#we turned ourselves into a pickle

[casketvamps]

i know pickles being "the mom friend" is a fun joke that the show loves to lean on, but we cannot trick ourselves into thinking that he is soft and always level-headed because of it. he's fucking insane and he loves violence. he will rip and tear for any reason whatsoever. i love when he turns into a crazed chimp

[skeletinmoss]

The curse of the dark Phoenix

Chapter 13: Memories to share

First chapter | Previous

Also go follow @lovelivingmydreams because she's awesome and her writing is amazing. And I have no idea how I convinced her to work on this story with just one drawing.

Enjoy reading:

And then he was in the middle of a little village. Nothing like any village he’d seen before though. The way the houses were built, the clothes the people wore… It was so different from what he was used to.

A little boy rushed past him.

“Virgil hold up!!!” a young boy’s voice shouted.

“Sorry Michael!” the little boy said. “I just want to show mom the flowers before they go bad,” the little boy said to the bigger kid that was catching up to, what Roman assumed to be, his little brother. The boy who would grow up to be the High Mage of the Night Flame.

“If you pick them, they usually last longer V. Now take my hand and lets walk home together. At least pretend I’m looking after you,” Michael insisted.

Roman studied them both. The little boy’s hair looked lighter and shorter than what he was used to seeing from Virgil. Other than that he could definitely see this as a past version of him.

He looked so happy and carefree. As only children can.

“Welcome to the village of my youth.” Roman looked beside him and saw Virgil standing next to him. “It doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing bad. People just left for greener pastures and the village got forgotten to time. I went back a while ago, it’s nothing but open fields now. I still remember it like it was yesterday though,” he continued.

“I… It looks lovely,” Roman said, not sure what to make of it.

“I figured we could combine our options. Get the most out of this dream. I’ll teach you along the way,” Virgil promised before turning his attention back to the memory and speaking the way he did whenever he taught them anything.

“It was named RiverFort,” Virgil stated. “Because of the nearby river and the fort that was built by the guild on the other side… The magic guild that is. Mages were a rarity and ascended mages even more so. Which is why I often find myself older than everyone in the room combined these days,” Virgil joked. “This is Axilla, long before we really named ourselves that. The guild aided the villages within this unclaimed territory and in exchange we all provided what we could…” Virgil nodded ahead and they saw a man and a woman greet Virgil and his brother. The woman was pregnant. Little Virgil kissed his mother’s belly and handed her the flowers.

Then little Virgil went to greet his father who ruffled his hair before continuing a conversation with a gentleman in robes.

“You really got us out of a pickle there Remy. Any idea why those wolves left their territory to snatch our sheep?” Virgil’s father wondered. He seemed like a kind man. And an animal lover with the way he gave the mage’s horse an apple and pats while talking to his rider.

“Not a clue Francis. But I’ll figure it out and make sure I won’t have to come back. If I may pick up a few blankets and a traveling cloak on the way back? Have it set aside if I don’t. Emile is in the north and he’s super capable but negotiations are always a bit iffy,” he shrugged carelessly.

“You be careful too alright. By the grace of the stars, we will see you soon,” Virgil’s father insisted.

“Bye mister magic man!” Virgil said cheerfully. The mage, Remy knelt and looked at him. “Hmmm. Getting bigger huh little man? I get a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other,” he stated, booping Virgil’s nose to which the little one mock complained. Then he got on his horse.

“Bless your days in the kingdom of the sun,” he bid, and rode off towards the woods.

The family headed inside to listen to Virgil’s story about his day with his big brother.

“Remy was right. He ended up being one of my teachers. And he’d been around the block a few times by then. You’d like him,” Virgil chuckled.

Things shifted. Very briefly Roman saw a little bigger Virgil accidentally levitating a pot that was falling from a stove, much to the amazement of his parents and now two siblings. The little sister he’d mentioned before was an adorable toddler in this one.

Then Remy was back, performing a magic aptitude test, looking not surprised in the least. And then Virgil was being picked up by a carriage his mother tying a no doubt handmade scarf around his neck, the family wishing him luck and praying for the stars to guide him.

Roman noticed that the young boy and his teacher both had applied colored shadows under their eyes.

He got in the carriage, and the family and the village disappeared. Instead they were riding down a long stone rode in a bustling city. Though it didn’t seem as big as the capitol Roman remembered. Little 11 or 12 year old Virgil was looking around nervously.

“It’ll be alright squirt,” Remy, who’d apparently been his escort, assured him. “You’ll make tons of friends and have loads to write to your family about. And just think of all the ways you’ll be able to help them out when you get back for the breaks?” Remy pointed out.

Virgil nodded, still withdrawn from nerves. A stark difference to what he was like when in a familiar environment.

Roman looked at the passing buildings trying to find the academy.

“The one you know won’t be built for a while,” Virgil reminded him. Right… Was this even the current capitol?

“This is what you know as Lumen. One of the bigger cities at the time,” Virgil explained as time sped up around them and they found themselves on the edge of the city up a winding path towards a large building, nestled against the forest.

Then Virgil got out and showed to the dormitories and his room.

“There were ten kids in my group, all of varying ages,” Virgil stated as they watched him put his things away, hug his scarf tight and going outside. “And in a strange moment of bravery, I left my room to go and meet them right away,” he chuckled as they reached a playground where a lot of kids were playing. Most were around Virgil’s age, though there were a few late bloomers there too.

Little Virgil looked around and found a kid sitting by himself, reading.

Roman squinted. Was that Gustav?

“Hi,” little Virgil greeted.

The kid looked up, and Roman was a bit surprised to realize it was indeed a younger Gustav.

He also had shading under his eyes. It must have been the style at the time. It was kind of cute that Virgil still did it though.

The young arch mage looked at Virgil's offered hand curiously.

"Um... I'm Virgil."

Gustav gave Virgil a careful smile and accepted his hand. "Gustav," he said. Virgil visibly relaxed at the successful introductions.

"Can I sit with you, please? I promised my mom I'd try and make friends," he said softly.

Gustav giggled. "Well. I didn't, but I guess I don't want you to break a promise to yours," he said, making room on the bench.

"I almost forgot about this part... looking at it from this angle... I guess I get why he didn't like J and Remus all that much," Virgil mused next to Roman as little Virgil sat down and asked about the book Gustav was reading. The conversation seemed to be going well when suddenly...

"CRACK!"

"Woah!"

"Hey!?"

"Hi there," another boy greeted them. Which would've been fine if he hadn't fallen from the sky accompanied by a broken off tree branch. Right on top of Virgil.

Both were now on the ground with the new boy looking down at Virgil.

"You wanna play tag?" he asked.

"Shouldn't you start with: Are you okay? Or: I'm sorry? Or something like that!?" Gustav scolded as he pushed the new boy off from Virgil and helped him get up and dust him off. "I'm fine. Just... caught me of guard," Virgil assured both.

Gustav was not satisfied, though.

"What were you doing up there anyway? Spying on us?!" he accused.

"Napping, until you two woke me up... after that, a bit of spying," the boy admitted.

"That's a weird napping spot," Little Virgil said. Amused.

"Those are the best kinds," the boy argued.

"I like you. I'm Remus," he decided. Holding out his hand. "Virgil, and this is my friend Gustav," Virgil introduced, making Gustav hold his head up a little higher at being called friend.

"What on earth is all this commotion about?" A new boy wondered as he joined the group.

"Mister bright idea climbed a tree. Took a nap, we heard a snap, and then he bruised a knee," Gustav huffed. The group stared. And Roman chuckled. "Was that on purpose?" Virgil asked. Gustav shrugged. "Not at first," he admitted.

"Impressive," Virgil said.

"Well. I am Janus. And you all are...?" The new boy wondered.

"Virgin, Gus and Remus!" Remus screeched.

Gustav made a face. "Gustav and Virgil..." he corrected.

"You talk fancy. Who's your daddy?" Remus wondered. Making Virgil hide his face to stiffen a laugh. Gustav just rolled his eyes. Glancing at Virgil nervously.

Owch. Yeah. Roman wouldn't have liked two random kids stealing the show right when he was making a proper friend. Especially if it ended in him and said friend never getting close.

"My uncle, is high Mage Remy. Eternal lover of the smoldering heart. so my talent was spotted rather quickly. How about you three?" Janus wondered.

"My parents have like, a ton of stores so they paid for an aptitude test so I’d be out of their hair," Remus shrugged. "Jokes on them. I'll be even more of a menace when I know magic,” he added with a grin. Roman noted that both Virgil and Gustav felt a bit self-conscious now. Virgil glanced to Gustav, realized he was not alone in his worry and found courage. "My parents are tailors, and um... I caught a pot without touching when it fell. So when mister Remy... your uncle, came by to check on our village, they told him. And he checked, and now I am here," he said. Making Gustav relax.

"It's just my mother, and I. She helps one of the farmers who has no children to help him to get by. One day, I made a mess of her nice dress, and I wished it was clean, and then it was." He said, feeling more confident now that he and Virgil seemed to have more in common.

"Cool," Remus grinned.

Someone rang a bell. "Oh, class in session! Come on! You gotta sit with us!" Remus insisted dragging Virgil along, followed by a bemused Janus and a dejected Gustav. That must've stung.

"Your friends seem fun," Roman decided. It hadn't seemed like they were deliberately pushing Gustav away. But the young arch mage clearly hadn't felt comfortable around their big personalities.

"Yeah," Virgil smiled.

"Now. Your turn. Show me something about you," Virgil instructed, catching Roman of guard.

"Me?" He asked.

Virgil nodded. "Pick a memory. Focus on it. And share it like how you shared your emotions with me the past two days," he instructed.

Okay. Doable...

Roman took a breath. Focused and...

He was home. Just the sight of it nearly made him tear up. How had Virgil kept it together when showing his own. "I was prepared. You are doing great," Virgil assured him. Roman nodded gratefully and led Vigil to the play room where he and his friends were bowed over books on magic.

