#thanksgiving party supplies

[golauralacinablog]

Fall Gourd Decorating: Tips for Festive Centerpieces and Outdoor Display

Decorating with Autumn and Fall Gourds: A Seasonal Guide As the crisp air and golden hues of fall arrive, it’s time to embrace the season’s natural beauty in your home decor. One of the simplest and most versatile ways to capture the essence of autumn is by decorating with gourds. With their rich colors, unique shapes, and rustic charm, gourds are a perfect addition to any fall-inspired space.…

[muwapsturniolo]

✯Matt dating a black girl✯

-he doesn’t know how he pulled you fr but he’s very happy he did

-if you’re rowdy (like me fr) he gets stressed.

-I’m talking deep sighs and rubbing over his face in frustration

-“bitches can’t say excuse me?”

-“y/n please don’t start.”

-“you saying that makes me want to start”

-when he gets in his lil moods (tough guy) yall bud heads

-“Matt who are you talking to cause I know damn well it’s not me!”

-hears your tone and apologizes (it’s the same tone our mommas use when we talk back💀)

-for my soft black girlies, you always have him giggling like a lil girl

-“you so handsome, I just wanna smother you in kisses!”

-if he catches an attitude with you and you gets upset, he’s on his knees saying sorry.

-if you got ass, he can’t handle the twerking😭 his head actually moves in circles and his eyes are WIDE!!!

-sexxy redd comes on at a party and you start dancing, this man starts blushing and everyone tells him he can’t handle you (he can)

-he loves when you sit on his lap. Chairs are available? He does not give af, SIT ON HIS LAP!!!

-if you got titties, his eyes won’t stay off of em. You could be wearing a regular tshirt and he gonna be like 👀

-“Matt stop looking at my boobs I’m literally in my wash day tshirt”

-“don’t care, I’m not arguing with a girl who has big boobs!”

-speaking of wash day

-this man loves watching the process

-keeps asking questions like a lil kid

-“what’s this for? Why do you need to many creams and oils? Does that hurt? WHY IS SO MUCH HAIR COMING OUT!?”

-“stop talking to me because my hair isn’t acting right and I’m two seconds away from crying and hitting myself with this brush.”

-wants to help but chooses not too, afraid he will put the wrong creme in the wrong order

-he loves going to the beauty supply because the aunties fawn over him.

-“hey Matt baby! Our girl treating you right?”

-“hi auntie Yolanda. She is, but she got mad because I didn’t get her candy she wanted.”

-“y/n if you don’t leave this boy alone!”

-“I didn’t even do anything!”

-buys all your stuff with no problem!

-“you always smell like pancakes and syrup.”

-goes feral over your shea butter, coco butter, vanilla, brown sugar scent.

-I’m talking he wants to be all over you and possibly have sex anywhere.

-“Matt we are in the car going to my parents house!”

-“Please? I’ll be quick.”

-he doesn’t not understand time! If you don’t know what I mean, let me explain.

-“shouldn’t we be leaving now? It starts at 5.”

-“no. 5 means you will be helping set up. We need to be there at 6:15.”

-blinks at you in confusion but nods anyway.

-if you not that close to your fam he gets confused as to why

-“don’t you think you should talk to them? That argument happened two years ago?”

-“and I’ll still swing at thanksgiving dinner!”

-loves eating at your parents house but thinks everything is supper spicy.

-“Matt it’s literally just seasoning salt?¿”

-“are you sure?”

-lowkey gets mouthy with your family on accident but he apologizes when your mom gives him, the look (yall know what im talking about)

-At the cook out he’s gets roped in to grilling.

-mf suddenly has a towel over his shoulder and joking with your uncles.

-he does sum that makes you and your fam look at him oddly.

-“Gon head and sit at the kids table baby.”

That’s all I can think of💀 hope yall enjoy

TAG LIST 🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @iloveurgf @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @that-general-simp

[nico-di-genova]

Make Me Like Anything

Summary: Alex doesn't like Halloween, Pato is determined to change his mind. AKA: playboy bunny Palex

Dedicated to @raapija, because without Mari giving me a deadline this might never have seen the light of day.

Warnings: NSFW, this was meant to be PWP, it just spiraled away from me.

AO3 Link

Halloween, to Alex, has always seemed like a largely nonsensical holiday. Maybe because he’d never been allowed to celebrate it much in the first place – not to the extent that he found most people did, once he was old enough to move away from home and gain a new perspective. “Dressing up” as a kid had been largely limited to what he could make on his own out of discarded scraps of cardboard and tinfoil. He’d been a battery one year, a traffic light the next, and both times he had come home with a meager supply of candy and been made to count it out so he could learn to ration it appropriately.

Alex is old enough now to buy his own candy, keeps his house stocked with sugary snacks  ferreted away in the cabinets for when a sweet tooth inevitably hits. He doesn’t need to don a cheaply made costume and hunt the streets for it, wouldn’t be allowed to at his grown age anyway. And most of the adult activities associated with the holiday aren’t activities he much likes engaging in. Parties, loud and dark and filled with people whose faces are hidden behind macabre masks, are not really his scene. Alex isn’t big on horror, wasn’t allowed to watch the genre for most of his life, and he hardly likes being crammed into a room full of people when their faces aren’t dripping fake blood.

The problem is, like with a lot of things in their relationship, Pato holds an exact opposite opinion.

“What do you mean you don’t like Halloween?” the man had asked, when summer was beginning to tip into fall. The leaves on the trees had just begun to curl in on themselves from the slight chill that had crept its way into Indiana.

Alex, wearing a hoodie, hands stuffed in the pocket, had walked beside Pato as they made their way through his neighborhood. Pato had taken the dogs’ leashes, Brunner and Norbi pulling eagerly, because Pato never gave them the command to stop. He was stumbling along behind them in a rush to keep up. Alex, long legs and long stride, did not face this same problem.

“I just don’t like it,” he had shrugged.

The house that had prompted the conversation, already decked out with ghosts and fake skeletons littering the yard, was left behind them. Alex’s house didn’t have any decorations yet, because it was only the end of August, and he wasn’t insane. He’d put them out closer to October, and even then they’d be sparse.

“But it’s Halloween,” Pato pressed.

“And?”  

“What do you mean ‘and’? It should be exactly your thing, Rossi.”

“What? Because of my cheery personality and lovely disposition?”

He’d been told this before, by friends and family alike, that because the dark holiday matched his mood it should be one he loved. They were always shocked to learn Thanksgiving was the holiday he preferred, namely for the labor of it. The cooking, the preparation, the order to how it all proceeded, he preferred that to the chaos of a night founded on sheer unpredictability and secrets happening in the dark. Trick or treat, and Alex was never in control of which he was going to get. At least with Thanksgiving he knew there would always be three things: turkey, football, and a fight between family members who hadn’t seen each other in a year to keep things interesting. Dependability, predictability, that’s what Alex preferred, and Halloween had little.

It made sense for Pato though, who lived for chaos in all its forms. Last minute flights booked hastily as an afterthought, cars bought because he desired the rush of a new toy, money spent on a whim, while Alex watched him swipe his card with an increasing sense of dread. He couldn’t act on impulse the way Pato did, wasn’t made for it, unless he was solidly sat behind the wheel of a racecar – then it was all impulse, drilled into him from a young age, his senses hammered into reliability.

Even this, Pato here in a brief break between races, had been planned last minute. One second Pato was complaining on Facetime about how much he missed Alex, the next he was boarding a flight to Indiana. Alex wasn’t sure if Pato’s family liked him very much, was less sure after he indirectly cut into their vacation time with him.

Pato bumps into him, a not so subtle jab for his attention.

“I bet I could make you like Halloween,” he says, smirking, nearly tripping over Norbi when the dog pauses in his straight-line pace to double back and jump at Alex, twisting the leash across Pato’s legs in the process.

He leans down to pet the corgi, and then Brunner because the doodle doesn’t like to share his toys, let alone Alex – the impacts of being an only child.

“I doubt it,” he says, scratching behind Brunner’s ears, and then Norbi’s, stuck in a cycle because the dogs seem to be fighting for his affection.

Pato scoffs, “I’m very good at making people like things.”

“Making people like you, you mean.” Sponsors, fans, Alex – Pato draws them all in with an effortless magnetism. Not his dog though, Norbi is hardly paying him a bit of mind.  

The mock affront that Pato puts on is cute, all open mouth and raised eyebrows, the scoff he lets out is comical, “No. I mean, yes. But I’m a good salesman! I sell things all the time!”

“Yeah, your Electrolit sales are through the roof.”

“Exactly-!”

“The Mission tortillas are flying off the shelves. Because you pitch them so well, of course.”

“Rossi!” Pato’s voice goes all high-pitched when he’s indignant, Alex likes getting him to this point, because he gets defensive in a way he rarely is. He smiles to himself, hides it when he ducks his head to pet Brunner, kneeling on the concrete to better reach the dog. His shirt is going to be covered in dog hair, the corgi’s more than Brunner’s, because Norbi keeps jumping up on him in an endlessly energetic ball of fluff.

“Whatever,” Pato pouts, “I mean it though. Halloween with me will be fun.”

Alex likes that Pato is already anticipating being with him for the pseudo-holiday, likes that he doesn’t ask, but instead has inserted himself into Alex’s life with all the ease of a wrecking ball. The presumption of it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually would, because Pato has a way of smoothing over the more brunt elements of his personality with a syrupy sweet grin and a laugh that makes it so that Alex forgets why he was rankled in the first place.

“Sure. Give it a go, O’Ward,” he challenges, already sure that this is an area where Pato will fail. Alex does not like Halloween, he never will. He doubts Pato O’Ward will change that.

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

 They are late.

Alex watches the time tick by on his watch, sponsor provided, and always just on the side of too expensive for his taste. James’ house is only ten minutes down the road, max, but Alex hates being late. Even if everyone will be too drunk to notice them arriving past the stated invite time, and even though James has assured him it’s fine, he cannot help but to feel his agitation grow. Schedules are important to Alex, he lives his life by him, and late to James’ party means out later than he intended, means up late for his workout tomorrow. Like a domino effect, he can see his perfectly coordinated calendar falling with each second that passes.

 All for a Halloween event he hardly wanted to attend. His one concession had been that he wouldn’t wear a costume, no more than the velvet black bunny ears Pato had slid on his head before he darted his way up the stairs. Alex had pulled them off immediately, had them resting in his lap where he was picking at the fabric with anxious fingers, his other hand tangled in the coarse fur of Brunner, who was snoring on the couch beside him.

The news was playing on mute on the tv, weatherman rambling about the projected first bit of snowfall heading their way. Alex watched him gesture at the projected clouds on the screen behind him, focusing on the way the guy pointed with energetic poise, trying to distract himself from the increasing tapping of his foot on the carpeted floor.        

Eventually, the anxiety won out.

“Pato!” he calls, leaning back on the couch to shout up the stairs. Pato had locked himself in the master bathroom, kicked Alex out in the process, told him he would be ready in a few minutes. That had been a little over an hour ago. “What are you doing, sewing the damn costume?!”

Pato’s reply is distant, muffled by the space and the closed doors between them.

“One second!” “You’re out of seconds!”

“Almost done!”

“We’re late!”

The argument was a well-trodden one by this point. Alex could almost play it on a loop in his head. Their perception of time differed, in that Pato had none, not outside of a car anyway. To him, late to a party was on time, to Alex it was enough to have tension building in his gut. He kept waiting for a text from James, despite knowing it wouldn’t come, because the start time was a suggestion, but Alex had wanted to adhere to it anyway.

His grip on the bunny ears was tight enough that he could feel the plastic of the headband creaking in his grip, threatening to snap. For a moment he considered it, figured it might just get him out of the night altogether. It was the shuffle of noise upstairs that eased some of the building frustration within him, the opening of the bedroom door and Pato’s footsteps on the stairs that helped him release the breath he’d been holding.

His footsteps are distinct, accompanied by the eager tapping of Norbi’s nails on the wood. They both needed a trim, he and Brunner both, Alex should add the groomers to his list of Sunday chores.

