miss it, don't dwell too much. Looking for the next thing to be excited and intrigued by is the best way to find it.

In the comic linked above, when Neil says they'll have a chance to see Jawbreaker together soon, he's wrong: Jawbreaker broke up a few months later and didn't play again until 2017. I think they would have gone together then though, I think they both remembered.

[respawned-dove]

Are you comfortable writing yandere Heavy headcanons with a male reader whos the enemy's team Medic? 🏨

Of course, anon! Enjoy some BLU Heavy content, though you can read it as RED if you wish. This is somewhat a fic and somewhat headcanons, I lost the plot somewhere apparently.

yandere! Heavy x male! Medic! Reader

[CW: obsessive thoughts/behaviour, violence, drugging, rape, NSFW scenes, alcohol/drinking]

Heavy doesn't have interest in most people. He's quiet in the corner most times, uninvolved in the action. Though he usually has an amused smile to give his own team's antics, he prefers to keep his distance. He listens and watches as both teams move around him, in battle and out. But really, all he cares to note is whether they're alive or dead, and whether it's someone he's hired to enact violence on. And he loves violence. The battlefield is his zone, the one place he feels like he can do what he was made for. And the battlefield is also where he met you.

His owns team's Medic is someone who has his respect and his friendship, and he can instantly note the same traits in you. Violence, sadism, and the ability to outsmart even bullets. He doesn't get to actually examine you much, considering he's mostly focused on killing you. He starts to get... distracted. Which is confusing for him. Killing is one of his favourite things. Why would anything be more interesting during a fight? You are, nonetheless.

He's been watching you more than he has been killing you. He went to Ms. Pauling's office on the BLU base and looked at the files on you, only a few minutes of glancing lest it be suspicious. He's the only one who even knows the other team's files are in here. All the listening pays off once in a while. You have a nice face, he thinks. The thought warms him in a way that makes him set the file back in its place and leave it behind.

Seeking you out to kill becomes a fun hobby for him. He likes the way you flail. He likes the way you fight and fail. He likes the way you call for your team and no one comes for you. He likes the way you bleed. He likes the way you die. And honestly, he wishes that respawn would leave him with a scar or two from your bonesaw.

You're doing everything you can to avoid Heavy on the battlefield. You can't understand what's made him so aggressive towards you out of nowhere. Or why he smiles like- like that when he kills you. Basically everyone on that field is a sadist, true, but it looks a little too joyous. You don't like dying, who does, but it's not... terrible to be so easily manhandled like that.

It becomes more of a mutual game between you two. Cat and mouse, really. The mouse always loses in the end, and at this point you'd be lying if you said it wasn't exciting to lose. You can't help wondering if he's excited too, ripping you apart and throwing you around. His gun is barely involved anymore, he wants to have his bare hands on you when he hurts you.

You start finding gifts for you left at your base. Simple things that could be left by anyone - your favourite book or snack, a new set of expensive scalpels - yet no one on your team will admit to giving them. They joke about a secret admirer and try to get each other to fess up with playful violence. But nothing comes of it, you just grow accustomed to them

Heavy makes photocopies of your files. He reads and rereads them, no longer able to deny how obsessed with you he’s become. The photo of you sits hidden under his bedside lamp in his room on the base. He pulls it out at night to just stare at it in silence, contemplating. He plays the memories of you in his mind in the same way. Covered in blood, grinning as you kill or heal in the distance, beaten under his hands… He feels like his head will crack open if it becomes any more full of you.

You notice even more of an uptick in him hunting you down. Compensation for how distracting you've become to him. You can’t help but revel in the almost obsessive way you’ve begun fighting each other. Neither of you are helping your team properly like you should be. His touches as he holds you down become almost gentle before they rip you apart, touching you in places that would be inappropriate at best. You come out of respawn blushing and gasping, but you can’t see it being anything other than an accident, especially in this line of work.

Heavy can’t get rid of you. His mind is overtaken by thoughts of you. He can’t focus on his books and he’s lost all interest in his own team by now. Late at night, while failing to read, he pictures a life where you aren’t contracted into this job. Where he can have you without consequences and you want him the same. If he could have you, even just for a night, he thinks it might buff out the you-shaped hole in his brain. No, it can’t be real. If he has you it would have to be coerced out of you. It would need outside help, planning. If he wants to have you, it will have to be forced.

cont.