"And then he single handedly tamed the beast of Zimmer and sent it back into the woods!" Young Roman told his friends. Much to their amazement.

"I wish I could do something so amazing," Patton sighed.

"But we can. We just have to get into the academy," Logan stated wisely.

"Don't we have to pass an aptitude test for that?" Roman asked, more intrigued than skeptical. "Yes, but I found an old book in your parents' collection, one from before the plague, and in it, it says that magic is a skill you can learn. Like cooking and art. Talent helps, but it is not our only way to pass the test. It even has the instructions. Are you two with me? I am confident I can do it, of course, but I'd rather not be by myself," Logan said formally.

Young Roman grinned and threw an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Of course, big brains. Where do we start?" He stated. "Yay! We're going to change the world together!" Patton cheered, hugging his friends who chuckled.

"Admirable attitude. It is correct, of course. Even if you didn't have talent, which, for the record, you all do, you could learn to connect with your own mana 'the hard way' as they say."

Roman smiled at the reassurance. He had felt a bit insecure about that.

"Well, you didn't meet your friends at school so I’ll go again," Virgil offered showing a classroom with young Virgil flanked by his friends. Gustav a row behind them.

"Why are we seeing this from this perspective? The memory of the ball was like looking through your eyes," Roman suddenly realized.

"Because this talks easier. The details out of sight are filled in through reasoning. I remember Gustav was behind me and I now realize what first meeting Remus and J might've felt like for him. So I, subconsciously make assumptions based on that. We are watching an unreliable narrator. Especially when paying attention to what happens out of sight," he explained as the teacher paced in front of the room.

“So, who can tell me why we need herbs and minerals and animal parts for casting?” the teacher wondered. Looking over the crowd.

“Remus?” he pressed. Remus rolled his eyes. “So we don’t get tired when doing spells,” he said.

Janus snickered at his friend’s deadpan tone. “Care to elaborate Janus?” the teacher challenged.

Janus sat up straighter. “Spells cost energy like climbing a set of stairs would. Using the mana in outside sources when we can, keeps us from draining our own supply,” he stated.

The teacher nodded. "Why can’t we use whatever we want then? Why, by example, do we use Merick’s leaves and not aloe vera in pain relief spells and potions?" The teacher asked.

Virgil perked up a little, looked around to see if anyone else wanted to answer and carefully raised his hand.

"Yes." The teacher acknowledged.

"The mana in the plants is less flexible than the mana within ourselves. Pushing it beyond their natural form would cost us more energy than we would save. Pain is a symptom unrelated to actual damage. Aloe vera needs something to fix. Mericks leaves soothe and relax." Young Virgil stated. Roman cocked his head. Spotting a difference in their education.

"Indeed. You can learn the components needed for each individual spell or you can learn what those components actually want to accomplish with their mana. That will allow you to truly blossom as mages and push the boundaries of magic,” the teacher explained.

Gustav leaned over his desk and tapped Virgil on the shoulder. “Gotta be you, I’m starting to think you can look at a brand new plant and immediately tell what it’d be good for,” he whispered. So some time had passed. And Virgil had made an impression it seemed.

“Is that why you’re being such a suck up?” Remus teased. Gustav turned red and fell back into his chair. “Whatever, freak,” he huffed. Virgil was clearly uncomfortable caught in the middle of the argument.

“That’s enough of that,” Virgil decided.

Roman agreed and focused on a memory of his own to relive.

His own experience with his chosen field of study.

They stood in a different classroom. In a different building. Students were filing out and joking about. Logan and Patton hesitated by the door as a young Roman approached the teacher.

“Um… Sir?” he asked.

“What is it?” the teacher said, the enthusiasm for teaching Virgil’s teacher had nowhere to be found.

“Um… Well the dean said that we should talk to the teacher specializing in our chosen discipline about… Well specializing and I…”

The teacher perked up. “You want to specialize in herbology?” he asked. Surprised, skeptical, hopeful.

“Y-yes. I mean. Plants and their uses always interested me. And well… Being able to recognize them on sight seems like an important skill. So…” he explained awkwardly.

Now the teacher lit up. “Then I will do my best to teach you all I know,” he promised.

Roman turned to Virgil. “Herbology wasn’t very popular the past fifty years,” he shrugged.

“Well, they never taught you the cool parts so I’m not surprised,” Virgil shrugged.

The memory shifted to his teacher’s private office late in the evening. Young Roman was bowed over a few books, several pots of herbs set up before him.

“It is said, that in the time before the dark plague, there were herbologists who were so in tune with the mana of living beings, that they could sense the ingredients of anything they ate, even down to the exact amount of salt crystals.”

Virgil chuckled. “Slight exaggeration,” he assured him.

Roman wanted to ask him to elaborate, but he figured questions could wait for the road. Virgil might appreciate a distraction while they traveled.

“Sadly, the methods with which they achieved this ability have gotten lost after the plague,” teacher sighed wistfully.

“Sir… I don’t understand these instructions,” young Roman told his teacher.

“This healing spell calls for Mint root, but that feels wrong? In this one,” he pointed to another page, “the revitalization spell, mintroot is combined with Lilly pollen. And it just feels like the Lilly pollen would be far more effective for the healing spell?” young Roman pointed out.

Virgil looked to Roman with a bright, proud smile. “Good eye,” he praised.

Roman’s teacher looked at Roman’s notes and hummed. “I understand your concerns. But Lilly pollen is too potent to use on its own and any deterrent would render the benefit entirely useless. It is a level three after all. We can’t use catalysts in reckless abandon, that is what caused the plague,” he explained gravely. “But good eye Roman. You clearly have talent,” he praised. Young Roman smiled but didn’t look too convinced.

“Do my eyes spy a spark of rebellion?” Virgil gasped.

“I may have started using Lilly Pollen where I felt it was appropriate whenever I wasn’t supervised… I’d say don’t tell Logan but I think he’s thrown all caution to the wind since you made him great wizard mage,” Roman admitted.

“Following your own gut over a teacher’s instruction isn’t such a trivial matter though. That took courage,” Virgil complemented before taking charge of the memories again.

Leaving Roman no chance to react.

Virgil showed a few snippets of memories of him and his friends growing up at the academy. Laughing at Remus’ antics, debating ethics and technicalities with Janus. Going home and showing all that he had learned to his family and using it to help around the village.

And then they were inside a room with a familiar layout. It was round. The floor and ceiling decorated with mosaic representing the night sky, the magically glowing stars the only light source.

Virgil was sat in the middle of the room. Meditating.

Roman could hear the instructions echo in Virgil’s mind, the only sound in this silent room other than Virgil’s breathing.

“Focus on the flow of magic within you. Until it is all that is left. Let it show you your power. Do not waver. Do not turn away. Welcome it. It is part of you. Yet it also is a life all its own. Let it show you, who you are meant to be.”

Roman felt something stir inside him at those words. “That’s a better pep talk than I got,” he whispered to Virgil.

“Do I want to know?” Virgil wondered.

“Try not to die,” Roman surmised.

“… Roman, I never asked. How many Great mages has the academy produced since the plague?” Virgil asked.

“Um… Us?” Roman admitted.

“So… You outrank the council?” Virgil concluded. “Uh… I never thought about it like that… I guess?” Roman mused.

Virgil frowned but focused back on the memory. Also choosing to keep questions for the road.

The stars seemed to go out, and a purple glow appeared inside Virgil right at his heart.

Not a glow… A flame.

Virgil opened his eyes and stood up in the void. Looking for a light, an exit. Something.

He reached for his chest and touched the flame, held it in his hand, and set it free.

The magic spread into the room, creating new stars. Constellations Roman didn’t recognize, and was fairly certain Virgil didn’t know either. So it wasn’t just that he didn’t pay enough attention in astronomy class.

Young Virgil stared on in awe and stepped back in surprise as his magic fire returned to him and burst into an inferno, revealing a phoenix made of purple flames.

Virgil hesitated and bowed. The Phoenix let out a majestic cry and flew straight through Virgil, making his robes flare up and his hair blow back. It was much shorter at this time in his life, but long enough to be affected. Virgil looked behind him and he was back in the meditation room, the door glowing with his magic and opening.

His classmates streamed in.

“That was wicked cool!” Remus exclaimed as he threw an arm over Virgil’s shoulder.

“Uh… What was?” Virgil asked.

“Let’s just say for a moment I thought there’d be a phoenix permanently burned into the doors to the ascension chamber,” Janus smirked.

“Indeed. Congratulations. Virgilious, fate spinner, Mage of the dark phoenix,” their teacher allowed.

Roman looked at Virgil.

“My first nickname. Based on my ability to weave any sort of spell into fabric. Cleaning was my first one but I perfected it to a point where I could integrate three different spells into one fabric. After building a proper reputation as a high mage I got the name Night Flame,” Virgil explained.

Roman looked to the crowd and spotted Gustav standing by the edge. Observing with a closed expression.

Though past Virgil wasn’t looking directly at him so that wasn’t necessarily how he looked at the time.

Past Virgil was too busy feeling bashful about the attention and the title.

Roman felt a little bad for the young Arch mage. If things had gone just a little differently, he would’ve been part of the past few memories rather than a figure in the background.

“Gustav. I believe you were next?” The teacher stated. Now Virgil’s attention did go to him. Gustav hid some kind of expression and nodded formally.

“Watch him get a gnome,” someone whispered in the group, making a few others laugh and Gustav flush.

“What would be wrong with that? Gnomes are mischievous but creative and in tune with nature. There is no such thing as a bad guide. Only shortsighted, immature mages who probably shouldn’t be getting theirs yet,” Virgil scolded his classmates who looked sheepish at being called out like that.