“Dude-“ he starts, complaint about the tardiness stuck in his throat when he twists around on the couch and sees Pato standing at the foot of the stairs. Any words he may have been forming leave, get lost somewhere between his mouth and the line of sight his eyes have taken.

“Yes?” Pato asks, voice lilting in the teasing way that Alex is used to hearing in the bedroom – rarely in the open space of his foyer where Pato is leaning casually against the banister of the staircase.

Alex stares him, at the substantial amount of exposed skin that his presence has brought. Broad shoulders, the wide expanse of his chest, all just barely covered by the black strapless bodysuit he wears. Alex’s ‘costume’ a t-shirt and jeans accessorized by the bunny ears Pato is making him wear, suddenly feels comically pathetic – more so than it already was.

“Are you-,” he starts to ask before the words catch in his throat all over again. Because yes, Pato is wearing makeup. Alex doesn’t even need to ask the question, he can see the eyeliner applied around Pato’s eyes, smokey and a little messy. It’s not much, confined to his eyes and the gloss that’s shining wetly on his lips, but it’s enough to make Alex choke a little on the breath stuck in his throat.

“What the fuck?” He manages to get out.

Pato grins, Cheshire wide, “You like it?”

Alex is not usually lost for words, not of his own volition. Normally, his lack of speech comes from choice, never from the ability being shocked out of him.

“It’s good, right?”

As if to tease him further, Pato bounces up on his tiptoes, turns to the side so Alex can just barely catch the sight of the white puff ball that’s meant to be a tail affixed to the bodysuit just above his ass. His thighs are as much on display as his chest, just as firm and solid as the rest of his body. Alex knows the feel of them beneath his hands, is used to grabbing Pato and sliding him down the bed, used to lifting one of them up to rest on his shoulder. He is not used to having to look at so much of Pato when they are not in equal amounts of undress.

“You’re-,” again the words refuse to come, again he swallows.

Halloween costumes are not meant to be this, Alex doesn’t know much about the holiday, but he does know this. Masked killers and comedic plays-on-words, that’s what guys are meant to dress as. James in a hot dog costume comes to mind. Pato is not in a hot dog costume, he’s barely in a costume. He’s barely in clothes. He’s in a one piece bathing suit with a fucking bunny tail.

“You okay, Rossi?” Pato asks, with all the air of someone who knows Alex is very distinctly not okay. He comes up to the back of the couch, leans over it so he’s inches away from where Alex is twisted around to face him. A strand of his hair falls free from where he’s pushed it back, curls over his forehead. Alex wants to pull it, wants to wrap an arm around the back of Pato’s neck and pull the man down onto the couch. Hinchcliffe party be damned.

“Earth to Alex,” he sing-songs.

“Fuck,” Alex breathes. This close he can see how messy Pato’s makeup really is, applied with an amateur’s hand, but somehow hotter for it. Alex used to hide a playboy magazine under his bed, stolen from his friend’s house and tucked between the box spring and mattress. He knows the look Pato was going for and finds that it’s exceedingly better in person – more than it had ever been on those sticky pages.

Pato’s smile widens, “Maybe later. C’mon Rossi, we’re gonna be late. Remember?”

The fucking tease.

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

The ride to James’ house is exceedingly tense. Alex grips the steering wheel so tight he’s half afraid the leather will be molded with the shape of his fingers when he finally removes them. His eyes don’t leave the road, so locked in that it’s like he’s doing 220 on an oval. The suburban roads of Carmel don’t require this level of attention, not with their 15 mph average speed limit, but Alex is afraid that if he looks away for even a moment that he will end up in someone’s mailbox.

Pato’s spread thighs in his passengers seat are an open invitation, one that Alex would normally accept. He’s used to keeping one hand on the wheel, the other on Pato’s leg, but never when Pato’s exposed this much. The feel of Pato’s warm skin against his palm, no clothing to act as a barrier between them, it would send him into a tailspin.

It would have him parking the Silverado in someone’s driveway and fucking Pato in the truck bed, Hinchcliffe Halloween party be damned.

“I’m going to kill you,” Alex grits out through clenched teeth when Pato shifts, props one foot up on the seat and exposes the muscle of his inner thigh. He’s taken off his shoes, black Nike’s that clash with his whole ensemble, because as much as he’s trying to push Alex he knows better than to dirty up the freshly detailed interior of his truck.

Pato, playing at innocence, looks up from where he’d been scrolling through his phone. The dim light of the screen illuminates his face in the dark of the cab, casts shadows across the makeup, catches on the shine of his lip gloss.

“What?” He asks, while Alex casts him a sideways glance and clenches his jaw tighter.

“You know what,” he growls, grip on the wheel going white knuckled.

“Is it turning you on this much?” Pato asks, sounding genuinely surprised, genuinely thrilled at the realization that his costume is doing more damage than he had originally thought it would.

Alex slams to a stop at a stop sign so hard that they both lurch forward with the force. He takes a second to breathe, tries to clear his head of Pato on his knees, looking at him, eyelids smeared black with eyeliner. It takes him a significant bit of time.

“Baby-“ Pato starts.

“Don’t.” Alex warns, the pet name going straight to his cock that’s already half-hard in his jeans and aching with the pressure.

He counts to ten, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, like he’s employing the tactics used to deflect an anxiety attack. He can feel Pato’s smug satisfaction, it’s rolling off of him in waves, seen in the smirk he catches when he glances back at Pato one last time before gunning it down the last stretch of street to James’ place. It’s late enough that all the trick-or-treaters have wrapped up for the night, confined by bedtimes and age, so he doesn’t have to worry about hitting anyone.

“Don’t forget your ears,” Pato commands when they park, climbing down out of the truck and casting Alex one last look over his shoulder before he’s bounding up to James’ front door. The white of his bunny tail stands out starkly against the black of the bodysuit, calls attention to his ass in a way that has Alex biting back a groan.

He’s not going to survive the night. Becky is going to find him fucking Pato in a closet, hand held over the man’s mouth to muffle any noise. If this is Pato playing with Alex’s self-control, Alex is sure he’s about to find the limits of it.

He forces himself to let go of the steering wheel, flexes his hands a few times to ease out the lingering tension. His shirt is sticking uncomfortably to the undersides of his arms with sweat, clothes feeling too tight already.

God help him.

-----------

“Your boyfriend looks good, man!” Conor yells to be heard over the speaker they’re stood beside.

James has hired a DJ, had the guy bring in professional equipment for his house party that spills from the living room out onto the back lawn. The Hinchcliffe Home for Wayward Drivers is commonly full, but never to levels that Alex can feel the heat of everyone crammed together. He’s steered clear of the crush of bodies on the makeshift dance floor that occupies where James’ couch once was, content to nurse his beer on the outskirts where pockets of AC can still be found. Pato does not share his need to stay cool, perfectly content to find himself in the middle of the dance floor, where he was practically grinding on Becky Hinchcliffe, dressed in a matching playboy bunny get up. Alex hadn’t been aware he was agreeing to a double couples themed costume when Pato had slid the bunny ears on his head, not until he’d seen James wearing a duplicate pair.

“What the hell, man?” He’d asked, feeling betrayed at not being told, still accepting the Bud Light the man offered him, before being ushered into the house.

He lost the bunny ears around the same time he lost James, now stood in his t-shirt and jeans with his arms crossed over his chest and tried not to make his staring obvious. He was failing.

Conor told him as much when he said, “You gonna get in there?” He nudged Alex with an elbow.

Alex shoved him back with a press of his arm against Conor’s side, sending him stumbling away. He didn’t justify Conor with an answer, too busy staring at the way Pato’s ass was half hanging out of his costume, the way the top had slipped down his chest with movement and sweat. Fucking indecent.

“It’s a good look for him,” Conor presses. It’s what he’s good at, especially when he’s drunk and the last smidge of a filter he possesses on a good day falls away. Alex can normally tune him out, finds it hard where Pato is concerned. He’s a lot like Brunner, he’s not good with sharing. Watching Pato grind on his best friend’s wife is sending waves of jealously through him. He has nowhere to direct it, other than at Conor in his zombie make-up, with his mixed drink spilling tendrils of smoke down his arm from the dried ice in the concoction. James had hired a bartender too, because he was anything but unprepared when it came to a party and a good time. 

“Surprised he didn’t dress you up like Hefner.”

“Shut up, man,” He snipes, rolling his eyes and grinding his teeth in a way he knows is going to make his jaw ache. Becky’s got a hand on Pato’s hip, Pato’s got an arm around her neck, he’s leaned close enough to her that there’s no space for anything to get between them. Their twin bunny ears are getting tangled together.

“Touchy,” Conor says, holding his hands up in surrender, drink sloshing in the clear party cup and spilling in a sticky tendril down his arm. “You know, if you want him that bad, you could probably just go dance with him.”

The heat of all those bodies alone is enough to keep him far-removed from the dance floor, the fact that he’d have to be nearly in the center of it to reach Pato is another. He likes his corner by the speaker, half stood in the fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. At least from here he can keep an eye on the front door and Pato, monitor the exit and his increasingly inebriated boyfriend.

But he can’t explain his anxiety about large gatherings to Conor so instead he settles for, “Fuck off.”

Conor does not. He’s never been a very good listener.

“I’m just saying, if you want to get grinded on by your boyfriend it’s not going to happen over here.”

Alex thinks about shoving him again, settles for glaring at him with all the aggravation he can muster. His grip on the bunny ears clenched in his fist goes tighter. They were giving him a headache, or maybe the music was, or the way he couldn’t seem to clear the tension from his jaw. Pato’s plan to make him love Halloween had started off strong but was falling apart with each bad remix the DJ attempted. He’d already heard Michael Jackson’s Thriller two times in the twenty minutes he’d been standing here. Pato had danced to it both times, not the actual dance, he and Becky were too drunk for any sort of coordinated choreography.

Alex is on his second beer, hardly feels the buzz of it. James had offered the guest bedroom for them to crash in, but Alex was craving the comfort of his own bed, keeping himself sober so he didn’t have to fuck Pato in the room right down the hall from James and Becky. He’d already spent half a year muffling moans into the pillow when he lived with them, sleeping in that exact bed, jerking off and feeling guilty every time he came. It was one of the motivators to finding his own place, the shame of having to wash his sheets while Becky watched him load the washer from the kitchen becoming too much.

He takes another swig from his drink, watches Pato tilt his head back to laugh, how it exposes the long column of his neck in the strobing lights James has hung from the ceiling – or that the DJ’s hung, fuck it if Alex knows. Purple and green lighting catching on the sweat coating Pato’s skin, the slick expanse of his chest. Alex’s mouth goes dry, his dick twitches uncomfortably in his jeans.

“Jesus, he’s really got you whipped, huh?” Conor says.  

Alex tunes him out, doesn’t care how intensely he’s staring or that he’s been caught at it. Pato, in the brief glimpses of him that Alex catches through the throng of people surrounding him, looks sinfully good. He looks like all the parts of Halloween that his parents warned him about, something sent to tempt him away from the light. Alex finds himself wanting to be lead, doesn’t care where it lands him.

He suddenly understands why his childhood experiences of Halloween had been largely confined to the one block of houses he was allowed to trick-or-treat at. He understands the strict curfew he was given, his dad trailing him as he walked to each doorway and held out his plastic shopping bag to be filled with candy. Of course they wanted him indoors and in bed before the night took a turn, and by the time he was old enough to sneak out of the house, he never once considered it. By then he was being homeschooled, little in the way of friends, or invites to parties. If this was what he was missing, Alex understands why his parents had fought so hard to hide it from him.

Pato turns, one hand held above his head as he waves it along to the music, the other trailing a line down his body, from his chest to his stomach, pausing when he catches sight of Alex staring at him. He smiles, wide, teasing. The bunny ears have gone lopsided on his head, tilting toward the left and making him look messier than he already did. Alex is thinking about later tonight, picturing how he’s going to lay Pato out beneath him and strip him slowly, if he manages to hold onto his willpower for that long.