It's a seemingly genuine coincidence when you wind up at the same bar in town. You instantly see each other, and you both instantly go on guard. You hide in your drinks and try to look uninteresting. A strong hand taps you, gently, on the shoulder. You know it's him. Your mind replays every death at his hands at once for a moment, before you manage to turn around. Silent, he just looks at you. His lips are pursed as though deep in thought. He clears his throat but doesn't speak, instead holding out a drink to you. He bought two of the same one? As you stare at it blankly, he seems to become frustrated with your silence. "For you. Is just whiskey and coke." He sets it in front of you, and then he pulls out a chair at the bar beside you. With the amount of muscle and weight on him, you wonder for a moment how that stool can hold so much man. You ignore how it makes you sweat.

He's quiet. Doesn't even look at you, just swirls his drink in his glass. You swallow, dry mouthed, and look at him. "Why would I drink something you gave me?" you ask, suspicious. He smiles slightly, eyes closed as he lets out a small rumble of a laugh, pulling his fur lined vest closer to himself with his large hands. Just barely entertained. "Doctor," he says, "I am not paid to kill you right now. I do not like poison kill, anyway." You let out a nervous chuckle, because he's right. This isn't the battlefield. He doesn't have any reason to hurt you right now. You drink with him.

Actually, you maybe drink too much with him. But he's just as wasted, it seems. You both are loose lipped and talking far more than either of you do typically. Every team secret is fair game, it's like all the typical decorum between the teams falls away. Like you're normal people, meeting at a bar. He seems almost sleepy in his distance as the night goes on, soft and nervous expressions that look odd to you compared to the usual faces you've seen him make. He doesn't look harmful at all. A heavy haze of relaxation makes it all feel so nice. It makes your guard fall completely.

Heavy is watching you, even as he also drinks. He only has to drink for so long until the first drink's secret hits you. Flunitrazepam, as his own team's Medic recommended to him. Takes a minute, but you most likely won't even remember what happens to you. His own drinking is more to quell his nerves. He knows it's not practical to have your forever, as much as he finds himself wanting that, but this drug can give him the chance to have you for at least... one night.

The bar closes, and you try to stand up to head out, slurred voice trying to say farewell. Standing up out of your chair proves too challenging, and your legs are too weak to hold you, falling from under you as you gasp and get ready to hit the floor. Heavy catches you before you can, and you're limp against him for a moment as he sets you back on your feet with support of his heavy arm. "Doctor is too drunk," he says near your ear, a hot whisper. You blink to try and focus more, able to pull yourself to standing on your own with wobbling legs. "Ahah, a- a bit t-too drunk, yeah," you say, stumbling over your words. "I need to get- get back, now. I am... I am needed tomorrow o-on our base."

Heavy puts his arm back on you, under the guise of supporting you as you sway. His expression betrays nothing of how fast his heart is pounding. He's never been this close to you without killing you. You're more soft than he imagined, yet firm, and seem like you'd typically be very strong and steady. Right now you're weak, muscle tone basically at a zero, leaning directly against him like he's never hurt you in his life. "I get motel for you. Maybe... me too. Cannot drive." He says it so matter-of-factly that you find yourself nodding along. Your hands cling at the soft lined fur at the edges of his vest as he helps you get across the street. The walk is nothing but a blur of lights in your mind, neon to warm yellow to blips in darkness until your body hits a soft bed. You sigh dizzily, closing your eyes as your body sinks into the terrible motel bed. The overhead lights stay off above you, and everything is so... relaxing.

Heavy sits on the opposite bed for now, chin in his palm, watching you intensely. You're soft against the bed, doctor's coat splayed beneath you. He stands, the bed creaking enormously as his weight leaves it. Stepping over to you, his hand cups at your cheek, feeling your skin. Your eyes blearily open as he touches you. You manage a hum of confusion, trying and failing to sit up. "Shush," he mutters, pressing you back down with one hand. He squeezes your chest while it rests there, clenching his jaw as his eyes graze over you. His large fingers grasp at the buttons of your coat. You look down at him blearily, huffing out a heavy breath. You seem to at least be processing that something sensual is happening through the confusion.

Heavy carefully undoes the buttons. Your coat is maybe the one thing he won't rip apart. He wants your dignity in battle to remain in tact even if nothing else does. You're his favourite opponent. Pulling it off your arms, he touches the red insignia on the arm of the coat, smirking to himself. Your hand weakly comes up and grasps at his arm, barely certain if he's there, if this is a dream. Your touch is so weak he barely notices it.

The rest of your clothes are not as safe from his strength. He grips at your button up shirt and tears it open at the middle, the threads ripping slowly. He just wants to see your body. Feel your body. Maybe, just maybe, even see more of your blood. Heavy disposes of your pants in a similar way, the remains of them hanging on the ends of your legs. You definitely know something is happening, grunting at him and trying to turn yourself over. His hands hold you down as he gets onto the bed with you, your weights together on the cheap bed threatening to bend it in half. "Lay still, doctor," he orders. "Lay still." You breathe out shakily in your haze, teetering on unconsciousness as he gropes at your frame. His hand travels down to your crotch, large hands surrounding your soft cock. He just feels it, for a moment, breath deepening. You harden slightly in his hand, body responding naturally as it will. It makes his throat dry and his body hot. You're so small beneath him, and you aren't even a small person, really. You groan weakly, and the sound spurs him on further.