“It’s alright Virgil,” Gustav said, finding his confidence. “Who knows? Maybe I will get a less popular guide. I’m not stupid, I know that is more in line with my standing,” he noted, strolling to the center of the room. “Then again,” he stated as he turned around. “Maybe I’ll be the dragon who will unite the lands under one crown. And you’ll all wish you’d tried a little harder to get my favor,” he smirked as he dropped himself into a cross legged position. “Well, most of you,” he finished.

The teacher guided the group out of the room. Virgil looked back briefly and found that Gustav had dropped the bravado and looked nervous. And then the door closed.

“We don’t need to see every ceremony. There was no dragon that year in any case. But I had learned that if I was going to ever become a high mage, I’d have to come to terms with the fact that I’d have to learn to fly. Remus tried pretty much the day after the ceremony to ascend. And Janus had started daily meditations in preparation for a serious attempt a month or two later.

I was nowhere near mentally ready to even think of that. So… I practiced.”

Roman looked up and they found themselves in a small clearing in a forest. Virgil was pacing the forest floor.

“A bird. Of course I had to be a freaking bird… That’s fine though. I can prepare. This time tomorrow I’m not going to be held back by something as silly as a fear of heights.”

Past Virgil stood still in the middle of the meadow and retrieved a feather from his satchel.

And then his form shrunk and changed. And before them stood a falcon, moving his body experimentally.

“Changing shape gets much easier once you ascend. As you might have noticed. When ascending you essentially abandon a physical form, and become magic yourself. And magic, can take any shape it needs to with ease. Before that… It feels a bit uncomfortable to shape your body in a form that is not its own,” Virgil explained.

“So, changing your looks wouldn’t be as uncomfortable as becoming an animal,” Roman concluded.

“Yeah. Depending on how much you change, but I suppose even changing yourself to an entirely different body type is more doable than becoming a different species,” Virgil agreed as his past self-made a few clumsy attempts to get up on a fallen tree to have a launch platform.

“What you see next stays between us alright?” Virgil asked.

Roman nodded. “I wasn’t going to share a second of this with anyone anyway,” Roman promised.

Virgil smiled at him and then focused on the memory again where the falcon took off. And fell out of the sky almost immediately. Roman blinked and the falcon was back on the tree.

Took of once more, and fell again.

A few more minutes went by. Though Roman never saw the impact. Just the moment that Virgil lost the fight with gravity and then he started over again.

“You fell a lot,” Roman observed.

“I was much too stubborn. Getting tired made it harder,” Virgil huffed.

The memory showed an exhausted falcon, falling asleep on the forest floor… That didn’t seem safe.

Indeed. The sky grew dark and something emerged from the bushes. A fox.

Luckily Virgil woke up just in time to doge it’s attack. He cawed in warning but the fox must’ve been very hungry or in need for some food for their cubs perhaps, because it tried to attack again. Virgil, rather than turning human, fueled by adrenaline, launched himself skyward, and this time, managed to remain there. Flying up above the treetops, elated at his success, and from the looks of it he soon found himself at home among the winds.

He flew past the forest edge and made his way into a familiar village. He returned to his human form on the pathway and was immediately greeted by his family who’d been worried since he hadn’t come home before sundown as he usually did. His father had been about to go look for him.

It was a sweet display.

Then the memory shifted to inside the home. The family was gathered and an older man and two young adults were measuring them. Much to the delight of Virgil’s little sister.

“We did well for ourselves after I figured out the self-cleaning fabric thing. So, when the time came for the introduction ball of the new great mages of that year, we decided to splurge on some new clothes. We didn’t usually do anything fancy so I had a tailor from the city come to make us all something fitting for the occasion.

And, I met the guy who taught me to… appreciate dressing up,” Virgil admitted. Fondly looking at the young man who was clearly trying not to be weird while taking a great mage’s measurements.

“What happened to the lyre player?” Roman asked curiously. Recalling what Virgil said about the first man he kissed while they were sitting at the loom.

“Oh, that was years before this. I was… Sixteen. He was part of a traveling band, but they ran into some bad luck and needed a lot of repairs, so they stayed the summer and did odd jobs to pay for their repairs and necessities and such. We… hit it off. But at the end I had duties in the city and he went back to the road,” Virgil recalled.

“How old are you at this point?” Roman wondered. Virgil had been around Roman’s age when he stopped aging. And he was a great mage in this one, so this couldn’t be too long before that.

Virgil hummed.

“Well, gosh, I haven’t thought about that for a while… But I was 18 when I became a wizard… 19 when I became a great wizard. And… Yeah about 25 when I became a mage.” Roman nodded. That wasn’t an unusual timeline.

“I think… I think I’m 27, almost 28 at this point,” he decided.

Roman observed past Virgil exchange a smile and a joke with the apprentice, making him laugh and relax. He looked cute.

They watched just a little longer. Seeing the young man start to gush animatedly about his passions and Virgil starting to get intrigued.

Then Virgil showed him his next memory.

They were in a large room, lit up with various types of magic lighting. Making for a festive atmosphere. There was music playing and there were people dancing in gorgeous suits and gowns in styles entirely unfamiliar to Roman.

So far he’d seen Virgil and the others wear robes and the casual fashion of commoners that didn’t change as much. He almost wished Virgil had shown him a local festival so he could’ve seen what they’d worn for such an occasion.

He spotted Virgil and his family. The ladies looking lovely in purple gowns with feather’s in their braids. His mother’s hair in an updo and his sisters and another woman Roman didn’t recognize in a lovely half up half down. Their gowns had high collars, tiny glass beads sewn in into the fabric to make them shimmer like the night sky. Their sleeves long and widening from the elbows down. Their skirts flowing delicately with every move. Virgil, his brother and father were all wearing a similar costume consisting of a dark purple shirt with black pants and ties. His father and brother wearing a decorative feather shoulder piece on opposite shoulders while Virgil wore one on both. All the men had the shadows under their eyes, most men at the party did. It really was a fashion trend.

They looked great, and excited to be there.

They greeted a few people at the door. Virgil was predictably dismissive of his teacher’s praises and his family’s pride. He introduced his brother Michael, his sister in law Penelope and his little sister Mariane alongside his parents, Francis and Evelyn. Once he felt there’d been enough introductions he took his sister to the dancefloor she’d been eyeing since the moment they got in.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her when he saw her look at the crowd. “It’s all in the lead. So I’ll be the one looking bad if something goes wrong.” His sister rolled her eyes and stepped on his foot on purpose, much to his amusement.

Then he took her in a spin around the room. Mariane looked like she was having the time of her life. Dressed up and dancing at a ball.

And then a handsome young man tapped Virgil on the shoulder, interrupting their dance.

The young man was a bit flushed as he took in Mariane before turning to Virgil.

“My apologies, mister Virgil. Would, either of you,” he glanced hopefully to Mariane, “Mind if I cut in?” he asked.

Virgil smirked and looked at his sister who was clearly taken aback by this turn of events.

“Mariane, this is one of Janus’ cousins, Vincent. Vincent, this is my beloved little sister Mariane. Do you mind keeping Vincent company while I look for his cousin and Remus?” Virgil asked.

Mariane shook her head. “Not at all,” she breathed. And so Virgil handed her over with care and left the floor to look for his friends.

He found them soon. Both dressed even more lavishly than Virgil was. Remus a collage of styles and suits that were all demanding attention. Janus seemed to have pieces of scaled leather incorporated in his suit. Probably showcasing their guide.

Roman noticed Gustav talking to a few noble looking men with a woman at his arm that must’ve been his mother. His suit was modest if not for the ornate pieces of jewelry added to it.

Remus and Janus praised Virgil for his suit and they talked about old times and their plans for the future. Virgil laughed with them but kept glancing at the dancefloor.

Suddenly something startled him and without a word he made his way back towards the center where Roman also spotted someone trying to cut between Vincent and Mariane. Something neither seemed interested in.

“Excuse me,” Virgil announced putting himself between the pair and the third wheel.

“… Great mage Virgil. Good evening. I merely wanted to honor your sister with a dance,” the man assured Virgil.

“The honor would be yours entirely, if she was interested, which she isn’t. Go find someone who is Philipe,” he warned.

“Ah, so you know who I am… Wouldn’t you agree that it would be in your family’s best interest to…”

“I would agree to no such thing,” Virgil interjected. And Roman could feel power build even in this memory. Clearly mister Philipe hadn’t expected that reaction.

“In fact, I think you’ll find it would be in you and your family’s best interest not to anger me any further. I would be very careful of angering the Dark Phoenix. For they are loyal and reliable and inspire such traits in those they meet. I have friends Philipe, and those friends might have more influence than you’d like,” Virgil warned.

“Virgil… You are…” Mariane said softly behind him.

“Is that a threat mage?” Philipe challenged.

“It is a promise that I am not afraid to put you in your place in front of this whole party,” Virgil growled. And around him people gathered, looking at Philipe like his judgement had already been passed. And it wasn’t favorable. Vincent had escorted Mariane to her parents and they all looked on while Virgil laid down the law.

Philipe seemed nervous now, looking around the room and seeing no support. He was about to say something else but then backed away in fear. Virgil’s building power was more obvious now, his clothes and hair flaring and moments later, it erupted with a protective fury from his being.

For a moment Virgil was completely gone. Only a shapeless mass of purple flames in his space.

“Virgil!” his family called, and as if in answer to his name, the flames took the shape of a bird, and then a man, and then Virgil reemerged from the flames. Reborn as a high mage.

[ceilingfan5]

go around

@taznovembercelebration "super au" and "silly"

“Man,” Taako sighs, as quietly as possible. “This is the second time I’ve been a hostage this month.” He’s not tied up this time, at least, but he’s sitting in the back hallway of the bank and regretting his choice of errands today. The guy next to him nods. 