He thinks he’s going to tell him to keep the ears on, likes the image of them sliding from Pato’s head with the force Alex is going to fuck him later.

-----------

It’s nearing one by the time Pato tires himself out dancing.

Alex is sat in the backyard, lounging on the couch that has been moved from the living room to the covered patio. He’s discussing the merits of pool ownership with James, the upkeep and the cost of it all, when Pato makes an appearance. He gets the brush of a hand along his shoulder as a warning before Pato is coming around to the front of the couch and depositing himself in Alex’s lap. He’s heavier than he looks, more muscle than anything else. Alex grunts under the weight of him.

“Jesus, Pato,” he grumbles, just barely managing to pass his beer to James, who takes it without question, finishes it off as he eyes Alex over the top of the can. James hasn’t removed his bunny ears yet, wears them like he’s trying to guilt Alex into putting his back on – of the four of them, Alex is the only one who’s ditched the ensemble. He’s been asked five times already what his costume was meant to be, James replying for him, ‘Buzzkill,’ while Alex not so subtlety flicked him off.

Pato’s lips ghost along his neck where he nuzzles up against him, breath warm and smelling distinctly of alcohol. He’s sweat most of it out though. His speech is clear when he whines, “Want you to fuck me,” quiet enough that only Alex hears it.

Alex coughs, shifts in his seat, regrets it when the movement shifts Pato’s weight In his lap. Pato’s arms are slung around his neck, fingers inching their way beneath the collar of his shirt. The feel of his nails barely there, just a light brush against his chilled skin, faint scratches along the top notch of his spine. Pato runs hot, and while Alex normally prefers the chill, would be perfectly content in his jacket in the October air, the heat roiling off of him in waves is welcome.

The look James keeps shooting him is less so.

“Pato-,” he starts, tries to shift again. His hands go for Pato’s hips, plans to hoist the man off of him going out the window when Pato grinds down on him. “Pato-“

Pato’s lips against the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping at the cartilage, are unexpected. Alex chokes on his words.

“Please, Rossi.”

“Fuck,” Alex grunts out, knows James hears him, because the man’s eyebrow arches obviously. He grins, slyly, like he’s getting anything on Alex here. Alex would be mortified, if it were anyone but James witnessing this. They’ve seen each other naked, shared a bed on nights that James didn’t have his own bus at a track, nights when the couch wasn’t cutting it. He’s woken up with his morning wood pressed against the curve of James’ ass. Neither one of them spoke of it, but he’s witnessed Alex in far more humiliating situations than this. Doesn’t mean he wants James to watch as Pato teases him in his backyard in a playboy bunny costume. Some things he doesn’t want to share with the man, Pato being one of them.

“Babe-“ he tries again, muffling a moan with his teeth digging into his bottom lip when Pato grinds on him again. His jeans are too tight, Pato’s weight on top of him too much. And there’s so much skin, Pato’s whole chest basically exposed by the costume that’s slid further down, his thighs that he’s got bracketed on either side of Alex. Alex’s hands stay on his hips because the feel of the costume’s fabric is the only thing keeping him sane.

Pato leans back, gives him enough space to breathe in air that isn’t heavy with the heat of him. His eyes go to the top of Alex’s head.

“Your ears,” he states, frowning slightly. His lips have been wiped clear of the gloss, lips only wet with his own spit when he licks across them.

The costume ears are the least of his concerns. He’s so hard in his jeans it aches, he can feel James staring at him, see other people around the party beginning to notice Pato’s half-dressed state and how he’s deposited himself in Alex’s lap. The attention only grows when Pato slides the ears off of his own head, and then hooks them over the back of Alex’s ears. Alex can feel that they’re lopsided, feel himself growing red when Pato adjusts them with fumbling hands. He maintains eye contact the whole time, lips slightly parted, tongue poking out between his teeth. They’re both flushed, Alex from the contact, Pato from the dancefloor. The red of Pato’s cheeks bleeds down his neck, to his chest, Alex follows the spreading expanse of it. When he looks back up Pato is still staring at him, eyes gone dark in the dim lighting from string lights James has strung along the roof of the patio.

“They look good on you,” Pato says, genuine, not teasing in the way most people have tonight.

Alex can’t help but grumble, “They look stupid.”

“It’s Halloween, baby. Everyone looks stupid.”

‘Not you,’ Alex thinks, doesn’t voice it, because he doesn’t want to stroke Pato’s ego right now – not when he’s got a lapful of him and Pato’s already proven he doesn’t mind the attention tonight. Besides, he’s too busy studying a curl of Pato’s hair where it’s fallen across his forehead and stuck with sweat. Too busy resisting the urge to reach his hand up and brush it away, trail his thumb along the messy eyeliner that’s gone from the corner of Pato’s eye to his temple, smear it further.

“Elba helped me do it,” Pato says, like he can tell that’s what Alex’s attention is most caught on. “That’s why I took so long. The facetime call kept going out. My stupid hands were too shaky.”

Alex finds that hard to believe. Pato is known for a lot of things, unsteady fingers is not one of them – so sure on the wheel when he executes a perfect save.

“It looks dumb-“

“No it doesn’t,” Alex interjects, quick. It’s messy and chaotic, and it’s not perfect, but that’s exactly why Alex likes it. He would never have had to confidence to wear the outfit Pato was, to sport the makeup he did, to dance the way he had. He’s too pent up, too aware of his own body and his own thoughts and never able to get out of his own head. He envies Pato’s ability to act on impulse sometimes. Putting on makeup for the first time just because he’s trying to impress Alex, because he wants to try something new for the simple pleasure of it. Alex could never have been half as bold as he was tonight. He won’t let Pato begin to doubt himself now.

“It’s hot, I promise. So hot, baby.”

His hand on Pato’s hip tightens, a brief squeeze, before he’s bringing it up to rest on the back of Pato’s neck and pulling the man down to kiss him. Despite the lip gloss being gone, Alex can still taste faint traces of it, sticky sweet and mixing with the lingering remnants of tequila when he licks into Pato’s mouth.

Pato moans against him, hands resting against Alex’s chest and fisting around the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s damp with sweat, with the beer Alex had spilled on it when he’d been speaking emphatically about the proper chemical balance of a pool to James earlier – James who had made himself scarce. Alex could feel the difference in weight in the couch beside him, knew his friend wasn’t there anymore. He’d apologize to him tomorrow, for practically dry humping Pato on his couch during what was meant to be a mature Halloween party. Tonight, he didn’t care about niceties.

“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, when they manage to break apart for breath.

Pato nods where they’re foreheads are pressed together, looking at Alex through heavy lashes and with lips bitten red.

“Please,” he begs, like he’s been waiting for Alex to suggest the idea.

Alex is going to show him just how much the makeup, the costume, Pato’s easy confidence has been driving him crazy.

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

Alex gets him spread out on the bed easy enough, Pato’s danced himself into a state of borderline exhaustion. He doesn’t protest when Alex picks him up in the foyer, just wraps his legs around Alex’s waist, lets Alex press him against the wall of the entryway and kiss him senseless. Alex’s arms strain under the weight of him, he figures he’ll count it as part of his workout for the week. If his trainer asks why he’s so sore, he’ll say he was doing reps with the weights in his garage.

There’s a moment, before he lays Pato out on the bed, when he’s still carrying him up the stairs and to the bedroom, where he half thinks about how dirty their sheets are about to get. He adds laundry to his list of Sunday chores. And then he drops Pato onto the mattress.

Pato bounces, reaches for Alex, pulls him down with his fingers looped through his beltloops in the same movement he lays back on the sheets. Alex goes, easy and pliant and oh so eager. He’s been holding out all night, letting Pato tease him and toy with him, thinking about all the ways he was going to take him apart in retaliation. Pato’s got a glint in his eye, the barest hint of a smirk, that tells Alex that was his exact intent.

Pato’s been putting on a show with the sole purpose of entertaining Alex, gone to lengths to ensure Alex knew that. He says as much when he’s got his head propped up on the pillows, one hand raised to rest on the back of Alex’s neck, fingers ghosting featherlight along the stubble short hair at the base of his skull. It’s a sensitive spot for Alex, sends a shudder down his spine. Pato knows this too, it’s exactly why he’s doing it.

“Did you like my costume?” he teases.

Alex has one hand resting on the mattress, propping himself above Pato, the other tracing the exposed line of his collarbone up to the hollow of his throat, feeling Pato’s heartbeat skip a beat when he cups his palm around his neck. If this is a night of playing with one another, Alex won’t be left out. He knows Pato likes the warm weight of a hand around his throat, the threat of oxygen being lost without it ever being fulfilled.

He leans down, until his lips are just barely brushing along Pato’s jaw, up to his ear.

“I’m gonna rip the damn thing off of you,” he promises.

Pato’s breath hitches, Alex can feel the stutter of it against his hand.

He swallows the gasp Pato lets out when he leans down to kiss him. It’s not the gentle kiss they share on easy mornings, as soft and easy as the sun peeking through the blinds. It’s the crushingly violent kiss of two men who have been toying with something the whole night, walking the fine line between decency and fucking in the bathroom for the quick thrill of it.

Alex bites Pato’s bottom lip, nips at it enough that Pato keens and twist beneath him. And then licks at the chapped skin with a quick swipe of his tongue. He takes the last lingering bits of the lip gloss with him, tastes the makeup when it mixes with his and Pato’s spit.

The grip Pato’s kept on the back of his neck has gone desperate, fingernails just starting to scratch at the sensitive skin. Alex arches into the touch.

“I need-“ Pato pants, in the brief moments where they break apart. He’s been thrusting up against Alex with a desperation that’s rapidly approaching frantic.

He’s quickly silenced by Alex’s reply of, “I know.” Before he’s leaning back in, slipping his tongue into Pato’s mouth to keep him quiet. He uses one hand to pin Pato’s hips to the mattress, makes sure there’s no chance of him gaining the relief he’s so desperately seeking. It’s a bit like payback, revenge for the knifes edge that Pato’s kept him on all night.

“Rossi,” Pato begs, sounds so pretty as he’s doing it.

Alex bites at his lip again, and then commands, “Wait.”

Pato is obedient, doesn’t chase Alex when he pulls away. The bunny ears had fallen somewhere in their journey from downstairs to here, put back on Pato’s head when they left the party and slipped off from the force of Alex slamming him up against the wall. He finds them in the hall, counts it as a small blessing that Brunner and Norbi have stayed sleeping downstairs and hadn’t gotten to them yet.

Pato is still waiting for him when he gets back to the room, propped up on one elbow. The position accentuates the line of his body, draws attention to his exposed thighs. The top of the costume has given up on trying to stay up, has rolled down beneath his chest. Pato’s made no move to fix it. He’s looking at Alex with eyes shining in the lamplight, pupils dark and wanting.

Alex figures two can play at this game, makes a show of working his way back up the bed. His hand traces the line of Pato’s leg, mouth following behind it. When he reaches Pato’s thigh he bites at it, just to feel the way Pato jumps beneath him. The feel of the bodysuit is like liquid, cheap costume silk that slides against his fingers when he follows the seam up Pato’s side, kissing along his hip, just below the exposed skin of his pectoral, making his way back up to Pato’s shoulder.

Pato’s breath hitches with each ghost of warm breath along exposed skin, each touch that Alex gives him. By the time Alex gets to the line of his neck, licking along the sweat-sharp skin, Pato’s gone. Alex takes one look at him, slightly parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes, and knows he’s slipped into that space that Alex is always aiming to take him. The brown of his iris is a barely there ring, almost completely swallowed by dilated black.

“You’re gonna keep these on,” he tells the man, slides the bunny ears back onto his head with careful fingers. Pato leans into the contact, the feel of Alex’s fingers tangling with his hair, and then nods. “Don’t let them come off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good boy.”

Pato whines, Alex silences the sound with another kiss.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, “Gonna take care of you.”