Heavy's hand surrounds your throat. At first, he massages at the delicate skin, feeling every muscle below roll under his finger pads. Then, he's squeezing. Too hard. You're too far from your team's respawn, and he can't kill you here. As he squeezes, you begin to wheeze, and your eyes open as much as they can. You try to speak to plead somehow, but it comes out as a breathy whimper. You claw at his arm, and even though you break his skin, it doesn't make him let go. His other hand grips both of your wrists and holds them above you. His eyes bore into yours for a moment as his hand squeezes the air from you. Just as you begin to turn red, he lets go. You draw in a weak, deep breath groaning. The now un-busy hand returns to your half hard cock, fondling it as he breathes heavily.

You're almost completely hard, even as out of it as you are, and that certainly doesn't help his own hard on. The haze over your vision makes everything that's happening confusing, but fingers that big inside you are not ignorable. Your slow breath hitches and your back bends upward. Heavy watches you through half lidded eyes, lips pressed together thinly. His free hand palms at the front of his pants and he grunts hotly. "Body," he mutters. "Doctor's body is perfect." His face is red as he runs his hand over your chest and arms, down your stomach to squeeze at your cock again. You're overwhelmed, panting slightly without fully understanding what's happening. But it feels good. You know that it feels good.

You can feel something wet press against your hole, dizzily raising your head to look down. Heavy brought lube. He isn't stupid, and he doesn't want to ruin your body too much. As he presses into you, his eyes won't leave your face. He strokes your cheek, pretending for a moment that this is consensual, real. That you're normal people already in a relationship with no contract work preventing you from being together like this. Moans that definitely sound consensual keep leaving your mouth as you writhe slightly under his grip. You're starting to slip out of the world, feeling warm, thick darkness overtaking your brain. The rest of the sex is a blur untouchable by your memory, except for how tight you're held as warmth floods inside of your body.

The next morning though, all of it is untouchable by your memory. You can remember going out drinking, and your clothes are half destroyed for a reason you can't place. Getting out of bed, your legs try to give out under you, deep pain from inside you causing them to shake. You can feel wetness on your thighs. You try to remember what happened. You can't remember what happened.

You're late to the base that day, and you get chewed out by basically everyone on your team. You can't take a day off for pain in a job like this, so to battle it is. Heavy watches you from a distance, trying to mentally be in the place where you were, the faux consensual situation that lived in his head. Nevertheless, he has to kill you. He kills you anyway, with bare hands, just to feel the touch of your skin. Just to let his obsession feel less real as you bleed under his fists.

[beefrobeefcal]

Thank you to @tightjeansjavi & @jennaispunk for tagging me in the wip wednesday business.

This week's test kitchen sample comes from a Javi G one shot [shhh! don't tell @noxturnalpascal] currently untitled.

Yours in sin,

Beefro👌🥩💜

“You hear who’s coming to the office today?”, Loretta, one of the legal support staff members whispered as you used the photocopier by her desk.   You smiled as you correlated your documents and fed them through the copier. “Who?”  Her grin widened. “Javi Gutierrez.”  It had been a long time since you’d seen Javier Gutierrez - not since before his big Hollywood break, courtesy of Nic Cage. You’d gotten the low down on his current events from people in the law office you worked in, given one of the partners at the firm represented him as his entertainment lawyer.  Since you’d moved up from being just a paralegal to one of the junior associates, you’d moved under a different partner who wasn’t in that department.   Your last interaction with him had been nothing short of unforgettable as he was congratulating you on your promotion. He’d curled his tongue around your name as he took your hand into his larger one, then let his eyes wander over your frame. You’d returned the intensity of your gaze in kind and put his broad shoulders and soft-yet-sturdy frame, his pouty lips, gorgeous nose, and deep brown eyes to memory. If it had been the first and only time you’d met, you would’ve sworn it was love – or lust – at first sight. But you’d met with him many times over several months and each time, he seemed ever so slightly bolder.   That was almost three years ago. 

[sigritandtheelves]

All Along, Like Fire (Part 7)

FINAL PART!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Mature | 3.4k words | MSR, AU

—

October 13, 1995

Mulder sat alone in his apartment, head in his hands, staring at the floor and thinking. Diana was gone—her things gone, most of the furniture, even the crock pot his mother gave them for their wedding. He wanted to believe that all of this wasn’t his fault, but he felt like a failure for the way their marriage had ended. And for the decisions he’d been forced to make because of it. At his feet was a lone cardboard box of photocopies, the most important documents he was able to salvage. It was the all he had left of the X-Files.