“You too, huh?” He’s pretty, and goth, very serious-with-a-side-of-secretly-goofy, and Taako wants to crack him like a nut. Shame they’re busy waiting for the supervillain of the week to either get got or get his private island and fourteen pounds of gummy worms, or fucking whatever. “It’s ridiculous. They need to spend less money on making flashy superheroes and more on just–security, infrastructure, safety, you know, mental health initiatives-”

“Or maybe we need to break down and be supervillains ourselves.” Taako shrugs, with an I’m JOKING I PROMISE…unless? Air about him. He’s sick of it. 

“Really?” Handsome asks, laughing a little. 

“Really,” Taako says, still kind of joking, but also kind of not joking. “Taako can barely get his errands done when there’s no Captain Backwards Lightning Man in the way, you know? It’s enough to make a guy wanna destroy some well-placed props.”

Handsome laughs. 

“You’re Taako, I take it?”

“In the flesh, skele-fellow. You?”

“Kravitz,” Kravitz says, and then, “Probably. If I’m going to be a villain, you don’t know that, and I’ll have to erase your memories, or something.”

“Or we could be a team,” Taako teases. “We could be the only ones who knew each other’s secret identities. You could come over for chicken alfredo, I could go to yours for game night, little bit of blackmail to keep things spicy-”

Kravitz laughs, and covers his mouth, but it must not be too loud, or maybe the gummy worm accords are going sour, because nothing comes of it except an embarrassing amount of affection from Taako. 

“I wish I had a power worth doing anything drastic about,” he admits, looking at Taako for comiseration or approval or something else that might lead to romance. 

“Yeah? Cha boi’s in the same boat, so keep paddling. Dumber supers have done worse.”

“Really? I mean- about your power, I remember, uh, Pickle Monster.”

“Who could forget.” Taako shakes his head solemnly. “Yeah, no, I can read minds, but only if it’s food related.”

“Seriously?” Kravitz grins. “I love specific powers, but that sort of thing drives me nuts in practice. Like- surely the universe could have been kinder?”

“Would it ever stoop so low?” Taako snorts. “No, seriously, try me.”

“Okay,” Kravitz says, screwing up his nose in the cutest stinking way Taako has ever seen. “What was my dinner last night?”

Taako looks him directly in the eye, feels that weird connection he gets with people sometimes, the sort of way that makes him sweaty and lonely. He steps right into Kravitz’s doorway, looks around his home, wonders if there’s more than meets the eye. Surely. It’s welcoming enough, maybe just because Kravitz is inviting him in, in this moment. Much less of a trespass than it usually is. 

He watches the memory unfold, and feels fond over this dork, who looks so business goth put together on the outside. 

“You air-fryered tater tot nachos,” Taako says, and Kravitz blinks, surprised, and Taako’s shunted right back out. 

“Really? You really got that much?”

“Oh, honey-nugget, I got more than that, I’m just trying to-”

“How much do you get?”

Taako grimaces. 

“Pretty much everything, especially if emotions are, uh, involved? You- uh. You poured frozen tater tots in the air fryer, dropped one on your bare foot and started bleeding, went to put a pokemon bandaid on it, and when it beeped for you to turn the food, and you tried to test one, because your timing was off because the package didn’t have air fryer instructions, you dropped it on your other bare foot and burnt it.” 

Kravitz’s mouth drops open. 

“Sorry?” Taako says, even sweatier. “You opened the door, kemosabe.” 

“Right,” Kravitz says, with a conspicuous glance at his shiny boy shoes. 

“I wasn’t trying to intrude,”

“No, I, get it, I, could have picked something else.” Kravitz clears his throat and loosens his black-on-black rose patterned tie. “Mine isn’t nearly as interesting.”

“Seriously?” Taako snorts. “Maybe you have an eight foot vertical leap, or your snot is acid.” 

“Is acid snot better than mind reading?”

“Dog, everything’s better than mind reading, do you know how fucking loud the world is all the goddamn time?”

“Touché.” Kravitz glances at the noise from the bank lobby, but nothing seems to come of it. He shifts his feet, looking at them again. “I mean, they were good tater tots.”

“Sometimes food that hurts fucks harder.” 

“So true?” Kravitz laughs. “I wish I had super healing, or super-not-being-a-dumbass, but, you know,”

“Man, if I was super-not-a-dumbass, I really could take over the world. Watch out, Townsville! Pew pew!” 

Kravitz looks at him with some kind of goopy eye disease that could be confused for fondness, if you were stupid, like Taako. 

“I just- so, see, I have this knife?”

“Yeah?” Taako looks him over for said knife, which he does not manage to produce. “Taken, was it?”

“Mhm,” Kravitz sighs, glancing at the lobby again. Some loud discussion is going on, between the somebody of police and TToday’s Evil Baddoer. “I can cut these little rifts with it, nothing huge, because it’s just a big fancy pocket knife, but I can store stuff in there, which is kind of neat. One time I climbed through and found myself somewhere else, but it was really difficult, on account of the small blade and all.”

“Yeah?” Taako’s heart pounds. “Seriously? Does it have to be the one knife?”

Kravitz pauses, and then turns to him directly. 

“I’ve only done it with the one knife, I guess. And a grapefruit spoon.” 

“What if-”

“Oh my god.”

“Hear me out-”

“Oh my god.”

Taako casts about for literally any kind of blade, fucking at all. There’s a letter opener that looks like a sword on the Mortgage Guy’s desk, and Taako checks out Super Badguy in the lobby, and then slowly, painfully, starts sneaking his way toward it. Kravitz chews his fingernails behind him, and truly fourteen thousand ice ages later, Taako returns, and hams up presenting the letter opener to Kravitz.

Kravitz stares at it, and hestiates. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“It doesn’t work and you’re mad at me,” Kravitz admits, painfully honest. 

“What if it does work?”

“I’d take you out for dinner,” Kravitz admits, fully focused on the silver blade. 

“What kind?”

“Any sort of food you’d like?” And Taako steps into his mind one more time, slips in through the door, and finds himself in a nice restaurant across from Kravitz in a cute dark purple button up, slut that he is, one button open, just a hint, just a peek, and they kiss over the dessert, which costs way too much for crème brûlée, but Taako won’t tell him that, no sir.

And he zhoops right back out. 

“You have to do it,” he says, a little breathless. Kravitz looks at him, alarmed, and back at the letter opener, whcih he finally takes. He moves it around in the air, getting a feel for it, and then SWIPES–

And a flickering, dark tear in reality appears. Kravitz covers a gasp, Taako doesn’t, and certainly they’ll be spotted soon, but Kravitz tears and rips and hacks into the rip in the universe, and once he gets it big enough, tears at it with his hands, and then gets a knee in there, and there’s a sickening non-sound as it widens ever so slowly, achingly, and Taako watches with deep, embarrassing affection as Kravitz manages to clamber through, looking like an absolute idiot, and turns and reaches an arm out for Taako.

Fucking ROMANCE. 

“I’ve, gotta-”

“We’ll go around and help from the other side, Taako,” Kravitz promises. “It’ll just be way easier if I get literally anything sharper.” 

“Oh,” Taako says, relieved. And he jumps into Kravitz’s arms, because he has the chance, and it’d be more embarrassing if he didn’t take it. 

Any kisses between the jumping and the rescuing are off the record, and also private. So there. 

[id: gameboard with 15 spaces, 1-6 taken up with stickers of a cat, fish, "good worker", door, dragon, and "kapow"]

[writingwhimsey]

Married to The Enemy- Shingen Ch. 62

Chapter 62

Shingen happily showed Ava around their rooms. Her eyes lit up as he showed her the room where she could work on her sewing alongside him working on his carpentry. Her smile was bright when he showed her their bedroom and the rooms that were close by for the baby and any other future children they had.

After the tour, a maid was coming to announce that a bath was prepared for them. Husband and wife shared the bath, Shingen lovingly washing Ava’s back and giving her a gentle massage as he did so. Peppering her neck and shoulders with tender kisses, earning giggles from his wife.

After the bath, they returned to their room to relax. Though they would be having dinner at the banquet later, they had some tea and snacks. Ava was sitting in Shingen’s lap, her back pressed against his chest. Shingen was feeding her the snacks.

“You really spoil me.” Ava said, tilting her head back to look up at Shingen after he had fed her another bite.

Shingen smiled at her and kissed her forehead. “How can I not spoil my angel?” He replied. “I want to make you as happy as you’ve made me.”

Ava smiled happily and reached for one of the sweet buns that was on the tray and held it up to Shingen’s lips. “Well, if that’s the case then let me spoil you, too.”

Shingen couldn’t help but to smile as he accepted the sweet treat. Though just as Ava was about to pull her hand away, he gently grabbed her wrist. He gave a mischievous grin as he brought her fingers to his mouth, parting his lips to gently take each finger between his lips, licking and sucking the sticky syrup off of each finger.

A little moan escaped Ava’s lips, as heat shot through her. “Mmmm….”

Shingen chuckled as he began placing kisses over Ava’s palm, slowly moving up to her wrist. “When you have reactions like that, it’s so hard not to indulge myself more, my love.” He murmured against her silky skin.

“I’m not complaining…quite the opposite, really.” Ava replied.

Shingen chuckled and leaned in to kiss Ava on the lips. He lifted a hand to caress her cheek. “I promise to never give you reason to complain.”

Ava smiled happily at him. “As long as you’re with me, that’s all I need to be happy.” She was then shifting in his lap, turning to face him as she wrapped her arms around him. “We have a little bit of time, right?”

Shingen grinned, holding Ava close. “Hmm, my goddess, we do…and even if we are a bit late it is our party.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted his other hand to the back of her head, drawing her close for another kiss.

Ava readily responded, her body warming pleasantly against his, her soft lips parting at the prodding of his tongue. He could kiss her and love her a thousand times and it wouldn’t be enough.

A while later…

“I knew they were gonna be late.” Yukimura muttered as he and Saki sat down in the banquet hall.

“Like we have much room to talk.” Saki teased her lover. “We just walked in here a few minutes ago ourselves.”

Yukimura’s cheeks reddened. “Yeah well, this party is for Lord Shingen.”