Contrary to his promise, he doesn’t rip the costume off. It’s cheap, would give easy under his hands if he wanted to, but the force of it isn’t what Alex wants right now. Pato’s been so good to him, did all this for him, he plans to show him how appreciative he is of that. He’s careful when he slides it from Pato’s body, works it down over his hips, his thighs, and then tosses it off the side of the bed.

Pato, fully naked, spread out beneath him, flushes. All confidence and easy bravado until he’s got the full attention of Alex studying every inch of him, and then it falters. Alex knows he’s prone to bouts of self-consciousness where his body is concerned, lingering remnants of childhood insecurity making itself known when he’s got nothing to hide behind.

Alex strips off his shirt, throws it in the same general direction he did Pato’s bodysuit, unbuttons his jeans and kicks those off too, tries to level the playing field so Pato doesn’t start to feel so insecure. He also makes sure Pato knows how good he looks, praises him just to see the way the blush spreading across his cheeks deepens.

“You know how insane you’ve been making me?” he asks, leans down to nose along Pato’s jaw, suck at the warm skin of his neck, pressing a kiss to the mole that sits just above his collarbone.

Pato shudders beneath him, “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Alex corrects him, both of them knowing that getting him to this point had been the whole intention of the night.

“No, I’m not.”

Alex keeps working his way down, kisses at another mole dotting the right side of his chest. Pauses only to hold Pato down where he’s started rolling his hips up again, and to speak so that his breath ghosts warm over Pato’s skin.

“I wanted to fuck you on that dancefloor,” he admits, just to hear the way Pato’s breath catches in his throat. “Wanted to rip that damn costume off you and fuck you right there. Show everyone who you belong to.”

Pato’s hand comes up where it had been fisted in the fabric of the comforter, grabs desperately at the back of Alex’s head, like he’s trying to ground himself. Alex kisses just below his sternum, works his way down the line of Pato’s abs, looks up at the man as he does so. Pato’s looking down at him, chest rising and falling with each half-panted breath he draws in through lips Alex has bitten red.

“You could have,” he says, around a groan when Alex licks at his v-line, just barely avoiding his cock that’s hard and twitching against his stomach, “Fucked me, there. I would have let you.”

“I know, but then everyone would know what you sound like moaning my name,” Alex shrugs, looks at Pato as he takes the base of his cock in his hand, “Didn’t feel like sharing that.”

“Alex,” Pato keens when Alex wraps his lips around the head of his cock, licks at the precum beading there. His hand on the back of Alex’s head tenses, like he’s trying to grab for hair that’s not there, being met with rough stubble. Sometimes Alex regrets not trying to let his hair grow out, thinks he would like the pinpricks of pain he would feel if Pato was able to pull at it.

“You can’t- I’m gonna-,” Pato tries, thrusts up on instinct so his cock sinks further into Alex’s waiting mouth. “Please, I don’t want to-.”

Alex pulls off, gives Pato the reprieve he’d been searching for. So maybe they’d been toying with each other for too long, maybe Pato was more gone than he might have originally thought.

“Breathe, baby,” he soothes, sits back on his heels and gives Pato a second to collect his senses. He keeps one hand on his thigh, closer to his knee than to his dick.

“Don’t wanna come,” Pato cries, “not yet.”

“Okay, you’re okay.”

Pato’s young enough, could probably go again if Alex got him off now, but that would require giving him enough time to recover. It’s close to three in the morning, Alex has been exhausted, powering through on the sheer need to sink his cock inside Pato and feel him around him. But at some point the exhaustion is going to win out for both of them.

“Think you can take my fingers?” he asks, which is the wrong thing to say if the way Pato groans is any inclination, cock twitching against his stomach, hard and red and leaking and looking oh so pretty. Alex didn’t think a dick could look pretty, figures it probably wouldn’t if he wasn’t so horny, but Pato’s is – just like the rest of him.

“Yes,” Pato finally pants out, arm thrown over his eyes, jaw tense, “Yeah, just, quickly, please.”

The bunny ears are sliding down his head, resting more on the pillow than they are on him, but Alex still commits the sight to memory. The black of the silk against the white of the pillowcase, the red of Pato’s cheeks when he pulls his arm away and meets Alex’s gaze. Next year Alex thinks he should add the collar and arm cuffs to the ensemble, the black bowtie would look good resting against the hollow of his throat. His eyeliner is smeared further, nearly gone, just faint lingering remnants of kohl at the corners of his eyes.

He’ll need to make sure that gets cleaned away before they fall asleep, figures Pato won’t be thinking about it once Alex is done with him. At least that’s Alex’s goal.

Careful, he leans over Pato. The lube in the nightstand is nearly gone, another thing to add to his list for tomorrow, but there’s enough for tonight. Pato watches him as he grabs it, looks at the line of his arm, follows up until he’s looking at Alex again. Alex leans down long enough to give him a quick kiss, just to taste him, just because he can.

“Keep these on, remember,” he says, flicks at the bent ear of one of the bunny ears while Pato nods beneath him. He’s quick to adjust them, pull them back down on his head while Alex smiles approvingly.

With his other hand he’s been warming the lube, making sure it’s not cold when he coats a finger in it and slides into Pato.

“Ah,” Pato cries out, hand grabbing at Alex’s bicep where he’s propped above him. His grip is tight, just like the rest of him.

“Easy, Pato,” Alex soothes. He waits until Pato opens his clenched shut eyes, until he breathes and some of the tension leaves his body. Because as hard as he is in his boxers, he’s got no intention of rushing Pato into anything.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Okay.”

It’s been a minute since they’ve done this. Pato having only just flown in for Halloween, coming in late last night, so there hadn’t been much time for anything other than a messy hand job in the shower. Pato coming with his head thrown back against Alex’s chest, while Alex categorized the image away into his growing mental folder of expressions he liked on Pato. He’d already added a few more tonight.

Alex pulls his finger out, slides it back in, repeats the motion until Pato’s grip on his arm loosens.

“Second, add a second,” Pato urges, thrusts down like he’s trying to encourage Alex.

Alex complies, slides a second finger in beside his first, works his way up to a third. Eventually the tension in Pato’s expression fades. It’s replaced with the open-mouthed pleasure of someone who’s single thought is on getting off. He’s practically riding Alex’s fingers, moans spilling from him as he arches his back off the mattress. The ears slip back down his head, he doesn’t even seem to notice.

Alex lets him enjoy himself for a minute, content to watch the way he slips further and further into his own pleasure. He manages to slide his boxers off with his free hand, push them below his ass so they end up wrapped around his knees. His own cock his just as hard and leaking as Pato’s when it springs free and rests against his stomach. He’d been so caught up in Pato’s pleasure that he’d been ignoring his own, until the cool air touched his dick and he realized he needed this just as bad.

“Baby,” he chokes out, hand wrapping around the base of his cock, fighting the urge to stroke.

Pato’s eyes blink open slowly at the endearment, find Alex looking at him with pure want and need and barely held-back lust. He whines at the sight of Alex’s dick.

“Can I-?”         

“Yes.”

Alex slides his fingers free, lines his dick up with Pato’s hole. Distantly he remembers he was meant to be teasing the man, getting back at him for fucking with him the whole night, but the thought quickly leaves his mind when he slides inside Pato. Any logical thought of the night is quickly replaced by the feeling of Pato’s fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders, trying to drag him down and closer. The pinprick feel of his fingernails digging into Alex’s skin, it’s what he’s been searching for the whole night, grounding and all consuming.

He falls forward and Pato catches him.

“Fuck,” he pants out, once he’s fully inside Pato, enveloped by the warm, tight, heat of him. “Jesus. Fuck.”

“You can move,” Pato says, “Please, move.”

Alex has his forehead resting against Pato’s shoulder, can feel Pato’s arms snaked around him, fingers scratching lightly at his shoulder blades. He hopes Pato leaves marks, hopes they’re still there come morning, hopes when he slides his t-shirt on that he’ll feel the sting of them. The first time he did, he’d spent half the morning apologizing, until eventually Alex admitted to liking it. It made him feel owned, wanted, needed – he’d asked Pato to dig deeper next time. In return, Pato had told him the hickey he’d left on his neck was welcome. Alex made sure he always left them where the collar of his fireproofs would hide them.

Now, Pato presses his nails deeper into Alex’s back, goads him into thrusting forward, hips stuttering. They both moan.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he pants, slides back out until he’s just barely in Pato before thrusting back in.

Pato chokes on whatever reply he’d been crafting. His head falls back on the pillow, bunny ears shifting with the movement, long column of his neck being exposed. Alex takes the moment to suck at the skin at the base of his neck, where his shoulder blade meets his carotid, bites at it so Pato cries out.

His fingers scratch deeper at Alex’s shoulder blades in retaliation. Alex hisses, feels the pain go through him like molten heat. 

“Do that again,” he commands, setting a steady rhythm fucking into Pato while he obeys.

The strangled noise that escapes Pato when Alex nails his prostate is loud, enough that Alex finds himself muffling the rest of Pato’s cries with a kiss that swallows it down. Pato lets him slide his tongue into his mouth, commit the taste of him to memory. When he pulls away Pato’s lips are slick with spit, drool dripping down his cheek and trailing down onto the pillow. There are tears just barely beading at the corners of his eyes, when they spill they track a line through the lingering eyeliner.

Alex wipes them away with a trembling pad of his thumb, leans down to kiss another.

Pato nods against his unspoken question of ‘are you okay?’ Alex feels the motion against his lips, kisses Pato’s temple in response.

“Good boy,” he commends, just to hear the way Pato keens at the praise.

“Close,” Pato whimpers. Alex can tell, can feel it. He thrusts back into Pato and feels Pato clench around him in response, feels his fingers as they skitter desperately across his back.

It’s Alex’s permission that tips him over.

“Come, baby. I got you.” Alex wraps a hand around his cock, strokes him the way he knows he likes, swiping his thumb over the head and twisting on the downstroke.

Pato comes with a cry, a shudder running through him. Alex holds him through the whole thing, whispers praises in his ear as he spills across his stomach. He follows along right after, feeling Pato tighten around him, and the tightening of his stomach, just barely managing to pull out before he’s coming and adding to the mess on Pato’s abdomen.

Pato watches him through heavy lidded eyes, lips quirking into an obvious smile, sated and happy and continuing to be a tease when he swipes up the mess of their come with his finger and sucks it into his mouth. The noise that escapes Alex is indecent, a choked off moan that might have been an attempt at Pato’s name.

“Fuck, I love you,” Alex pants when he collapses down on the bed beside Pato, chest heaving, breath still returning to his body. He can already feel all the places he’s going to be sore tomorrow. Maybe he’ll cancel training.

If Pato hears him, he doesn’t respond, nothing more than the twitch of his lips. He’s already closed his eyes, drifted off into that space he goes into after they fuck, all blissed out and heady with it. Alex reaches up to brush a curl of his hair back from his forehead, sweat soaked, and damp to the touch.

“I love you,” he says again, because it’s easy to do so, surprisingly so. The confession is not one that’s ever come to him easy, wasn’t something he ever thought would. But Pato’s still got the bunny ears just barely clinging to his head, lopsided and resting fully on the pillow, but still where Alex placed them.

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

“Do you like Halloween now?” Pato asks the next morning, well – afternoon.

Alex had slept through his alarms, woken to Pato propped up in the bed next to him. His arm was in Pato’s lap, the man tracing Alex’s tattoo, nail following the pattern of the ink on his forearm.

“What?”

“Halloween. Did you like it?” Pato asks again, reaching the end of the pulse line and tracing back up the design until he reaches the pink heart resting along Alex’s vein.

He’s wearing one of Alex’s shirts, some faded thing advertising a local brewery, it’s what Alex had managed to slip him into after cleaning him off last night. Alex can smell his own detergent, his cologne, but beneath it there’s the familiar scent of Pato, mixing with the stench of sex from sheets they still need to clean.

He blinks, wipes at the sleep that’s crusting at the corners of his eyes, tries to get a sense of what time it is. The sunlight through the blinds betray the truth, it’s not the early morning light Alex is used to waking to, but the midday sun that brings a warm heat to the room.