His clothes were also boxed up, along with his books, his trophies, his diplomas and knickknacks. Tomorrow morning, a moving truck would arrive, and he would say goodbye to this place forever. He wasn’t sorry. Just sad, a little ashamed. He’d let Diana make a fool of him here, let her seduce truths out of him while he was blindly manipulated for years. He’d planned to sulk alone until it was time to load the truck, but a knock on the door startled him. He opened it to three familiar faces.

“Well well well,” Frohike said. “If it isn’t the spooky birthday boy on Friday the 13th.” The little man shoved a bottle of Jack Daniels into Mulder’s chest and pushed into the apartment.

“Happy Birthday, man.” This from Langly who toted three pizzas, which he tossed onto the coffee table. Byers echoed the sentiment, carrying a mysterious white box under his arm.

“What are you guys doing here?” Mulder asked, not unkindly.

“Couldn’t let you sit alone on your birthday, could we? We’ve got a lot to celebrate.”

“We do?”

Frohike was digging around in the kitchen cabinet for glasses, but they were almost all packed away. He settled for a quartet of coffee mugs and plastic novelty cups. “Yes! Imminent divorce and new beginnings! Fighting the good fight!” He carried the dishes in and passed them around.

“We’re gonna miss you, Mulder,” Byers said. “But we all agree this is a good step. You can do some really good work this way.”

“Then why do I feel so crappy?” Mulder poured shots of the Jack Daniels into the mismatched cups.

“When’s the last time you saw Scully?” Langley asked, flipping open the first pizza and digging in for a slice.

“Last week.” Mulder frowned.

“Well, there’s your answer. Cheers.” Frohike knocked mugs with Mulder and threw back a shot. “All in good time, my man.”

Mulder downed his shot with a wince and reached for a slice of pizza. “What’s in the box?”

Langley waggled his eyebrows. “Goodies,” he said.

“Open it up,” Byers tapped the lid of the unmarked container.

Inside were several gadgets, one of which looked like a large gray brick, and at least two bulky phones with fat antennas.

Byers explained, “Those are hacked satellite phones that will connect from anywhere. They’re essentially untraceable and should hold their battery for several days between charges. Good for off-grid work.”

Langley was too excited to wait for him to ask about the brick. “And this one’s a hacked satellite modem. You’ll have internet no matter how remote you are. New tech, definitely not consumer hardware.”

“So you can stay in touch,” Byers added.

At the bottom of the box was a new laptop, which Mulder was sure had a range of nonstandard additions and upgrades.

“And we’re gonna come out to visit,” Frohike said. “Soon. Maybe this winter if that’s okay.” If Mulder didn’t know better, he’d think the man was choking up. He was touched, and another wave of sadness washed over him.

“Thanks guys,” he said, voice thick.

—

San Diego, CA

The warm California air made Scully think of her childhood—fond memories with Melissa on base housing, sticky summers when freckles appeared on all the Scully children’s noses. She drove up in front of a small house that was so like the one in which she’d spent those years. She double checked the address against the one on her paper; it was right, though she couldn’t imagine this unassuming abode as the site of any secret research. There was a small garden out front, wind chimes hanging from the porch roof. She breathed in deeply. There was no reason not to go in now except the terrifying thundering of her heart and the sense that there was no going back after this. She opened the driver’s side door and got out.

On the porch, she was greeted by two unsmiling men—not hired muscle, she thought. Maybe doctors in plainclothes to blend in with the suburban atmosphere. They wore khakis and polo shirts and the looked around, suspicious, before letting her in. Beyond the foyer, the inside of the house couldn’t be any more different than its outside. It was sterile, white, and filled with beeping machines and medical equipment.

“This way,” one of the men said. He led her up the stairs to the second floor landing, where a woman in scrubs was backing out of a room, closing the door behind her. The man led Scully to the left, to an open bedroom door that was just as sterile, just as white as the downstairs. Here, though, a crib sat in the corner—also white—with a mobile of farm animals hanging over it. In the center of the room stood Diana Fowley. Scully’s eyes ping-ponged between the crib and the woman she didn’t trust at all.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said.

“Not anymore.”

The other woman’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Right, of course.”

“Where is she?” Scully’s heart was pounding, and she wouldn’t allow herself to think about what—or who—was behind the other doors of this nightmare suburban experiment.

“In the crib,” Diana said, stepping aside to let Scully see. “She’s sleeping.”