“I take it our lord is quite taken with his wife?” Yuto asked as he came over to sit with Yukimura and Saki.

“He’s touched in the head.” Kenshin muttered, before popping a pickled plum in his mouth.

“I hate to say this, but yeah.” Yukimura agreed.

“Lord Shingen is head over heels for Ava.” Sasuke said.

“And that feeling is mutual.” Saki added. “They’re quite sweet together, really.”

“You are Lady Ava’s lady in waiting, correct?” Yuto asked Saki.

Saki nodded. “Yes and best friend. And Yukimura’s lov…”

“You don’t have to say it! He already knows.” Yukimura said, blushing.

Saki grinned. “Your cute blushy face is exactly why I have to say it.” She said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek, which only made him grow redder.

Yuto chuckled. “I think you're perfect for this one, Saki.”

Saki smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

“That’s the first thing you’ve said all night that makes sense.” Yukimura told Yuto.

Saki smiled. “Awe, you think I’m perfect for you?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want anyone else.” Yukimura agreed.

“And no one else could put up with him either.” Sasuke said, getting in a bit of teasing at his BFF.

Yuto chuckled. “It is great to have you all here.” He said.

Ava’s grandmother was coming in then with some of the staff, carrying trays of food…food she had insisted on helping cook. “You just can’t keep yourself out of the kitchen, can you?” Saki asked.

“What? I want to make sure everyone has a good meal.” Mrs. Shiba replied as she came to sit down. “Where are Ava and Shingen?”

“They’re late.” Yukimura grumbled.

“I should have known.” Mrs. Shiba said. “There is a reason she’s pregnant.”

Saki giggled and nodded. “Really we should start placing bets now on how long before they’re having their second child.”

“I’ll say when this one is about one. It takes about a year for the memory of the pain of childbirth to fade and you start wanting a second one.” Mrs. Shiba commented.

“Is it really that bad?” Saki asked.

Mrs. Shiba nodded. “Much worse in fact, but once you hold that baby for the first time and see that little face…you know it was all worth it and that there is no one else you will ever love that much…and then you become a grandmother and learn you might have been wrong. Grandchildren are their own joy.”

Before the discussion could go any further, Shingen and Ava were walking into the room. Cheers broke out from Shingen’s gathered vassals. “Alright! Lord Shingen is finally here!”

“Now the party can really begin!”

It was as if on cue that more food and drink was brought in and a troupe of performers began to play music. “Eat up, we made sure to serve all of the best dishes from Kai. All of your favorites, my lord.” Yuto said. 

“Thank you, I truly appreciate it.” Shingen said, smiling. He was then reaching for his chopsticks and picking up a bite of his favorite dish. He then held it to Ava’s lips. “Here my angel. You should try this.”

Ava’s cheeks reddened, but she smiled and parted her lips to accept the food. As soon as the food hit her tongue, her eyes closed and she had the most adorable expression on her face. “Mmm, that is so GOOD!” She exclaimed.

Shingen grinned. “You know, I think seeing you enjoying my favorite dishes makes them even more delicious.” He told her.

Ava blushed. She was then picking up her cup of water and taking a sip to hide her blushing face. “Well, I did feel that way when we were visiting my hometown, I felt the same sharing all of my favorite foods with you.”

Shingen happily ate his food and shared it with Ava…who managed to clear her tray and was still helping Shingen eat his. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.” Yukimura commented.

Saki was reaching over and smacking him on the shoulder. “She’s pregnant, dummy.”

Ava glared at Yukimura. “Yes, I’m eating for two.”

Shingen wrapped his arm around Ava and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “Ignore him, my love. Eat as much as you want and I am happy to share. Especially when you make such cute faces.”

Ava smiled and blushed. “You might be a little biased there.”

Yuto was smiling as he watched them. “It’s good to see you settled down and looking so happy, my lord.” He told Shingen. “And my lady, I have to thank you for that.”

“I don’t know if I can take all of the credit for that.” Ava replied.

“Of course you can, my angel.” Shingen replied. 

“Can we find anything else to talk about?” Kenshin asked.

“For once, I have to agree with Lord Kenshin.” Yukimura said. He was then looking at Yuto. “So, you clearly know what we’ve been up to. What have YOU been doing while we’ve been gone?”

“Oh, mostly just taking care of things here as I always have.” Yuto answered. “Though I did recently remarry.”

“Wait, you didn’t think to tell me that upon my arrival? Or in any of your letters?” Shingen asked.

Yuto chuckled. “I was always saving it for when you returned.” He answered. 

“You should have brought her with you so we could meet the woman who won your heart.” Shingen said.

“I had planned on it, but she’s a midwife so she had a birth to oversee in town.” Yuto explained.

“I see.” Shingen replied. “So, how did you meet her?”

“She arrived in town around ten years ago.” Yuto explained. “She was lost and a bit disoriented. I’m not sure what kind of ordeal she had been through, but she had been through something for certain. I knew I had to help her. It took a while for her to trust me. But eventually she did and she came with me to my house. She started off as a maid and a cook, insisting that she did something in return for room and board. After a couple of years she and I both started to open up to each other more and became friends. Then she decided she wanted to be a midwife. Before long, I realized I had fallen in love with her. Which was something I didn’t think I could do again after my first wife died. But her gentle heart won me over before I even knew it.”

“Awe that sounds so sweet.” Ava said, before taking another bite of her food.

Shingen had to nod in agreement. “It sounds like quite the beginning for a love story.”

Yuto chuckled. “It took her even longer to trust me with her heart though.”

“Why is that?” Shingen asked.

“She had been wronged by her first husband.” Yuto answered. “He up and left her and their young daughter.”

Shingen frowned. “That’s terrible. How any man could abandon his responsibilities, is beyond me.”

Yuto nodded. “I don’t either. Especially with a woman as beautiful and kind as my Kana. She has the most dazzling green eyes.”

Shingen became aware when Ava seemed to stiffen next to him. She looked over at Yuto, a serious expression on her face. “Her name is Kana? You said you met her about ten years ago?”

Yuto nodded. “Yes.”

“You also mentioned she had a daughter…has she ever said anything about her?”

This question instantly clued Shingen into Ava’s line of thinking. He had to admit, what Yuto was saying did line up.

“She actually did. She said she was now a grown woman. She said she had had to leave her, but she didn’t want to. For a long time she tried hard to figure out how to get back to her, but she never could. She said she wanted her to know how proud she was of her and how much she loved her.” Yuto answered.

“I…I’d really like to meet her.” Ava said.

Yuto smiled. “She said if she had time after the birth she was attending, she would try to attend the party. With all of the wonderful stories I’ve told her about Lord Shingen, she said she really wants to meet him.”

“If she’s a midwife, it would make sense for her to meet you.” Saki spoke up. “I mean I know I’ve been attending to you, but to have someone who is actually a midwife and had that knowledge would be better.”

“I am sure my wife would consider it an honor to take care of you, my lady.” Yuto said.

Ava nodded. Shingen reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. He leaned in and whispered to her. “Do you think…”

Ava nodded. “Yes…I don’t want to get my hopes up…but given what we know about wormholes and her disappearance…it really could be her.” She whispered back.

Shingen could tell Ava was feeling all sorts of emotions at that moment. Her body was tense, filled with anxiety, anticipation, hope, fear…so many things all at once. He hoped Yuto’s wife would be able to show up. He had a feeling that until Ava knew, she wouldn’t be able to rest or enjoy herself.

Taglist: @limonzu @zulablaise @oda-princess @kisara-16

@tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady

@bjorkshire-pudding @eventinelysplayground

[light-trio-pokemon]

4 Horsemen of causing the gimmicks exist

Inspired by @agentc0rn , @b-a-l-a-n-c-3 and @angel-roses-delight but we added two more and turned them into gijinka✌️

Some turtles like to eat pickles because it's sour and salty and most animals like it. But don't make it habit to feed it to the turtles because they will get heart diseases, high blood pressure, and hypertension! So take care of everyone's health including ourselves!👨🏻‍⚕️

"Then people should look at his food" (Quran 80:24)

"Stomach is the home of disease and eating too much is the cause of all diseases." (Al-Kasyf al-llahi, page 499)

[cars2-renaissance]

I did it, y’all, I figured it out

So waaaaaay back in 2011 or so, my scheming child brain had come up with all these Loki-level theories on how Leland actually survived the oil rigs. I had it all figured out. I knew how he did it. And the real kicker is that it was all technically canon compliant which anyone who has seen the movie will have my 13-year-later response of “how the fu-“

Like it’s just not possible!! That scene was unambiguous. He was very extraordinarily DEAD.

BUT! 9 year old me was like nahhh he’s alive. They’re keeping him locked up in a secret dungeon at the bottom of one of the oil rig legs! Like I was convinced!

So it’s been bothering me ever since I got back into the fandom a few months ago. How did I work that out? Then finally. It came to me.

I FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!

This may have kept me up for the majority of last night BUT!!!!

What if Torque was already on the oil rigs when Leland got there? What if he was on the boat?? What if he heard rumors of this British spy they had captured, found him and was like "ey I got this, don't worry fellas, I'll take care of this one."

Then throws the lemons out of the room, turns to Leland, and is like "what in the star spangled fuck are you doing?!"

So they're on a boat and Leland has already been captured. He's got frickin blow torch burns and the lemons are planning on bringing him back to the rigs for further questioning but Torque is like "I've got a better idea. Let's fake your death then I'LL sneak you out of here."

So we all know Torque's disguise is not just projected. He's got an actual physical disguise. Now any well-prepared agent would be carrying a spare disguise devise in case the first one failed—LELAND FRICKING TURBO WHAT THE HAEL WERE YOU DOING— but here's this poor bastard about to be tortured to death so Torque uses the spare to run a scan of Leland and then puts it on some idk wheelbarrow??? and voilà! it now looks just like him!