“I missed training,” he grumbles, less of a question, more of a statement. His breath tastes of stale beer, like the sweat he’d licked from Pato last night.

Pato nods.

“Fuck.”

“I texted James, he said to just let you sleep.”

Alex hates when his system is thrown off, when the structure he’s so carefully put into place slips, which is maybe why Pato’s tracing figure eights around his tattoo trying to keep him calm. It’s working, surprisingly. He’s warm, comfortable where his head is resting against Pato’s thigh.

“That okay?” Pato asks.

Alex thinks it through, figures most of the areas he was meant to be working on today he’d done a pretty good job of working last night.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he amends, curls closer to Pato. He’s so warm, heat roiling off of him in waves, and Alex would normally hate it. But from Pato, it’s a comfort, it’s like a blanket.

Pato keeps tracing figures around his tattoo, following the line of his vein, the repetition is lulling him back into the sleep he’d just clawed his way out of. He doesn’t fight it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Pato says, when Alex is on the brink of unconsciousness, when opening his eyes takes monumental effort, so he just keeps them closed.

“Mhmm?” he says.

Pato huffs out a laugh, goes back to tracing a nail along the pulse line of the tattoo.

“Halloween. Did I make you like it?”

Alex is already slipping into sleep when the answer falls from him like water, “You could make me like anything.”

[joelsprettyprincess]

Thank You, Mr. Miller

Dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader (NSFW)

Joel lets you crash at his house following his birthday grill. You give him an incredibly wet, sloppy, desperate....gift.

Tags: facefucking, rough oral, choking, spit kink, degradation, facial, big fat age gap (college age/mid 50s), no outbreak, modern au, birthday Joel, pet names (babydoll, pretty girl)

Wordcount: 3.4k

Notes: This is not lore accurate in the slightest, I just really wanted to write about giving Joel head. Please be gentle in criticism, I haven't written for an audience in a long time. And minors DNI OBVIOUSLY!!

"You ready?! We're gonna be late!" your father called up to you.

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup. The occasion was a grill at your father's college friend's house for his birthday. His name was Joel Miller.

You'd met him a couple times before; he and your father sometimes got together to crack open some beers.

Ever since you first met Joel, he hadn't left your mind. He was tall and rugged with a dark tousle of hair. His daughter, Sarah, was a little younger than you. Your father had mentioned that she'd just moved into her college dorm.

The last time you had seen Joel was last November, at Thanksgiving. He and Sarah had come over to share a meal. Sarah was friendly but pretty quiet, and you two hadn't hit it off like you thought you would.

Joel...was a different story. Your brain replayed the limited interactions with him over and over, looking for a hidden meaning. Some days you swore he gave you meaningful looks, and other days you yelled at yourself for believing that a man like him was into a girl like you. Someone half his age.

So why were you getting all dolled up, when it would be hot outside and no one would be looking anyway? The same reason you'd bought a whole new sundress for the party, and even shaved. You secretly hoped one man in particular would be looking.

Your father yelled your name again. "Coming," you responded quickly, and added a final bit of mascara. You grabbed your white crossbody bag off the bathroom doorknob and slung it over your shoulders, completing the look. Clomping down the stairs in your wedges, you followed your father out to the car.

It was just you and him going. Your mother didn't feel good enough to go, claiming she "could feel a cold forming." More likely she wanted to avoid being stuck being in the car for an hour. Not that you could blame her.

Still though, you were definitely looking forward to the grill. Even if that excitement was tinged with anxiety.

Soon you and your father were bundled into the car. He was driving since he knew the roads better.

Actually, you'd never been to Joel's house. It was always him coming to see your father, not the other way around. You wondered what his house was like. Probably not big. Traditional? Modern? Cluttered? You had no idea.

Maybe you and Sarah would become better friends. You guys could at least talk about college.

20 minutes had passed and you were already getting irritated. Your father had elected to put on the most boring podcast known to man, one about the economy. A man with a way-too-cheerful voice was going on and on about GDP and supply-demand.

Putting on your headphones, you distracted yourself by switching between Twitter, Tumblr, and TikTok. The holy trinity.

And this was how the next half hour was spent: scrolling. Not very productive, but there really wasn't much to see except the highway. Thankfully it was pretty empty on this route; apparently Thursday afternoon wasn't a popular time to travel.

However, this bout of good luck ended as soon as you neared Austin. Traffic went from almost non-existent to congested within a minute. Your father sighed and turned off his podcast.

"Now comes the hard part," he sighed.

The next 15 or so minutes were wasted just inching through traffic. Everyone was trying to get to their exits, and people kept changing lanes at the last minute, or getting into the wrong lane, and the frustration was palpable. You were really glad you weren't driving.

After what seemed like forever, the two of you finally broke free from the highway and got onto a regular road. Soon you were zipping towards Joel's house at a nice speed.

"Did you bring a present?" you asked your dad.

"Nah," he remarked. "Men don't really need 'presents.'"

You scoffed a little at that. "Alright."

Now the sights were a little more interesting. Austin was bustling with activity.

You drove through the urban area for perhaps 5 minutes, then your dad turned and the buildings and crowds thinned out.

Eventually the two of you reached a nice suburb with rows of houses.

Within two minutes, your dad pulled up behind a bunch of other cars that were parked around what was obviously Joel's house.

"We're here," he announced (kind of uselessly).

It was pretty small, as you'd guessed. It was mostly made of brick, just one story, and the front porch was pretty bare bones.

But you could hear voices and music in the backyard. There were some people going up to the house, and the front door was wide open.

You and your father got out of the car and made your way up the sidewalk to Joel's house.

The door was covered with a screen. You opened it and stepped inside, your father closing it behind you.

"Joel," he called. "We're here."

There was no answer. You looked around the room.

It was pretty normal. Your average American house. There was a worn looking green sofa, a brown loveseat that didn't match the sofa at all, and directly in front of you was the kitchen. To the right was a little hallway.

Both the sofa and the loveseat were occupied by various people. "He's outside," someone said.

You and your dad walked into the kitchen, where the back door was. Stepping out onto the patio, you could see there were quite a few people here, of all ages. They must be his neighbors, you figured.

You heard a familiar voice shout your father's name. To your right was him. Joel.

"Joel!" your dad exclaimed, and they quickly embraced.

"Hey, little lady," he greeted you, smiling. Oh, that smile. It could mean a thousand things.

"Hey," you greeted him more shyly than you'd like. "Happy birthday."

He chuckled. "Ugh, don't remind me. Gettin' closer to death ain't no cause for celebration."

Your dad hooted in response.

"Tommy's helpin' me grill, over there," Joel said, pointing to his brother on the other side of the yard. You couldn't help but notice how big and veiny his hands looked-

You shook your head a little. Get a grip.

Joel was explaining some things, but you weren't really listening. Your senses were being overloaded with this man in front of you. That was the best way to describe him- he was very masculine. Big, broad shoulders, a solid build, and his beard made you imagine unspeakable things.

Eventually you asked about Sarah. "I'd love to catch up with her," you said.

Joel shook his head regretfully. "Ah, she's not here. She has class today. She goes to the University of Houston, dunno if your dad told you."

"Oh, that sucks." You nodded. "Well, you can tell her I say hey."

He smiled. "Will do."

For the next half hour, Joel, Tommy, and your dad tackled the grills and made a huge amount of burgers and hot dogs. Tommy made sure everything was organized so everyone was served in an orderly fashion.

You got a cheeseburger, plus some dangerously salty fries and sat at one of the folding tables to enjoy your meal.

Of course everyone here was a stranger, so you were expecting to be left alone. When someone sat beside you, you involuntarily jumped.

It was Joel, and he laughed. "Sorry, baby, ain't mean to scare you like that."

"Oh! Ha, no, you're good," you squeaked, quickly wiping your mouth. Gosh, could you be normal for one second?

"How's college? You're a sophomore now, right?" he asked.

You nodded. "Yeah. It's going pretty good, even though my classes are getting harder."

"Remind me of your major again..?"

"I'm undeclared right now. Just doing my generals."

Joel nodded his approval. "You know, I never even finished college."

That caught you off guard. "Oh. Wait, really? Then..."

He shrugged. "I dropped out. Didn't have the discipline or the intelligence. I went into an apprenticeship instead."

"Oh, that's definitely a unique path," you remarked.

"Now, don't you drop out," he said sternly. "You're a smart girl."

You laughed. "Not that smart."

"You got a boyfriend?" he asked suddenly.

Trying not to act shocked, you casually answered, "Nah. I don't."

"Good. You're too good for those boys. Too pretty."

You and Joel continued to chat about school and careers for a bit. Your gaze kept darting everywhere; looking at him was like looking at the sun. He was just a halo of light and focusing on him for too long made you nervous.

Finally he left, needing to attend to someone, and your brain ran at a million miles, replaying the conversation, criticizing your voice and responses, deducing anything meaningful from Joel's words. Did he mean something more when he mentioned a boyfriend? Or was he simply curious? Ugh...this stupid crush was driving you insane.

A couple hours passed, and the party slowly died down. By this time it was about 6pm. People started leaving; walking home or maneuvering their cars out of the puzzle that was the driveway and street.

To your dismay, you found your father curled up on the loveseat, way drunker than he should be.

"Guess he had a couple too many beers?" Joel said, chuckling.

You sighed. "I'm really sorry. I dunno what he was doing all this time. I should've checked on him."

"S'okay," Joel assured you. "Do you know the way home?"

"Ah, no..." you admitted, embarrassed. You'd barely been paying attention on the drive home.

"Hmm." Joel crossed his arms and thought. "Well...then you can't leave, can you?"

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat. "Uh– um...I guess not? But I don't want to impose. I can try to find my way back."

But Joel shook his head. "Your dad would be mad if I sent you out there. It gets dark quick these days, y'know. I'd hate for you to get in trouble on the way back. Look...we have a guest room you can use." He looked at your dad again. "I suppose he'll be comfy right there."

Your dad was drowsy, laying on the couch, still in his day clothes.

"There's a bathroom you can use, right across from Sarah's room. I'll show you. If that's okay with you?" He looked for your consent.

"Um...well, if it's not too much trouble," you said.

"Oh, of course not!" Joel insisted. "You can even wear some of Sarah's clothes; y'all are about the same size. It'll be no trouble at all, baby."

There was that word again. Baby. You couldn't tell if it was platonic or not, and it drove you crazy.

"Well, alright. Thank you, Mr. Miller."

"Joel," he gently corrected. "No need to be formal."

He showed you the bathroom and the guest room, then let you shower while he helped Tommy clean up the mess from the party.

As you cleaned yourself, the only thing on your mind was:

This is going to be very, very interesting.

After you got dressed in Sarah's room, you went to the guest room next door and looked around. It was simply decorated, with a double bed and a dresser by the window. You put down your bag and hoisted yourself onto the bed.

Okay. Okay. Taking deep breaths, you thought about your situation. You were basically alone with a very handsome man whose room was a 5 second walk away, a man who may or may not be interested in you, a man twice your age with a daughter the same age as you.

Totally fine, nothing to worry about. He definitely was not going to be on your mind all night.

Laying down, you tried to distract yourself with your phone again.

After about 20 minutes there was a knock at the door. You got up and opened it.

"We finished cleanin' up," Joel told you. He leaned against the doorframe.

He was so tall.

"That's good," you said. "Thank you for letting us stay here, seriously. I dunno what I'd do without you."

Joel gave you that sweet smile again, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "No problem, missy. If you're still hungry, we got plenty of leftovers."

"Oh, that's okay," you assured him. "I'm more than full. The food was really good."

You were trying to ignore the slightly musky, deep smell that was coming from him. And the way that his shirt clung to his chest and biceps. And the way he was looking at you...

"You need anything else?" he asked.

"You've done so much already," you chuckled. "I think I'm all set for the night."

He smiled and nodded. "Well, don't be afraid to ask."

Get a grip, you creep.

Joel was berating himself. This was so not good.

It was more than not good, it was horrible. His friend's daughter, the same age as his own daughter, was in the guest room all by herself and all he could think were dirty thoughts.