Scully took three steps closer. She couldn’t breathe. As she approached, she saw a tiny figure in a onesie covered in stars, little fingers curled into fists on either side of her auburn head. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

The child looked perfect. She moved her lips into a subtle dreamy frown, and her long lashes lay against pink cheeks. Scully bent over to lay a hand on the baby’s chest, to feel the movement of her steady breathing and the tiny flutter of her heart.

“You can pick her up,” Diana said. “She’s yours now.”

Tears were blurring Scully’s vision. She tried to blink them away, but one slid down her cheek. She swiped it quickly. “And she’s well now? She won’t get sick?”

“She’s healthy,” Diana confirmed. “But she’s chipped. Like you are.”

A brief wave of anger flared through Scully, but she swallowed it down. She knew what she’d bargained for. She’d accepted the price. She brushed a finger against the baby’s cheek, and the child turned into it, as though seeking out comfort. “Does she have a name?”

“The nurses were calling her Emily, so that’s the name we put on the paperwork. You could change it, but that might take some time.”

Scully shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I like Emily.” She couldn’t imagine giving up a single minute with this baby for the sake of another hoop she’d have to jump through. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, then reached both hands into the crib to scoop the child up. Emily wrinkled her little nose and let out a whimper, but didn’t wake. Scully held the baby against her chest, buried her nose in the impossibly soft skin of her neck, her downy head.

“Hello Emily,” she said, and closed her eyes against the enormity of it.

—

Traveling with an infant was a new experience for Scully, and not easy while alone. She was terrified that the baby would stop breathing in the back seat while they drove, that she’d be too hot, too cold, too hungry. But little Emily seemed happy enough, and slept for much of the first day’s drive. Scully had bought a pack-and-play, formula, bottles, and diaper packages in two sizes. Instant motherhood was even more frightening than leaving the job she’d worked so hard to prove herself in.

At a rest stop in Santa Rosa to change the baby and get some caffeine, Scully discovered something hard buried in the package of clothes Diana had sent with her. It was a small cryo-package containing three vials. One was clearly blood: Emily’s, she thought, dated July of this year. Before she’d been cured. Another was mysteriously green and unlabeled. The third looked familiar, an amber liquid she’d seen before. It was labeled Purity - 3.9506. A dated code: the current iteration of the vaccine. She almost didn’t notice the note tucked below the package:

         To get you started.

                   - DF

Scully wanted to hate Diana, but she found herself unable to conjure the same fury she’d felt last year. This was a gift that Diana taken great risks to provide. Whatever bargain she’d made to keep herself safe, it was clear that the woman was still ensnared by the Syndicate’s poisoned grasp. Scully allowed herself to feel grateful to her, despite everything she’d done. Scully placed the vials back in the chamber and made a note to store them with her own recovered ova. Emily had woken up when the car stopped moving, and was beginning to fuss. Scully shoved the clean onesie into the diaper bag and unbuckled the baby, hushing softly to her and humming.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she murmured.

Scully was unaccustomed to the number of strangers’ smiles that greeted them. An elderly couple stopped to coo over the chubby infant, to remark how like her mother she was. Scully’s smile was tight-lipped and nervous. They weren’t wrong—the child did look like her. She had the same blue eyes, the same fair coloring. She tucked Emily’s warm little body against her chest and nuzzled her head.

“Let’s get you some food, hmm?”

By the third and final day of driving, fear had turned overwhelmingly to love. When the baby woke in the morning light, she greeted Scully with a wide, two-toothed grin. She sat up in her pack-and-play and pushed at the mesh sides.

“Good morning!” Scully laughed and felt a flood of warmth accompany her own smile. The little girl babbled a steady “yah yah yah.”

They had six more hours on the road, and then a whole new life ahead of them.

—

Lummi Island, WA

October 20, 1995

Beyond the mainland, the salt air reminded Mulder of chill mornings on the Vineyard. He could go fishing here, or watch the sunrise from a boat, every day if he wanted. Though the coastline and the island were different from the ones where he’d grown up, the place felt like home. The closer he drew to his final destination, the more the melancholy that had clung to him in the last two weeks melted away. He was nervous, but it felt more like excitement than anxiety now. He fiddled with the radio—there wasn’t much signal to pick up on the island, but he needed something to fidget with. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

He rounded a grove of trees and finally caught sight of the little house up a short driveway: blue clapboard, a tiny porch, a brown shingled roof over the cozy two-story cottage. He pulled up alongside a white fence—honest-to-god picket—and climbed out, stretching his limbs with a massive heave of his chest outward.

This was it. This was home, now.

The front door of the house opened, and he felt his heart stutter, then swell. There she was. There they both were.  Dana Scully walked toward him with an impossibly cute baby on her hip, smiling broadly in jeans and a woolen sweater.