But Leland is like “it looks like me, but it’s not going to take them long to figure it out.” But Torque is like, “Don’t worry about it,” and runs the decoy into a trash compactor and we get an ironic scene of Leland like "damn that could've been me..." then Torque hides him in an empty crate while he gets the other lemons and is like "haha look what I did to that crummy agent! I killed him haha!" And they're like "moron!! We could've gotten information out of him!"

But they unload the crates from the boat. Leland is waiting on Torque to get him out of there. He knows Finn is coming, but he can't call him now. The lemons probably took his comm. they probably broke his axles too or something to keep him from getting away. So he's totally at Torque's mercy here. Then he hears a commotion and shit, that's probably Finn. *rapid gunfire* *screeching tires* *huge explosion* yeah that's definitely Finn. Then there's just dead silence. And shit that's the worst part.

Okay after this, it really gets complicated. Finn wreaked havoc on those bastards so there was a great deal of confusion. Torque has to play along. Maybe he got sent to the boats again? But he wasn't able to make it back to get Leland out of the crate so the lemons unload the crate first and are like how in the fuck?

So now we've got ourselves a pickle cause Prof Z figures out someone helped Leland fake his death. There's no way he could've done it by himself. Now they've got either a traitor or another spy on board. They try questioning Leland about it but he doesn't give out so they toss him a holding cell in one of the oil rig legs to stew in the salt water and contemplate life. I'm sure they told him Finn was dead.

Torque comes back and awwwSHIT the crate is gone!!! And now all the lemons are on edge so he can't even ask about it without outing himself. All he can do is assume they killed that poor agent after all, and he had to keep on with his with mission, now even more precarious.

Some time passes, Torque goes to Tokyo with the main crew so he can offload the intel he got but he never makes it. And we all know what happens after that.

Finn keeps up his killing spree. We get the events of cars 2. The lemon operation gets shut down and the oil rigs get cleared out except, there's still a pretty red Jag stuck in one of the oil rig's legs :) (don’t worry we’ll rescue him)

[atonalginger]

I'm Your Huckleberry, update 1

howdy howdy howdy and happy Monday evening y'all! I've got two (2) more meaty chapters with this update now live on ao3.

To hop right in at Chapter 3: A Big Favor, you can click HERE!

To start from chapter 1 you can click here.

and as always, a snippet under a read more!

He sighed through his nose and rounded his desk, reached out, took her free hand and placed the credstick in her palm. He paused there a moment, sandwiching the credits and her hand in his, and said, “you don’t have to be so fucking stubborn about this.”

“I’m the stubborn one?” Jamie laughed and raised her eyebrows.

“I’ve never met anyone as adverse to getting paid for their labor as you,” he shook his head and let go, giving the back of her hand several gentle pats before he turned to return to his chair, “Bella mentioned you had a favor to ask while you were here?”

“Yes,” Jamie looked over the credstick, her eyes locked on the number of zeros at the end of the number trying to not dwell on where the funds came from, “Sam and I find ourselves in a pickle and as shocking as this may sound, you’re the only ones we can think of that can help right now.”

“Your precocious teen in trouble?” Delgado looked amused.

“No, just being a teenager who thinks she knows best,” Jamie shifted her weight and crossed her legs, “Sam and I have some Constellation work coming up that will be taking us out to the Sparta system for a few weeks and Cora declared she would not be joining us, insisting we deserved time to ourselves. When Sam asked her where she planned on staying we were both quietly assuming she’d say the Lodge or Coe Manor but no, her plan is to work with Becker for those two weeks.”

Delgado was in the middle of a sip when she mentioned Becker and spit his coffee back into his mug. He blinked rapidly; the understanding of why that was an issue with the Coes rolling through his head. Becker Mae Preacher was a talented force of nature, a boon to both the Rock and the Liberated, and a chaotic mess with more phantoms hunting them than your average outlaw. Becker’s day to day life made Jamie and Sam look boring. It make the residents of the Delgado ranch look pedestrian. 

“I already tried to get Fox to intervene and she shot down his offer to shadow him for a fortnight,” she sat her mug on the desk and pocketed the credstick, “we’ve tried to talk to her about how unstable Becker’s day to day is and our girl just shrugs it off with a ‘well so is ours most days’ without stopping to listen. We talked about just forcing her to come with us but that would make for the most miserable two weeks either of us can imagine.”

“Have you asked Becker to say no?”

“Do you think Becker would say no? Even if we asked them?”

Delgado made a face that read clearly as ‘good point’ before he asked, “you want us to take her for two weeks? Would she even want to?”

“If you could find something interesting that is legal for her to do for those two weeks  I think she’d jump at it.”

“That so?” Delgado raised his scarred eyebrow and smirked at her, “so no asking her to help run the numbers on our latest shipments?”

Jamie shot him a look, “don’t make me regret asking you.”

[bambiraptorx]

oohhh bts for minor interference?

I honestly dont trust that I remember nearly as much of my fics as I'd like to lol. That being said, I think that chapter 8 in general is one of the points that I really like because it's more or less the point where Draxum's attitude towards the turtles starts changing. Specifically, this part:

“Why are you here, anyway?  It’s almost one in the morning.  We both should be asleep.”

Leo fishes another pickle out of the jar he’s cradling and shrugs.  “We’re out of food at home.”  Out of pickles, he means.  He'd checked the fridge and the cabinets looking for snacks while trying to distract himself from his most recent nightmare.  Not a pickle jar in sight.  He wonders what it would be like to turn a hundred.  That’s a lot of candles to put on one cake, maybe he could have two or three?

Draxum’s face does something weird at Leo’s remark, like he isn’t sure how to process it.  Why would—ugh, he better not be assuming that Leo’s actually serious about not having food.  That was a joke.  Splinter’s always made sure they have more than enough of everything, even if he does forget what food nobody likes sometimes.  (None of them like bell peppers anymore, Dad.  That collective fixation food lost all its appeal ages ago.)

Leo rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his pickle.  “I’m joking, Peepaw.  We can feed ourselves, okay?”

---

For Leo, his comment about not having food at home was a joke that fell flat. For Draxum, it implied a lot more, especially given that Leo tried to leave almost immediately after. At this point, Draxum starts to wonder what their lives are like outside of training, which culminates in him deciding to get food for them, just in case.

It's the first action he takes that's genuinely done with their interests in mind, even if 'getting the turtles food in case they don't have enough at home' is something that also happens to serve his interests too. (After all, getting the turtles more comfortable around him and/or indebted to him does serve the goal he had at this point in the fic of getting the turtles trained and serviceable as the super soldiers he made them to be.)

There's also a few other important things that happen in chapter eight, like Draxum realizing that Leo is scared of his vines, and realizing that Leo is 'comfortable' enough around him to not bring a weapon when he came to Draxum's house. Which the audience doesn't get to see, but those are big realizations for Draxum. He doesn't actually want the turtles to be uncomfortable around him because he needs them to trust him enough to die for them, but he realizes at this point that he needs to do more to get that trust. So he does start working toward that, albeit slowly because the turtles are still very good at getting on his nerves and he lowkey doesn't like them all that much at this point lmao.

It's not the point where he stops thinking of them as weapons, not by a long shot (that still technically hasn't happened in the fic but it's kind of a spread out realization anyway). But it is the point where he starts thinking of them as more than *just* weapons.

And of course for Leo's side of things, this is the chapter when he starts seeing Draxum as slightly less of a villain. So there's a lot going on in general lol.

ask game thingy

[dilf-din]

Yeehawgust Day 16: Prairie Fire

TLOU (Western AU)

WC: 2150

Rating: T

Characters: Joel and Sarah

Warnings: angst, made up barn jargon, light language

A/N: this one turned out much longer than I was originally planning, but I think it’s one of my favorites I’ve ever written for them. Take a shot for Sarah Miller tonight

We like to think we know what we’ll be like in a crisis.

“I’ll keep a level head,” we tell ourselves, “Rise up and be a leader.” We’ve all seen the movies, and we’re not going to be the guy who chokes, becomes dead weight and stands, mouth agape at the tragedy unfolding before him. We’ll be quick and concise, the picture of cool. Thankfully, most of us never get the chance to prove ourselves in that way. Mundanity prevails.

For Sarah Miller, though, that day came one particularly hot and dry July afternoon. Twenty one years old, wild as a weed, sweet as a rose. She was loved by people and animals alike. Her gentle demeanor and soft smile won over every pair of eyes that drifted her way.

That summer had been dry. They were always dry, but daddy said the valley hadn’t seen a drought like that in forty years. He had been a teenager then, tall and broad shouldered. Work was hard to come by that season, everyone’s crops yielding nothing but shriveled roots and dusty, dry soil. It took years for the town to bounce back. Their normal trade routes halted for lack of bargaining power, and being a poor settlement, they had no extra money to pay for the processed foods to take the place of the missing crops. Everyone’s mama got creative with cooking that year, finding ways to stretch supplies and fill the bellies of their hard working families.

Today, they were in a better place to withstand a hit like that. Every harvest, each farmer put aside a portion for canning and pickling, making a sizable stockpile for everyone to live off of should scarcity hit again. Sarah had just finished picking up a few cans of corn and potatoes in town to last them through the end of the week. Her curly hair was pulled into a loose braid at the nape of her neck, and a crisp white hat sat perched upon her head. Somehow she managed to keep it spotless no matter what trouble she got into. The cans were tucked into a bag hanging at her waist, clinking against each other with each step Erebus took, his black coat shining with sweat in the sun. Her eyes rose to scan the azure skies, not a trace of a cloud to detract from the deep blue, an ocean taunting the dry earth below, the land cracked and groaning.

Beads of sweat lined her neck and clung to her collarbones like an adornment of pearls gifted by the sun. Her cheeks held a constant rosy flush this time of year.

“Let’s get home,” she whispered down to the stallion, running a hand over his broad neck.