It was her fault! Those cute, innocent looks she kept giving him drove him up the wall. Her pretty body, her adorably nervous mannerisms.

All Joel could think about was how good her lips would look wrapped around his cock.

He was pretty sure she felt the same way but didn't want to push it in case he was wrong. Then he'd really be in trouble.

It was going to be a very hard night.

A couple hours passed. You felt too awkward to venture out of the room, so you stayed on the bed for quite a while. Soon it became dark, and you were glad you didn't have to drive.

Feeling thirsty, you decided to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Your dad was passed out on the couch. Joel was in the kitchen as well. Dammit.

"Hey, babygirl," he said. "Need something?"

"Oh- yes, just some water," you requested.

He got a glass down for you. Passing it to your, your fingers touched, and you swore he kept his there longer than strictly necessary.

Joel watched as you got water out of the fridge. You took a nice sip, then sighed. "Thank you."

"Oh, you've got something, right there-" Joel stepped closer to you and gently wiped the corner of your lips with his knuckle.

You could only stare at him as he did this. He was so close you could see the gray hairs peppering his beard.

He let his finger stay there, and returned your gaze.

The two of you stayed like that for a second, just looking into each other's eyes.

Finally you broke eye contact and he stepped back.

"Th-thanks," you stammered.

He continued looking at you. "You're a real pretty girl, you know," he said.

You weren't sure what to say.

Joel took your chin in his fingers, and ever so softly brushed his lips against your cheek.

You made a small noise and he hesitated. "Is this okay, baby?" he asked.

You could barely breathe or blink or do anything but nod.

Putting one hand on your cheek, Joel leaned in and softly kissed you. After a shocked second, you reciprocated, pressing your lips against his.

He sighed, and pressed deeper, gently sucking on your bottom lip. You felt his tongue, and opened your mouth a little, allowing him in.

You stood on your tiptoes and kissed Joel back. He tasted so good, with a hint of toothpaste.

"Oh..." he mumbled, hands going from your face to your back. He backed you up till you hit the counter, and he softly growled, pushing his tongue in deeper.

His hands traveled further down to your hips, and he started caressing your ass.

"So fucking soft," he whispered.

Joel's whole body was pressed against you, and you felt him getting excited.

Finally you broke the kiss, needing air.

"Jesus, this is so fuckin' wrong," Joel muttered. "I'm as old as your dad, for crying out loud..." He shook his head. "And look how excited you got me."

You looked down. There was a noticeable tent in his pants.

"Wow..." you whispered. You had done that.

"C'mere," he said, and pulled you down the hallway to his room. He closed the door behind you.

"On your knees, babydoll." He started undressing, pulling off his pants and boxers. You obediently knelt on the carpet.

Joel pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside. You got your first good look at his cock.

First of all, it was big. You weren't inexperienced, but you hadn't encountered anything his size before. It was girthy, with prominent veins going from the groin to the fat, leaking tip. It had a slight curve.

Joel placed his hand on your head. "Open," he ordered, and you obeyed, slightly sticking out your tongue.

He placed his cock on your tongue. You slowly licked up, making him groan.

"Fuckk, yes," he gasped.

You focused on just the tip, licking and slurping at it. His precum was already leaking out.

Joel's hand shot out to grip your hair as you slowly service him, dragging your tongue across the tip and eventually taking it in your mouth, sucking it.

The only noises in the room were Joel's breathy groans and the wet, slurping noise from your mouth as you licked stripes up his fat shaft.

"Just like that, baby," he whispered, stroking your hair. "So fuckin' good."

You took more of him in, looking up at his tightly shut eyes and furrowed brow.

Joel pushed his cock deeper into your mouth, first gently, then he got more impatient and rougher, thrusting into your mouth with little regard to your comfort.

"Yes, fuck, take my fucking cock," he growled. He put his hands on either side of your head and started roughly facefucking you, panting and groaning. His balls slapped against your chin.

You moaned and could feel your mouth producing drool as Joel wildly thrusted into you. His cock kept nearly hitting the back of your throat, and you were gagging a little.

Your drool pooled and dripped down onto your bare tits.

"Agh- mghhrgh-" you gasped, barely able to form a coherent word or thought. The only thing that was going through your mind was cock.

"Choke on it," Joel growled. He was getting mean with it. His cock pushed into your mouth again and again, not stopping or slowing, even as you choked on it. You desperately tapped on his thigh to tell him to let up.

Joel reluctantly did so, allowing you to take several gasping breaths before coaxing it back in. He resumed the pace, a little gentler than before, but still brutal.

By this time he'd backed you up so your head was against the edge of the bed. He was using your mouth like it was a fleshlight, an inanimate object. He was pulling at your hair.

Your eyes were tearing. You couldn't even suck anymore, just had to lay there while Joel used you.

How long had he felt like this? This pent-up frustration?

"Yes, yes, fuck," he chanted, thrusts growing more erratic. He was close.

You deepthroated him a few times, going until your nose was pressed against the hair at the base of his cock. You made sure your lips gripped his cock.

"I'm close, babydoll," he moaned. "Gonna fuckin' cum all over your pretty face. You want that? Yeah?"

"Mmm," you groaned in agreement, blinking several times.

"That's right. Gonna fucking swallow my cum, right? You little slut. You've wanted this cock for a while, huh? S'why you're drooling all over it like a dumb whore."

The insults turned you on. Joel kept thrusting, chasing his release, and your eyes rolled as you struggled to take it all.

Finally, Joel let out a loud groan and pressed himself against your mouth, cumming hard onto your tongue. His hot thick load rapidly filled your mouth, and you moaned softly as his balls twitched. He slowly pulled out and stroked his shaft, letting out a second thick load onto your forehead. It slowly oozed down your face onto your nose and cheeks.

Joel remained where he was, riding out the rest of his orgasm on your face. Soon he'd splattered his cum all over, glazing your cheeks, nose, and lips. Some of it dripped onto your tits.

You inhaled deeply as you caught your breath, amazed at the amount he'd let out. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of his load.

Joel puffed too, slowly coming down from his high.

There was a long silence, then Joel breathed: "Best birthday ever.”

[jungle-angel]

Two Numbskulls and a Kitchen (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: It's clearly a bad idea for Bob and his dad to have free reign of your kitchen......or is it?

"Alright hon, you want a hot coffee or something?" Irene asked you.

"Nah, I've gotta keep drinking water," you told her. "If I drink any kind of coffee, baby girl won't sleep at all."

Irene laughed. "She's not even here yet and she's already causing havoc."

You enjoyed the ride home with your mother-in-law, your unborn daughter kicking up a storm in your belly and the two of you laughing at what kind of trouble Auggie and Patrick were causing at Jake's house. The music coming from the bluetooth speaker in the truck was suddenly interrupted by a call from Bob, a rather unusual occurrence at this hour.

"Hey Bob," you answered.

"Hey is momma driving?"

"Yeah I'm driving, why?" Irene asked.

"Um.......we um......we've got a bit of a problem."

You and your mother-in-law gave each other "the look."

"What the hell did you two do?" Irene asked.

"Momma....."

"Don't you 'momma' me buster," Irene told him sternly. "What did you two do in that kitchen?"

Bob didn't answer. The only sound was Joe in the background loudly telling him something indiscernible.

"We'll be home in ten," you told him.

"Gotcha sweetie, love you."

"Love you too."

You hung up and one look at your mother-in-law told you it was a bad idea to laugh. "I'm gonna kill those two when we get home," Irene mumbled.

You snorted and laughed.

When you pulled into the driveway, Irene helped you out of the truck, the both of you carrying the last minute Thanksgiving supplies into the house. You didn't smell anything burning which was a good sign, but the sight of Joe with his hand wrapped in a dish towel said otherwise.

"Oh what did you do?" Irene questioned. "What did you do?!"

"Baby I can explain," Joe answered, trying not to laugh.

"Joseph Lowell Floyd....."

"Ya'll can look at your son's phone and see the evidence," Joe chuckled.

Irene held out her hand and Bob immediately gave her his phone. She scrolled through the camera roll to find photo after photo of Bob and Joe screwing around in the kitchen. The one of Joe in a hockey mask wielding a butcher knife and Bob playing dead was worthy enough for next year's Halloween party, but the one of them in Reagan's surgical gear and taking out the turkey guts had her going wide-eyed.

"This still doesn't explain how you sliced your finger," she said.

"Keep going you'll find it," Bob told her.

Sure enough there it was, the quickly snapped sequence of photos that told the whole story.

"Un.....believable," Irene groaned.

You, Bob and Joe couldn't help but laugh. "You still love me baby?" Joe asked her.

"Joe, I love you to death but this is getting ridiculous," Irene answered.

"So does that mean I still get nookie tonight?" Joe asked.

"Yeah but your balls will be busted by the time I'm done with you," Irene chuckled.

You and Bob both let out loud disgusted groans. The last thing you wanted to imagine was your in-laws doing the dirty in the little basement apartment they shared.

Irene drove Joe to the emergency room, leaving you both home alone, curled up on the couch and watching one of the Charlie Brown specials. "Babes?" he said.

"Hmm?"

"Remind me never to let my dad get into the beer in the back of the fridge," Bob chuckled.

"That's what this was about?" you laughed.

"Two for the chefs, one for the dish," Bob answered.

You snuggled into Bob, your head resting on his chest and relaxing into his warmth as his hand came to rest on your bump. This certainly would be a memorable Thanksgiving, if anything else.

[odditycircus-2002]

Baraka and Medusa!Reader Headcannons

A/N: For some reason, when I check out the tag for Barakaxreader, there are a lot of dancing headcannons. Which I thought was odd, but then I thought "Oh Beauty and the Beast opportunity," And decided to write this this headcannon. So Happy Thanksgiving and don't forget about the people who suffer to this day. Never forget.

You and Baraka got the idea of throwing a feast of Thanks from Johnny Cage's invitation for an Earthrealm holiday. This feast came to fruition because Baraka didn't want to risk infecting any of Mr. Cage's guests and you wanted to raise the Tarkatan Colony's spirits.

You were able to request some extra supplies ahead of time from Empress Mileena, including alcohol in preparation. Baraka was in charge of preparing the meals for this feast along with some other able-bodied Tarkatans. Preparing food for all of the species who now reside in the colony. You asked many of your patients, including Shokan, Zaterran, and Naknadan, to pitch in to mix in their culture's traditions, including food, games, and events.

Although you helped to plan the entire event, you spent half of your time at Johnny's party so you could meet up with Mileena, Kitana, and Syzoth again. You opted for a mask that only covered half your face, leaving your mouth exposed for easier access to food. You made sure to act as a polite guest by gift Johnny a freshly caught beast native to the Wastes, as you heard from Kitana it's Earthrealm custom to bring food for this holiday.

"Well, talk about fresh... thanks, I guess."

"Its meat pairs well with a nice heavy dose of citrusy seasoning and roasted evenly."

You found yourself enjoying Johnny's party, with you and Syzoth often secretly picking away pieces of a bug-related dish Ashrah originally made for the Zaterran before the feast could officially start. It turns out that you rival Kung Lao in terms of how much you can stuff your face granted he can't widen his jaw to fit everything on his plate all at once. You also enjoyed some of the Earthrealm board games, although you constantly questioned the rules for how ridiculous they seemed. When you eventually departed, you made sure to take a heaping amount of leftovers to share with the colony.

You and Baraka could safely say this Feast was a successful idea despite the expected hiccups, including scheduling conflicts that led to an all-out brawl between a Shokan and Naknadan. Baraka and a few others had to assist you with some of those conflicts.

While the rest of the Colony was enjoying the festivities, including some of the food you brought back from Earthrealm, you and Baraka were content with speaking with one another while occasionally pausing to eat. Sometimes, you separate to partake in some games or events.

Eventually, when the dancing portion of the events began, you decided to dance to it rather than just contently sway to the music. Of course, your first choice of a dance partner was Baraka. However, the afflicted Edenian initially politely rejects your offer. You frowned but then remembered how this dancing may remind him of the wife he once lost, so you didn't push him. Instead, you take on another dance partner with one of the Tarkatans you became close to.