Mulder couldn’t help the grin that broke out over his face. He pushed through the waist-high gate and walked up onto the porch.

“There are my girls,” he said.

Scully blushed. “You made it.”

“I did,” he said as he reached them. He leaned down to kiss the woman he’d ached for over two long weeks. Her lips were soft and sweet, and her eyes dropped closed at the contact. He cupped her cheek, curled his other hand at her waist, and felt the pull of her middle toward his. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.

Scully breathed deeply, eyes still closed for a moment, and nodded. Then he turned his attention to the baby.

“And you must be Emily.” The infant eyed him curiously and reached a finger out to touch his nose. “Hi baby.” She pulled the hand back and tucked two fingers into her wet mouth. Mulder booped her own nose in return, which earned him a shy half-smile as she tucked her head against Scully’s neck. “She looks just like you said. Just as perfect.” Mulder palmed the baby’s downy head, where blonde hair was growing in soft and fair. The little girl didn’t pull back or object, just watched him with something like awe.

“She’s been really good,” Scully explained. “I think she’s only cried twice since I brought her here. I mean she fusses, but…” Scully shrugged.

Mulder tickled the baby’s belly, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a tiny stuffed fox about the size of his hand, and Emily’s eyes went wide. “You like him? That’s Mr. Fox.” He handed over the toy, which Emily grasped with both hands. “He’s like me.”

Emily pressed her little fingers into the fox’s button eyes, her tiny fingernails scritching at the plastic.  Then she brought the fox’s head toward her mouth and bit down on the pointy nose.

Scully laughed. “She likes it.”

Mulder bent to kiss the top of the child’s head, then added another to Scully’s head for good measure. “Let’s go inside, hmm? I can’t wait to see how it looks in person.”

—

Later that night they lay facing each other on her bed—their bed now, Scully realized, and the thought made her heart beat faster. They were tucked under quilts and printed flannel sheets against the autumn chill. Emily slept in the second tiny bedroom next door, warm and safe with a mobile of colorful planets and her little fox beside her.

Scully felt the momentousness of this night, now that it was just them, now that they were really together. She found herself watching Mulder for doubts, for guilt, for regret. She held her own small sorrows: leaving her mother, leaving her job. But she feared most that Mulder would come to resent her for the loss of their work in D.C., their resources, their allies inside, as it were.

Mulder pursed his lips in a frown. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Everything, everything. Her mind was spinning: What if we fail? What if we lose her? What if they take back the bargain and come for us all in the night? What if you never forgive me? But Scully just shook her head. It felt like too much to talk about now. “It’s nothing. It’s okay.”

She knew he wouldn’t believe her, and he didn’t. He moved his face closer to hers on the pillow. “It’s not nothing.”

Scully’s fingers fidgeted under the blanket. She heaved a deep sigh, and decided not to begin their new life by hiding things, by keeping anything bottled up. “I know we have a plan,” she said. “I know we’re not giving up and that our work will just be different here, but… it’s pretty enormous change—all of this. You must have doubts. I just don’t want you to… regret this. Because of me.”

Mulder was quiet for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “I understand why you might think that,” he said finally. “I know that in a lot of ways, this feels crazy.”

It did, Scully conceded. Two months ago, they woke up in their separate city apartments and put on suits to go to work for the government. Mulder was married to another woman. Now they were on a remote island off the west coast, with a baby for god’s sake, planning a resistance to a global colonization in secret. Their lives couldn’t be more different.

Mulder reached an arm across the space between them and took hold of her hand under the blanket. “It’s hard for me to explain why, but this feels right.” She could barely make out his features in the dim light, but she sensed how serious his face was, how intense his look. “Scully, all of this started for me, because my family lost a little girl, and it ripped us apart. I lost her. I lost my family. I needed something to fill that emptiness, and I did it with work, which I thought might help me find her again. I wanted so badly to fix what happened to us.”

Scully nodded. She felt her chin wobble at the profundity in the pause between his words.

“But the same evil that took my sister also gave me another little girl. And it gave me you.” He squeezed her hand. “I still need to know what happened to Samantha after my father used her as a bargaining chip. And I will find out. That hasn’t changed.” He swallowed hard, and Scully wanted very badly to lean over and kiss comfort into him. “But this,” he motioned between them, “is a real chance at family, and that’s something I never thought I could have again, not even with Diana. I don’t know what kind of father I might make, if that’s even what you want from me. I didn’t have a good role model. But… I want us to try.”

Tears were dripping down Scully’s nose now into the flannel pillowcase, and she found it hard to speak. She sniffed. Nodded. Bent her forehead to touch his. “I want that too,” she managed to say. “And I want… Emily to think of you as her father. If that’s okay, I mean. If you want it.” She shook her head at her nervous rambling. “I just know you’d be a really good dad.”