They set off at a leisurely pace, no need to tire him out when it was already so hot. Her mind wandered as they rode in silence down the lane. She was making a mental checklist of things that needed to be done at home, the fence that needed repairing, the horses that needed shoes. She was pulled from her thoughts when she caught a whiff of smoke in the air. The acrid smell of burning wood caused her face to sour as she looked for the source. A plume of smoke danced through the air, like a river disappearing into nothing, jagged edges dividing the sky into two crude halves.

“No,” she whispered, “Gotta go, boy,” she dug her heels into the horse’s sides and tightened her grip on the reins as he broke into a gallop. Her breath sat like a coil in her throat. She did her best to not let it break out into a fit of hyperventilation. She didn’t even know if it was their house yet, figured panicking now wouldn’t do a lick of good.

Erebus’s hooves pounded the hard ground, sending clouds of dust up with each hit. The cans collided into her hip bones with each stride, sure to leave deep purple bruises that she could worry about tomorrow. Her sight was set on the line where the sky met the scorched earth, the trail of smoke becoming wider with each second. As they crested the last hill before their home, she pulled back on the reigns, slowing Erebus. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears while she inhaled one more time, preparing herself for the sight below. With a few more steps, she was able to peer at the scene unfolding ahead, and for a few seconds, the pounding in her head was dead silent. Their barn was up in flames. Starting at the back and quickly making its way to the front. Her dad was at Uncle Tommy’s today helping with Lucy, who was foaling. She’d have a few minutes at best to get the animals out and call for help.

She swallowed down her fear and hopped off of Erebus. Her feet carried her swiftly to the barn’s red doors, swinging them open with one big pull. A gust of hot air almost knocked her flat on her back. Smoke stung her green eyes, drawing tears instantly. She twisted them into barely a squint while they adjusted to the hazy scene in front of her. The flames had crawled all the way up the back wall and halfway across the beam running across the center of the roof. They licked wildly at the aged wood, kissing it black with ash before pulling it into the blaze. The animals were panicking, a cacophony of squeals fighting for dominance over the crackling of wood and flames.

Sarah dipped her handkerchief into a water bucket by the door and tied it snugly over her nose to try to keep some of the smoke out. Within seconds, she was unlatching stall doors and slapping haunches to direct the frightened animals out the doors and into the sun. Four horses, two donkeys, three cows. She counted over and over in her mind as she ventured closer to the blazing heat of the flames to open the last pens. The beam overhead buckled with a loud crack, splintering as it rained sparks down over her. The ash was thick in the air the further in she went. Coughs racked her lungs, the soaked cloth providing almost no protection against the thick smoke. Their oldest donkey was nowhere to be seen.

“Missy!” she screamed through a hoarse voice. She could barely hear herself over the all encompassing growl of the flames, like she was in the belly of a dragon looking for the light to follow out. Her vision was clouded was a wall of bright yellow tinged with grey, her head spinning as she realized her oxygen was quickly depleting. She looked in the last stall to find Missy cowering in the corner, panic and flames reflecting in her big brown eyes.

Sarah’s hand reached for the latch of the door, but instantly recoiled as the skin of her fingers burned and blistered. Her eyes searched for anything she could use to knock it loose. The glint of her father’s axe caught her eye, silver steel feigning golden in the light, the handle obscured by some fallen boards. Using the toe of her boot, she freed the tool and pulled it within arm’s reach. With one hard blow, she brought the blade down across the latch, successfully freeing the door. Missy came careening out braying wildly, long limbs scrambling for footing. Sarah pushed her towards the entrance with firm hands, doing a once over before heading in the same direction. The overhead beam gave one final, sickening groan before coming down hard. One crash, and everything was black.

“Thanks for stoppin’ by. I figured she’d have trouble with this one since the last labor was so hard on her,” Tommy said gazing down at the new chestnut foal trying to get his legs under him.

“‘S’alright, better safe than sorry,” Joel grinned at the new life taking its first steps before them.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for a drink?”

“Nah, I’m gonna head out. Got a feeling home needs me for some reason.”

Tommy nodded, “See ya ‘round, hermano.”

Joel clapped him on the shoulder before retreating from the barn. Amara stood out front, still saddled and bridled, chewing on some hay. Her long, white tail flicked at flies lazily while Joel hauled himself into the saddle.

“Let’s get home, old girl,” he clicked his tongue, guiding her towards the gate of Tommy’s ranch and down the path to their house. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, something had felt off in his spirit when he left. Like he had a storm circling in the pit of his stomach, threatening to pull him inward. The ride between their houses was only about twelve minutes. Halfway there, he heard frantic barking, and sped up to find Bud, their black and white border collie howling wildly and whining. When he saw Joel, he took off running in the direction of their home. It was then that Joel saw the smoke. The wind had shifted directions, blowing it west towards Tommy’s.

“Oh no,” Joel let out. He followed Bud with thundering hoofbeats carrying him. Although, with the adrenaline he felt rushing through his veins and humming under his skin, he bet he could’ve outrun any horse that day.

Everything was chaos. Smoke was thick in the air before he even approached the barn. Animals were running frantically while Bud did his best to head them off and keep them within the property lines. If the animals were out here, that means someone had to have freed them.

“Sarah!” Joel’s voice bellowed as he searched the sea of four legged bodies, not seeing a sign of her. He barreled into the barn and screamed for her again. By now, the flames had completely taken down the back wall. The light blue of the sky peeked in in several places contrasting the bright orange and yellow and pieces of charred wood. The stalls all the way up to the middle of the barn were now burning, and the roof creaked coming out like a wail, a promise that she would hold on as long as she could.

Joel lungs were already overcome with ash, coughs coming hard and fast, bringing more tears to his already stinging eyes.

“Sarah!” he called again as loud as he could muster.

Then he saw her. A white peek of her hat like a halo in the middle of a war zone. Part of the ceiling beam had seemingly come down on her, knocking her unconscious. She looked so small. His baby girl, the thing that made life worth living. He was on his knees in an instant assessing the damage. He saw her chest rising, and thanked the Lord that she was still breathing. She was trapped beneath the beam though the weight of it wasn’t resting on her. It had gotten caught on the edge of one of the stalls keeping it a mere few inches off of her. Any closer and it would’ve snapped her spine. He pulled her out by her hands and swung her limp body into his arms. One strong arm under the bend of her knees, one gently cradling her neck. The heat weighed him down as he pushed out and towards the light.

A group of nearby neighbors were making their way down the path when he emerged from the inferno. Comforting hands were on them in an instant, pulling them further away, offering water and medical attention. The sting of the sun against her eyelids stirred Sarah from her slumber and pulled her back into consciousness.

“Dad?” she asked in a groggy voice.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Save your voice. We’re gonna get you some help.”

She gave him a weak smile and closed her eyes once more.

“I got everyone out.”

“I know baby, I’m so proud of you,” Joel said, his throat raw from just a few minutes of smoke inhalation. He wondered how she must be feeling, how long she had been there.

“I got you baby. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, a wave of his own tears clouding his vision this time as someone approached them with oxygen masks and makeshift cots to lie down on.

Loud as thunder echoing across the plains, the barn gave in, roof crashing down on top of empty stalls and old tools. They would’ve lost everything that day if it hadn’t been for Sarah. And truthfully, Joel still would have lost everything if he hadn’t gotten there when he did. He looked over at her skin, tinted grey from the ash, and slipped his hand down to take hers into it. With eyes still closed, she gave him three quick squeezes that set his heart at ease.

“I love you too, kiddo,” he said, mostly to himself.

[vidavalor]

The majority of fan works (like fics or art) fall under fair use legally and only gets thorny when the person creating the fan work tries to profit off it. And even then, they generally get sued for copyright infringement. I'm not sure what you meant by "illegal" in your post - I personally wouldn't call it that. There's a Wikipedia page on the legal issues of fan fiction that's a pretty good primer on it if you want to learn more.

Hi friend! Allow me to provide you with some clarification: if you notice, I mentioned that it's definitely illegal if you're making money off of it, as you don't own it. Fair Use does not remotely cover that. Even if you aren't making money off of it, fanfiction is still making art off of things that do not legally belong to you. Fair Use and the like covers you as far as you just making that art. It is what keeps lawyers from going after you for posting on AO3, for the most part. It's more that its presence makes it more of a pain for them to bother doing so rather than it makes what you're doing fully legal, as you still don't have any rights to claim your own ideas were stolen in a plagiarism dispute like the one in the post. You cannot because you wrote a work with an IP you don't own and it is not legally yours to claim.

If you were to try to take legal action against the people who own the work you're using to make fanfic? Trying to claim they stole your ideas, as was what I was writing about in that post? Fair Use wouldn't help you. Not one bit. The owners of the IP are the ones who have the legal rights there. As stated in the original post, they own it and what you would be doing would be likely to viewed as an illegal act against them because your lawsuit could be spun as an attempt to profit off of the IP they own. Because it is a fan work, it would be more likely to be seen as that than as a valid accusation of plagiarism against them by a court of law. The lawyers could actually turn the whole thing on you faster than you could get anywhere suing them.

Just a gentle reminder that Wikipedia is never an accurate source of info as anyone can update it with whatever they want. In this case, most of what is there looks fairly accurate, but I would not exactly say that you should ever rely upon it versus the advice of a lawyer or take it as gospel. It is also not applicable to some situations and pricey legal teams know how to get around it if doing so benefits their client. You and I both would need to consult an actual lawyer for more if we ever find ourselves in a pickle. They know more details than both of us.

[camisoledadparis]

STORY: Professor

Reluctant student turned consensual with teacher.

______________________________

Please Note: All the characters on this story are over 18, and any resemblance to any person/people is only a coincidence.

______________________________________________

I was a quite an excellent student, above average, even ranked among the top students. My father got involved despite my talent, I wasn't striving to be the best. There's saying, "Jack of all trades, master of none," and that is precisely how I wanted to be. I took sports activities, drama, social work, even bicycling with the equal degree of interest as my studies. I excelled in all subjects besides for mathematics. That became my weakest spot.