For a while, Baraka just watched you dance the night away. You seemed to enjoy yourself as you moved from dance partner to dance partner. You even dance with a Tarkatan child at one point, a sight that especially causes Baraka's heart to ache. He can't help but think again of the family he lost to Tarkat and how he wishes they were here again. Yet, a thought enters his head, with a voice of reason sounding similar to his late wife.

'Why waste what little time you have left miserable?'

Baraka then turns his gaze towards you again as you're dancing with another Tarkatan and your snakes swaying to the music. Furrowing his brows, he decides he's done watching from the sidelines and makes his way towards the dance floor. When he catches your attention, he holds a hand and asks for the honor of dancing with you. Your other dancing partner pushes you towards Baraka in silent encouragement. You end up stumbling into Baraka's arms just as the song changes into something slower, more thoughtful, with an air of mystique.

"I'm glad you came around, wouldn't want you missing the fun."

"As am I, Y/N"

At first, your dance was awkward with Baraka, who hasn't danced in a very long time, and since you didn't often partake in it, eventually, it all comes rushing back to you and Baraka as you partake in a simple and graceful dance. You two become physically closer to one another as the song ends, until eventually, you're holding one another while swaying gently on the spot. While you can't directly look into each other's eyes, you can still convey your unspoken thoughts through touch alone.

Playlist while writing this:

"La Llorona" feat Alanna Ubach and Antonio Sol.

"Still Here" by Digital Daggers

"Secret of My Life" from the anime Kyousougiga

[blackswaneuroparedux]

undefined

The upward course of a nation's history is due in the long run to the soundness of heart of its average men and women.

- HM Queen Elizabeth II

A national holiday was declared in Britain for 8 May 1945. In the morning, Churchill had gained assurances from the Ministry of Food that there were enough beer supplies in the capital and the Board of Trade announced that people could purchase red, white and blue bunting without using ration coupons. There were even commemorative items hastily produced in time for the celebrations, including ‘VE Day’ mugs. Some restaurants had special ‘victory’ menus, too. Various events were organised to mark the occasion, including parades, thanksgiving services and street parties. Communities came together to share the moment. London’s St Paul’s Cathedral held ten consecutive services giving thanks for peace, each one attended by thousands of people.

Due to the time difference, VE Day in New Zealand was officially held on 9 May. The country’s leadership wanted to delay the national holiday until peace in Europe had been announced by Winston Churchill. New Zealanders therefore had to go to work on 8 May and wait until the following day to celebrate. In the Soviet Union, too, VE Day was on 9 May due to the different time zones.

Video: street celebrations to mark VE Day in Gateshead, England.

[chainmail-butch]

I was out distributing food and clothes with the Panthers on Thanksgiving when I experienced something that really stuck with me.

I’ve talked about this realization in the past but the more I read and the more active I am on the street the more I come to understand this fundamental disconnect between the haves and the have-nots.

First, some context.

The reborn Black Panther Party and its sister organization The Panther Party are still very young. We have very few uniformed members, and those members that we do have are people who grew up homeless and the OGs who never left the scene. I love them all dearly.

They understand what it’s like to be cold and they understand what it’s like to be hungry.

Most of our actual manpower comes from volunteers. A white couple who run a food bank, a smattering of white people who saw our fliers on Reddit, Black Youth organizations, Communists who have gotten sick of sitting around doing nothing, and so many freshly born Black activists who are looking for something to do now that the riots have died down.

This means that, more often than not, there’s one uniform for every 5 or so volunteers.

Now, the point.

We had a lot of new people that day. Most of them said things to me like, “Oh yeah, we just bought a house in the area and we wanted to help.”

Thanksgiving day was cold. If you’ve ever camped in the cold then you know just how painful it is to come out of the relative warmth of your tent. Our Uniforms know this well, and one quickly learns not to make people come out of their tents.

Our convoy rolled up and all the regulars got their boots on the ground and started carrying supplies from tent to tent. This is the way things are done, and we were all so busy doing them that for a while no one was directing the volunteers.

They saw what we were doing but decided that it would be more efficient to unload the convoy in one spot and set up a distribution point that all the people could come to, rather than walk from tent to tent.

That’s the disconnect. That idea right there is why so many outreach programs fail. It’s why so many well funded and well appointed government programs fall flat on their faces when it comes to helping people.

They don’t want to go to the people, that would be inefficient. They want the people to come to them. And they do not understand what they’re asking for.

They don’t understand that sometimes a cold and hungry person will stay under their warm blankets in their warm tent and cramp with hunger rather than walk the length of the camp for a sack lunch and some mittens.

Some people will, but some people won’t. And the people that won’t are the people we need to reach the most.

Eventually one of the Uniforms noticed what they were up to and got them moving in the right direction. But their first instinct has stuck with me and I turn it in my mind over and over again.

These people, in all their kindness and empathy, still didn’t get it. And they wouldn’t get it until we very clearly explained why we do things the way we do them.

[jules-has-notes]

2017 VoicePlay fall activities — go, go, go ’til you ho-ho-ho

The last few months of the year are usually a busy time for singers, and this year was no exception for VoicePlay. Once they had wrapped up their summer projects, they rolled right on.

.

And they're off

The boys leaped into autumn by heading north once more for shows in NYC and Reading, PA.

They also threw their hats in the ring for a Hostess snack cake giveaway. (They didn't win, but that's okay. Some of the fans always made sure to keep them well supplied with sugar anyway.)

.

Back home, it was time to start rehearsing for their third and final year of residency at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party. They also needed to prep for their upcoming trip to the west coast, and film their next music video. Eli did manage to sneak in a bro brunch with their old friend, Jeremy James, though.

.

A little West Coast swing

For the third weekend in October, the guys embarked on a fast-paced trip to Los Angeles. They crammed a concert and three video shoots into just three days.

They kicked things off with a Saturday night show in Palos Verdes (and teased the locals a bit by calling it by the translated name "Green Sticks").

.

On Sunday, they packed in two music video shoots. They started with one of their two Christmas tunes for the year and new collaborator Shoshana Bean. Then they hopped over to reunite with Kurt Hugo Schneider for a little Broadway music.

.

Monday was time to get silly and messy with the pocket.watch ladies and some Taylor Swift.

.

Keep it going

When they flew home, the boys were met by Rachel Potter once again for their second Christmas song of the year.

.

Merry Hallowee-mas

All the preparation the guys had been doing for the upcoming holiday season didn't mean that they would ever neglect spooky season. After a few days of rest, sound guy Paul Kaleka and J.None kicked off the weekend by winning Indaba Music's Spooky Jams contest with a song called "Ghosts and Goblins".

VoicePlay released their video for "What's This?" from The Nightmare Before Christmas on the day before Halloween, and used it as a segue into their new holiday EP, "Warm Up", which they announced at the beginning of November.

The tracks are a combination of revamped tunes from the previous year with J.None's vocals added into the mix, this year's three new offerings, and one more new song that received a video during the following holiday season.

Note that J.None is credited as a member of the group, not a featured guest.

.

One more spin

Just over a week after they'd gotten home, the boys headed out of town again for a student workshop and a concert at Western Illinois University.

.

Off to the races

One week after that, it was time to kick off their MVMCP schedule in the Magic Kingdom.

With sixteen shows per week for the rest of the year, it would be reasonable to think that job would be their sole focus. However, persuing a career in the performing arts isn't usually a path for sensible folks. There were still plenty of other engagements to keep them busy. For the second night of the residency, VoicePlay handed the reins to their backup guys and scooted up to Ohio.

.

But wait, there's more

The reason for their visit to Dayton was headlining the Kettering National A Cappella Festival. The trip there didn't go nearly as smoothly as they would've liked.

Once they actually reached their destination, though, the concert went off without a hitch, and the audience had a grand time.

.

The next weekend, they took a drive down to Avon Park for a show at South Florida State College. Because it was close to home, Kathy and Geoff decided to bring little William along for the first time.

Uncle Earl always seems to end up holding the babies in group photos. 😁

.

Having the week of Thanksgiving free from their Disney World duties didn't mean that they just kicked back and relaxed. First they hopped on the middle leg of a Disney Magic cruise for a three-day jaunt to The Bahamas and back.

Then on the evening of Thanksgiving itself, they gathered up Erik Winger and scooted down to the southeast coast to perform at the annual tree lighting ceremony for the Boca Raton Resort & Club.

.

On another day off from MVMCP in early December, the PattyCake guys teamed up with their friends at Entertainment Central to film a very beachy Christmas romp for their Atlantic City Boys group in Cocoa Beach. The final "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" / "Here Comes Santa Claus" mashup video was originally posted to Michael Evans's channel a week later, then reposted to the group's channel a year and a half after that.

.

That weekend, Winger joined VoicePlay for a two-show day at Mariner Church in Sping Hill, FL.

important preparations — ear plugs and power naps

.

When Rockapella came to town on their holiday tour near the end of the month, Layne and Cyndi took little Doris to see some of their pals.

.

J.None spent both the weekend before his birthday and New Year's Eve rocking out at local shows with Paradigm Party Band.

.

That's all, folks

With the year coming to an end, the VoicePlay guys finally took the chance to relax, spend time with loved ones, and prepare for the coming months. But those are tales for another post.

[oh-no-another-idea]

Happy Blorbo Blursday! When would your OCs say it's acceptable to start decorating for December holidays?

Thanks for the ask, pal! I'll answer for Stars and Ships:

Jax is always lazy where it comes to decorating, but once he gets off his rear, late in the game, he's super into it. Mistletoe everywhere, peppermint in everything, you can't go anywhere on the space ship without a santa hat falling down on your head. The others complain, but secretly they're glad he's having fun.

Aaliyah only minorly celebrates to be with Jax, but it's good he's lazy because she wouldn't permit anything before the second half of December!

Quin hates decorating, and his cabin is always bare because he's a party pooper.

Aakov doesn't have much to do, just a menorah in the window. He's quiet about decorating, so Thresh makes up for it by cooking Chanukah favorites--latkes and jelly donuts for everyone! Jax supplies the Chanukah gelt.

Sepia is the type to go insane as soon as Thanksgiving is over. Selene would egg him on the whole way. 😁

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Ive been following the smkakaohybe drama since you wrote your post abt it and its so crazy like a real lief drama 😭😭 i dont work in corporate so i didnt know that shit could get like this lmao is it always this dramatic??? like the sm ceo dude really released a two part video now like youtubers do when they want to “tell their truth” lmaolmao i feel like sm ceo dude really is scrambling bec this is so unprofessional??? like lsm the dude who started all this mess is doing better than him just releasing written statements lmao are the videos supposed to help with the shareholders or its just for public pr??? the ceo threatening bang to release a record lf their phone call??? in Public??? as an outsider the whole thing is lookin more and more like a petty family squabble on thanksgiving bw the two sm parties and kakao and hybe are the unsuspecting partners dragged into it unknowingly or smth lmao

but fr tho i feel like hybe bit more than they can chew bec this has gotten a lot messier than people could possibly have thought last week lol i feel bad for the employees and artists tho bec whether its hybe or kakao things are gonna change and maybe therell be firings too

***

Ask 2: the pink blood shit is wild tho like it sounds like a cult lmao i know armys joke abt being purple blooded but the pink blood is wild to me bec imagine stanning lsm and sm as a company stan 😭 what the hell is happening over there there might be smth in the water???

**

Ask 3: That video was interesting for so many reasons. But the most surprising thing was the breakdown in ticket pricing between sm groups and hybe. Was that supposed to be a drag for hybe?

***

Hi Anon(s),

I really have nothing else to add beyond what I've said already, except to use what Anon in Ask 3 says as a good example.

(Screengrab from SM video seen on my Twitter)

The whole video made me laugh, but this slide alone shows how much of a joke that company under Chris Lee's management is, because this slide is a class in manipulation 101.