Mulder nuzzled her nose with his own , unmindful of the damp. Then he tipped his chin to kiss her lips, sliding his arm around her middle and pulling her toward him. They held each other tight in the near-dark. “Yeah,” he croaked, and Scully realized he was on the verge of tears, too. “I want that.”

Her head fit perfectly, tucked under his chin. Her face pressed against his t-shirt where she could feel his heart beating, and she pressed a kiss there. She pushed one knee between his and breathed deep, letting the smell of him, of them together, fill her with warmth and need. God, she loved him so much. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and now she was gulping in oxygen. She knew, then, that they would make this work.

“Well,” Mulder said, his tone lighter now, “if I am any good at it, we’ve got all those little frozen uber-Scullys in storage. Maybe we’ll just make a whole tribe, huh?” His hand was on her waist, and he slipped it between them to poke her belly.

She laughed through her tears, nodding. “Yeah, maybe we will.”

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and it was getting too hot under the blankets for all these pajamas. They were hungry for each other. He touched her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, like this was the only thing that mattered. They made love in tear-streaked desperation: clutching, dizzy love—though they were quiet and mindful not to wake the baby (their baby) with too much noise. After, when they’d slept an hour or so, he woke her gently with more kisses. This time their lovemaking was slow and gentle and reverent—like they had the rest of their lives.

— END —

A/N: I had many ideas about what their big plan was to save the world, how they’d build a network of allies through the Hosteens (and the Lummi people that they are so close to now), because who better to help them survive colonization than the people who have already survived it? But this ending also felt right and I think I’m happy with it. Thank you so so so much to everyone who has read and left hearts and kudos and comments. This was supposed to be a one-off little thing. It’s no novel, but it’s more than I’ve been able to write in a while.

[borisbubbles]

Eurovision 2024: #06 & #05

06. SWEDEN Loreen - "Tattoo" 1st place

Decade Ranking: 19/116 [above Halo, below Adrenalina]

Alright, fine, we've arrived at Loreen. There are plenty of conflicting emotions swirling around in my head, but overall, yeah, you know how I feel about her. It hasn't changed. She's very good, but I'm not obsessed with her. This is where those entries rank.

Let's tackle the elephant in the room: Tattoo is a good song and a boring, uninspiring winner. The two aren't mutually exclusive. Loreen's victory was determined the second she won Melfest, by default. It was unsatisfactory for two reasons:

(1) The moment Loreen was picked the casuals that remembered "Euphoria" immediately started praising her while ignoring everyone else, and this of course snowballed into the biggest jury coronation since Salvador. Lol that the same casuals that were obsessed with Tattoo preshow became upset when she beat Käärijä. What else did you think was going to happen? it was YOU who kept touting her as the best without giving as much as dismissive look at her competition, of course the Eye of Sauron was fixated on her and no one else.

(2) Käärijä. For better or for worse, this year will be remembered as the year Cha Cha Cha was robbed by the juries for the sake of Sweden. Käärijä was not without his own set of problems which directly led to his demise (which we'll tackle when we get to him because this post is about Loreen), but he WAS the year and it was his loss specifically that left a bad aftertaste in many mouths. It's always better when the underdog beats the overdog, and not the other way around.

Once the dust settled, everyone pledged fealty to the crazyparty Fin while "Tattoo" was quickly replaced as the basic gay anthem by "Padam Padam".

However, neither of those things are particularly Loreen's fault?

What I can ascertain is that Tattoo is not Euphoria, obviously. A lot of the love for Tattoo was spillover Euphoria nostalgia. That's fine, but I meant their thematic differences went understated - Euphoria was an ode to the eternity of love, while Tattoo specifically is about the love fracturing apart and Loreen's inabilty to move on - in other words "Euphoria" was a victory, while "Tattoo" always felt like more of a defeat. It's a subtle difference, but one that should always lead to Euphoria being ranked AHEAD of Tattoo, jesus christ ESC250 voters.

However, this is still Loreen, and a lesser Loreen is still lowkey epic. Eventhough "Tattoo" is probably the least good Loreen song, (technically because it's a Cazzi Opeia song with a Loreen sound - "You're stuck on me like a tatoo-oo-oo that is a Cazzi hook if ever there was), it is still a good song. Loreen proved although she's now at an age where her memory is starting to fail her, forgetting essentials such as clipping her fingernails and paying her taxes, she still has the attitude and flat stomach of a cougar ready to pounce. All credits for Tattoo's successes belong to her, SJB and no one else.

And, not unimportantly in a audio-visual medium such as Eurovision, Tattoo also looked really good on the stage. It had A Vision, which is what every winner needs nowadays. Again, the staging is great but also... not that grat lol - it's not the best staging ever. It's not better than Euphoria's or even Vesna's that we'll talk about later. Nevertheless, the song was beautifully framed under the confined space of that impromptu photocopier and Loreen's choreography. The staging was dynamic, artistic and gave the impression real stakes were involved. It Understood The Assignment. It made the song *pop*.

I specifically really LOVE the wide shot during the bridge that really anchors the devastation and desolation she sings about.

It's one of those money shots linger in your mind after the song has ended.

So overall, yeah, Loreen is not my winner or even a top fiver for me, but oh well, whatever? She was a dull winner compared to Käärijä but not an undeserving one. She's still a solid eight-and-a-half out of ten. She alone provided the triple threat of Good composition, Stunning Act and Killer Execution, so ofc juries flocked to her if they're instructed to assess the overal package. If you still think they robbed Käärijä (they did not.) remember that Loreen was solidly second in nearly every televote behind him. If he were destined to always lose Eurovision 2023 like I now believe he was, it's definitely only Loreen who should have taken the W here.

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

05. AUSTRALIA Voyager - "Promise" 9th place

Decade Ranking: 17/116 [Above Adrenalina, below Manizha]

Sometimes the reason is "I like music." Many were surprised Voyager came top 10, but not I. To repeat a common question one final time:

HAVE YOU HEARD THE SONG?!?

Well-executed ProgMetal, at Eurovision! By a charismatic lead! Of course it was going to get a good chunk of jury votes from a group of people that know more music beyond what gets radio airplay. As Danny sings, if you haven't done anything like this before, you haven't been alive, sillies!

Going into the contest though, I wasn't fully sure Australia would grab the top 10 I envisioned for them. Like sure, I saw the vision. But my predictions come from Antwerp, not Delphi and the visions I see don't always come to pass. Voyager were hit the hardest by the fandom's latent misandry for daring to be men (+ Simone). Then again, if the fandom got their way, "Padam Padam" would win every year (lol can you imagine what a nightmare that meta would be? especially because "Padam Padam" isn't even that good to begin with) and not songs that are effectively Synthwave with Metal instrumentation. This is a combo that leads to immersive moodpieces, and not the high energy spikes you might expect from metal.

But what this blog if not for its appreciation for moodpieces and what was "Promise" if not A Mood immortalized by Voyager into An Experience. Danny playing the keytar on the bonnet of his delorean, or nearly choking on a chicken sandwich while getting 12 Portuguese points, THOSE are MY little joys in life.

Everything on stage suits a wholesome song about ~promising your loved ones you're in this life's adventure together, ride or die~, which as a message hits home even harder since Danny's cancer diagonosis (not like this affected their placement here - Australia were coming 5th on this ranking since the beginning).

And let's be honest, "Promise" is a just really good song that doesn't need frills or embellishments, but it got those anyway with everyone's fun adlibs.

It's like S10 or MARO, not the flashiest entry nor the most iconic staging, but never the less, the personality came through well enough to merit revisitations when I have a craving for it. Besides, we need a diverse array of genres at Eurovision, to ensure the bar remains high and we don't get a year full of Liars and Firefighters. "Promise" defo fit that bill well. It was good to have A Real Song into the mix, and one that was very deservedly was rewarded with a top ten placement.

If you think that a bad result, then that's fine. I agree with you, but mostly because I think Australia should have come top five and were robbed by the televote. 🙂

THE RANKING

[xmultifandomsx]

Harry, you have your mother's eyes and father's smile (try not to hate it)

I think a part of Harry, deep down, hated his appearance. That part of him despised every reference to James and Lily Potter. Harry would have traded every heroic deed, any amount of gold, for his parents to have lived. But they hadn't and he is reminded of that every time he meets someone. He can never be just Harry, he must be James and Lily's boy. I think that Harry would have sat for hours looking into a mirror wondering what parts of him belonged to who. Green eyes would glare back at him, eyes that everyone told him belonged to someone else, and a twisted smile whose lips had once told jokes in a past life. He knew his face was a near photocopy of his dad's. It was only ever the first thing anyone said to him. I think every time Sirius called him James that part of him grimaced. Every time Aunt Petunia had been cruel to him that part taunted her to meet his eyes. I think that part of Harry kicked and screamed at the fact that the only feature he could claim as his own was given to him by a homicidal maniac. A lightning bolt scar was the only thing that made him Harry Potter and not James with Lily's eyes. I think a small part of Harry was so relieved when he turned thirty-three and no one had told him how much he looked like anyone in years.

The larger part of him ached with the knowledge that his face, his features, were the only living memory of his parents left.