I'm not sure if I have to spell this out, but pricing is a function of demand and supply. And if the disaster that was KAMP LA 2022 (k-pop's Fyre Festival scandal) didn't show the vast disparity in perceived and actual demand for mostly SM groups, if the brouhaha over Hybe's merch pricing didn't do that either, then the fact most analysts comp HYBE against Tencent, Warner Brothers and UMG, rather than SM or YG, should have settled this debate months ago. And this is aside from the fact that in this slide, SM quotes HYBE's VIP pricing against SM's regular ticket prices...

Like, y'all, how can you blame me for laughing?

This whole thing is pure entertainment so I suggest you just nod, smile, and wave.

[southernsparkles]

There's 77 days to Halloween* There's 100 days to Thanksgiving* There's 132 days to Christmas*

...BUT ONLY THREE DAYS OF THIS SALE!!!

All joking aside, take a moment and think about your gifting and party supplies. Wouldn't it be a good idea to start planning now before you find yourself lost in the pumpkin spice sauce? You can save 40% off on ALL wrapping paper with the coupon SPECIALZDAYS until August 17th.

Just remember that there is no guarantee that there will be another sale this good, or that shipping estimates will be on the nose the closer the holidays get. So whether you need it for a specific holiday or you're looking for everyday surprise occasions, it's worth looking into.

*Approximate dates. We cannot be held responsible if you don't look at a calendar either. 🤣

[mythoughtsonapage]

Serial Scenes: #2

Protagonist fucking loved grocery shopping.

The cool blast of air as she walked through the sliding doors, the clang of the carts, the sight smell of dirt as she opened into the produce section. Even if she came with a strict list, she inevitably abandoned it in favor of the endless culinary opportunities.

This frequently got her in trouble with her mother, who followed a new rigid diet every month after inevitably failing the previous one. And it was always for a stupid reason:

“Ugh, did you know EVERYTHING has sugar in it?”

“God damnit, BUTTER smells good right now! I didn’t even know butter had a smell. You know, God gave us noses for a reason...”

“How could I have possibly known a cabbage-only diet would upset my stomach like this...”

“These beans have no taste! Or smell... Maybe I’m getting sick? I should stop. I shouldn’t starve myself if I’m sick. I’ll pick it up when I feel better...”

On the off chance her mom let Protagonist be the one to even do the grocery shopping - relinquishing control over something for even a second was a challenge for her - it almost always ended the same way: Protagonist jumped at the chance, promised to stick to the list of:

- chia seeds

- oat milk

- iceberg lettuce 

- grass-fed ghee

- tofurkey

- horseradish

- 2 liters of Diet Coke

then came home with 17 extra items, and her mother lost her mind. Nevermind that Protagonist was never required to follow her mother’s seasonal diets and therefore never did. And nevermind that Protagonist had to eat something. The betrayal! The sheer horror of eggs passing across the threshold! It always dissolved into a fight. “How dare you...”

But today, as the cool mist presently watering the cucumbers and zucchini fogged up the screen of her cell phone list, Protagonist was completely free to purchase whatever she wanted. She would get heirloom tomatoes, despite having beautiful ones already glimmering in the backyard. She would stock up on Haagen Dazs bars. She would put real milk in her tea. She would feel for the firmness of every single avocado.

Protagonist worshipped at the church of groceries. She had long ago memorized the contents of each and every aisle, and she’d bemoaned at last year’s Thanksgiving alongside her favorite check-out lady Shirley, when they’d moved the aisles around.

“And a major holiday around the corner, no less!”

Today, she would let each aisle speak to her. A giant block of feta cheese? Why not? Protagonist grabbed three bottles of freshly made salad dressing. What made them different from the shelf-stable ones on aisle 16? She didn’t care. All she felt was sick contentment as she smirked, imagining her mother gasping at the trans fat.

She turned the cart around the corner. Aisles 3 and 4: Frozen foods, pizza, ice cream. Protagonist grabbed a “rising crust” cheese and popper her gum as the she let the freezer door slam shut. A woman and her toddler looked up at the sound, the boy aggressively rolling a Hot Wheels car across the cart handle between his mom’s hands, slamming into her fingers, carelessly. Protagonist waved. The child simply stared, then went back to whooshing. “Fucker,” Protagonist mumbled as she rolled past. She thought she heard the young mom gasp.

Around the next corner. Aisles 5 and 6: Cleaning supplies, paper products, dog food. This aisle never made any sense to her. She grabbed a bottle of bleach and jumbo toilet paper. 

Around the next corner. Aisles 7 and 8: Magazines and party supplies. Then deodorant, body wash, and cheap makeup. She grabbed a stick of Dove and an eyeliner pencil. Why not? Can’t beat $3.

Around the next corner. And then the next. Cake mix, flour, baking sheets. She selected the nicest bottle of olive oil she could find. Another turn, and another. Cans of beans, packages of cookies, fresh sourdough. Her cart runneth over. 

By the time she pushed up to Shirley’s lane, Protagonist could barely swing the cart around the magazine rack. 

“Stocking up while mom’s away?”

“Exactly,” Protagonist smiled. It felt good to be seen by Shirley. The small talk began.

“How’s Georgia? Will you see each other over the break?”

“We’re having a sleepover next Tuesday.”

“Oh that’s nice!” 

Scan, beep. Scan, beep. Pause.

“I wondered if maybe you’d go to her place for Christmas- “

“Nope,” Protagonist cut Shirley off, perhaps too brightly. 

Shirley tried to shrug it off by not stopping her scanning, but her voice tightened, apologetic, “Oh sure. I’ll bet they have plenty going on, what with such a big family...”

Scan, beep. Scan, beep. Pause.

“Have you, uh... Have you heard from Janey?”

Protagonist didn’t respond, eyes far away, in the land of candy and gum. She reached across the belt and grabbed a handful of prepaid Visa gift cards, tossing them onto the receding end of her items and setting down a divider too late for it to matter. 

“$50 on each please,” she finally looked up at Shirley, who was staring at her, concerned. When she looked back down to scan the gift cards, Protagonist could see her counting them up in her head. “My, that’s a lot of money, honey.”

“For my teachers. Christmas gifts.”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you!” Shirley resumed her scanning, “Want them in the bags?”

“I’ll take ‘em,” Protagonist tossed them into her purse, then swiped the debit card and keyed in the pin while Shirley bagged each item carefully.

“Well, there ya go!” Shirley patted the side of the last bag proudly, like a mother who’d just forced her child into a large, puffy winter coat. She reached around to tear of the receipt and, as she handed it to Protagonist, found a Visa gift card being handed back to her.

“For you,” the girl said firmly. 

Shirley looked up, eyes wide, “Oh, you-”

“Merry Christmas. Thanks for everything.”

Protagonist loaded the bags back into her cart quickly and nearly jogged away before Shirley could protest the gift. She caught Shirley wipe a tear away from the corner of her eye as she greeted the next guest. Protagonist smiled to herself. 

She would miss her. 

[samueldeckerthompson]

Yesterday I noticed a lot of people posting that Thanksgiving needed to be canceled now because natives were so nice and sweet and Pilgrims were just mean wypipo with silly bucket-buckle hats, so I just wanted to set the record straight on what actually happened pre and post the supposed first Thanksgiving Day of 1621.

First of all, most of it is myth, virtually nothing we eat at Thanksgiving would have been found at the original feast, not even the turkey.

The natives were not invited to the harvest celebration feast that the pilgrims were already partaking in on their own, it wasn't some pre-planned dinner to show thanks to the natives for anything, the natives heard a lot of noise and actually showed up unannounced with some 90 men awkwardly banging on the gates, but they brought along 4 recently killed deer with them so they were let in.

Nobody sat together at a long table, the natives sat in their own group on the ground, as was their custom.

The pilgrims were not helpless, they already knew how to hunt and farm, they actually had the forsight to bring many crop seeds with them that they planned to grow, but there was a major learning curve as the terrain and soil were different than what they had experienced in Europe, so their seedlings failed to grow. Squanto did teach them that corn was a good crop for the area, and how to grow it using the "three sisters technique", but the pilgrims were not starving as game was plentiful, as was fish and other types of seafood, but it is true many of the pilgrims were dying due to sickness and disease encountered in the new world, but unfortunately this wasn't really something Squanto could solve for them with their primitive native medicine.

However, the feast did allow for a treaty to be spawned that brought nearly 50 years of peace and cooperation between the two groups, until a new native chief named Metacom, that the settlers referred to as King Philip, began to be openly hostile towards the pilgrims.

The first spark of war happened In January of 1675, a Wampanoag Christian convert named John Sassamon was preaching to the tribe when he was murdered. The English investigated and brought three Wampanoag men to trial by June of 1675, and the men were convicted and hanged within the month at Plymouth, and "King Philip" did not take kindly to this.

On June 24, 1675, the Wampanoag and their allies burned several English settlements to the ground, destroying all supplies and shelter they would need for the coming winter, and later in the fall The Natives ambushed a large pilgrim hunting party by chopping down huge trees in their path and laying in wait for them. The natives slaughtered 71 men who had previously done them no harm.

Thus began King Philip's War of 1675, still considered the bloodiest war per capita in U.S. History, and of course things only became more contentious from there.

As far as our current Thanksgiving traditions go, it really has nothing to do with 1621, most of it didn't become tradition until the 1800s, and we aren't celebrating any great harvest these days other than what we can throw in the shopping cart, it's obviously a holiday used to bring family together on the busiest travel week of the year since so many families are now spread far and wide, and in my view that seems like a good thing, especially when you consider the foolish ideological differences that are now keeping many of us apart as well.

So, long live Thanksgiving, and keep your fallacious woke whining to yourselves.

-Samuel Decker Thompson

Here is the text from the Winslow Letter, the only eyewitness account. Anything else was propaganda created by people seeking to petition the government in the late 1700s to create a holiday to bring goodwill between the two groups, Lincoln eventually made it a national holiday, although George Washington did have one Thanksgiving decree on record around 1790

Edward Winslow was among the group of Pilgrims present at the first 1621 Thanksgiving. He describes the scene:

"Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week.

At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, and many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty."

References:

Edward Winslow's account appears in: Heath, Dwight, A Journal of the Pilgrims at Plymouth: Mourt's Relation (1963); EyeWitness to America (1997); Morrison, Samuel Eliot, Builders of the Bay Colony (1930).

[galtx]

GALTx eNews: And That's A Wrap!

We wrapped up 2022 with a severe winter weather story, but getting all the hounds through it safely wasn't all we accomplished. Our Dallas and New Mexico teams also found homes for 124 hounds. Adoptions were down from 2021 primarily because our supply of adoptable hounds decreased. Especially towards the end of the year, many of our incoming hounds needed more time on Injured Reserve adding to our vet bills and tying up foster homes. Currently, 13 hounds remain on Injured Reserve recovering from injury or illness before they can find their forever homes.

Our intake teams helped us welcome 94 hounds, including 25 retired racers from Ireland on five different flights, 12 retired racers from the United States, 30 hounds relinquished by their owners (including four puppies from Kansas and one from Argentina), 11 hounds from shelters, and 16 strays (including the landfill hounds). Every hound that comes in our door needs to find a foster home before they can find a forever home. And foster homes continue to be one of our tightest resources, especially homes that can take on a bonded pair, hounds with health issues, or puppies. If you live near Dallas/Ft. Worth and can open your house to a foster hound, please reach out to our foster coordinator, Julie Waller, at jwaller@galtx.org. We need you now more than ever!

We were thrilled to see you all again in person at events such as the North Texas Irish Festival, our 21st birthday party, our Spanish Wine and Tapas fundraiser, Blessings and Brunch, and Friends and Family Holiday Shopping event. Thank you all for supporting our five on-line auctions and several on-line fundraisers. We met our matching funds goals every time and left nothing behind. Congratulations again to our Dallas Cowboys Thanksgiving Day Raffle winners and all who purchased raffle tickets! These things and so many more added up to get us through the years and help the hounds get to forever homes! Stay tuned, we have a fantastic 2023 planned for you and the hounds!

Give For 2023!

1/5/2022