One day, my father visited town and met with my Maths Teacher. Teacher praised me and recommended that I put extra attempt into mathematics. Hence, my father determined to meet my math Teacher Mr. Balwinder Singh to discuss the matter similarly even though was elder to him however a chum of him from our native. I need to admit, I wasn't too thrilled about my father's interest in my life. It felt like he was burdening me with expectancies and looking to manage my jovial and careless nature. When he got back home, my father instructed me that he had met my Teacher and has a suggestion for me.

Balwinder Sir firmly believed that putting in extra effort in mathematics will pave the way for a bright future for me and that's how he made my father agree to send me to his place for 10-15 days as institute is closed for the vacations and Sir's wife is visiting her parents. My father has arranged for me to stay with him and arranged everything own his own.

Initially, I had my doubts. After all, I excel in my studies and have never felt the need for any additional efforts. I wondered if sacrificing my sports competitions and leisurely activities would it be really worth it. However, my father's wish prevailed, and I agreed to offer it a shot.

The day finally arrived when my father whisked me away in his taxi (my father was a taxi driver in capital city) to the Teacher's house, nestled in a old fashioned little town 15 kilometers faraway from our village. As we left the familiar fields at the back of, I watched in awe as the panorama converted before my eyes. Muddy roads gave way to charcoal roads, brick kilns and rubbish houses replacing lush green gardens and sprawling fields of my village. Stray animals regarded wandering around as if they own the town.

Eventually, we arrived at an old, weathered pucca house. Father parked the vehicle and told me to collect my belongings. With my clothes bag and a jar of homemade pickles in hand, I reluctantly observed my father, prepared to embark on this new adventure of getting to know and boom.

As we made our way down a narrow street, with a knock on the door my father beckoned for someone to reply. To my pleasure, a girl appeared, opening the door with a warm smile. As the door swung open, my eyes right now caught sight of my Teacher's -wheeler parked in the courtyard. A sense of alleviation washed over me, understanding that we had eventually arrived.

Deep inside, an experience of contentment settled in my thoughts. If I ever felt the need to retreat, I may want to always go back to the comfort of our village. It wasn't too far away, only a mere two to three hours walking. However, this place appeared instead inviting, with stable electric supply and private rooms, I found solace with the notion of staying right here for some time and experience comfort of a township.

Lost in my mind, I failed to observe when we crossed the brink and found ourselves inside. Suddenly, a tumbler of water placed gently at the desk. My father and teacher chatting at the same time I was told to go to the room on first floor of the house, wherein a television awaited my company.

After a while, my father called out my name, and as I descended the stairs, I observed him preparing to go away. To my surprise, Teacher's wife and daughter also carrying their stuff as if they too are leaving.

My father explained that I could go back in a week or so however for now he is while going back to capital city he would drop teacher's wife and daughter to the nearest railway station. With a heartfelt farewell, my father bid me and Teacher adieu, instructing me, "be a pleasing and obedient, learn things fast with full attention and comply with each instruction with heart."

As the room emptied, Teacher's voice took on a distinct tone. "Here, I am no longer your Teacher," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "but Balwinder. Consider me your buddy. Only then will you absolutely excel in something you do, and find pleasure in it." I nodded aimlessly.

But then, all of sudden, Teacher's hand came down with a powerful slap on my buttocks. Startled, I winced, however his warning became clear - "Not Sir, however Balwinder, Understood?" I nodded again, rubbing the sting away.

With a quick movement, Teacher locked the door and led me inside. "Roop has cooked the meal we have to not to worry about dinner". But first, let's make ourselves get along like friends." I settled down, ready for the talk that about to unfold.

Balwinder leaned in, his husky voice welcoming, "Nandan, this is your own home now. Feel loose to stay readily. If you need whatever, just let me know." As he spoke, he casually taking of his kurta, revealing a grey furry chest. "You can do the same, and relax" he advised playfully. "Show me what you've got."

Engrossed in sudden change in tone and manner of teacher I forgot for a second that I am in Teacher's residence right here with him all alone. He skillfully weaved threats into our banter, reminding me to call him as Balwinder and be a friend. It become an odd but one that brought us nearer.

Time flew by before I knew teacher whisked me away on his two-wheeler to a close-by market. He bought a few necessities, packed them right into a bag and made our way back home.

As we arrived back home, I asked "Balwinder, wherein can I go to relieve myself?" I noticed a mischievous grin as he responded, "Why not in my mouth?" Feeling embarrassed I sped way to the courtyard finding an drain outlet I peed with a sigh of relief.

Later Balwinder informed me that there is a toilet at the back of the house and even one upstairs that I should use. We decided to take it easy for the day and focus on entertainment, with plans to start practicing mathematics the next day.

I expressed my concern about the inconvenience of having a bath in the closed bathroom (in our village we bath either at river side or in open near tubewell) and washing my clothes every day. Balwinder suggested I keep my dirty clothes in a basket laying there in corner at backyard next to bathroom and regarding uncomforting of having bath in closed bathroom I can bath in open in backyard as no one else is there besides two of us. I can be in underpants at home. He even offered me a pair of soft, white breeches from his daughter's closet. They fit almost perfectly, but instead of covering my hips, they were more like panties.

I was watching TV on first floor when I heard my name being called by teacher from the ground floor. I rushed to the ground floor and noticed teacher was enjoying a drink with some snacks. Forcing me to join him, he offered me a bottle of beer. Gleefully I quickly finished mine and headed to the restroom to avoid any eye contact or time with sir when he is drinking. It was a unique experience being here, unlike the village. Everything seemed closed and mysterious, yet there was a sense of complete freedom. There was no need to go out; everything is available within the confines. These thoughts swirled in my mind as I relieved myself.

Just then, Balwinder joined me. He pulled his underwear, exposing his manhood, and began urinating. As I glanced at his penis, I noticed something different. Unlike mine, his was adorned with a tuft of grey hairs, and his glans had a shiny brown hue. We didn't say a word to each other, but Balwinder playfully directed his stream towards me, wetting my tiny dick. He chuckled and said, "Nandan, whoever stops peeing first, consider his kite cut." Memories of childhood games flooded my mind, and I couldn't resist joining in. I skillfully cut off the flow of urine with my own stream, emerging victorious. "Balwinder, you need some exercise. You won't be able to beat me," I teased, before returning to the room.

Back in his room, Balwinder handed me another glass of beer while he poured himself a glass of liquor. As we sipped our drinks, Balwinder spoke up, "Friend, if we keep things quite, you'll get bored. Besides, your education starts tomorrow. Let's finish up quickly and wash our clothes together." We swiftly emptied our glasses, and moved on to wash.

On reaching near the washing machine, Balwinder took out all the clothes from wash basket and threw them out and went inside to bring some more clothes. Both of us felt moderately intoxicated. Balwinder got up, smelled one of the clothes and divided them, he also called me for help and instructed me to keep aside the clothes from which body odor is noticeable. It has to be washed, everything else has to be fixed back and kept in the cupboard!

Balwinder, always the curious one, leaned in to sniff one of the under garment, scrunching it up to sniff. He began to separate the clothes, beckoning me over for assistance. But he wasn't done yet the thrill of our little adventure had us both feeling a bit giddy. His instructions were clear - any clothes emitting a distinct body odor were to be set aside for washing, while the rest were to be neatly folded and returned to the cupboard.

~~

As Balwinder delved into the wardrobe, meticulously sorting through the clothes, I took on the task of marking them. Little did I know that this seemingly innocent chore would awaken a strange intoxication within me? Not only was I tasked with smelling and marking Balwinder's clothes, but also those of his wife, Rupinder (Roop), and their daughter, Dolly, including their undergarments.

Deliberately, I found myself drawn to the undergarments, their alluring scent captivating my senses. Roop's panties, in particular, held a certain allure that surpassed even Dolly's. They not only emitted a stronger aroma, but also had a tantalizing effect on me. Dolly's panties, on the other hand, lacked the same intensity, though they still carried a pleasant fragrance.

To my surprise, Roop's undergarments not only exuded an intoxicating scent, but the padding in the middle was damp with urine and some other sticky substance. Balwinder's drunken state only added to the unsettling nature of the situation. Suddenly, he turned to me with a mischievous glint in his eyes and uttered those shocking words, "Lick it and tell me what it is." Taken aback, I could only manage to respond with a single word, "Shit."

Without hesitation, Balwinder snatched the panties from my grasp and proceeded to lick them himself. His voice filled with curiosity, he questioned the wetness, challenging me to explain its origin and to differentiate between Roop's and Dolly's undergarments. My mind reeling, all I could muster was a shocked exclamation, "Holy shit."

I eagerly explored the delicate fabric of the panties with my tongue, curiosity piqued. Balwinder couldn't help but burst into laughter, exclaiming, "You're absolutely mad! You've just relished Roop and Dolly's urine, and that sticky substance on Roop's panties? That was my semen!" My mind spun with a mix of intoxication and confusion, the scent of underwear, urine, and semen swirling in my thoughts. I felt like a prostitute, exposed and vulnerable, yet still wearing a facade of normalcy.

Balwinder, oblivious to my strange state, tried to reassure me, saying, "There's nothing wrong with what you've done. I told you to do it." He took my hand and led me into another room. I couldn't fully comprehend what was happening; I was simply carried along like a leaf in a river's current. Inside the room, he embraced me tightly, his hand gently caressing my back. The sensation of his chest hair brushing against my lips and the scent of his sweat distracted me. Unbeknownst to me, his hands gradually made their way to my buttocks as he continued to stroke my back.

Already wearing a white panty from his daughter's drawer, however, instead of covering my hips, it scrunched up in a way that penis poking straight from the thin elastic layer. Balwinder's touch and the feeling of my face buried in his hairy chest provided a strange sense of comfort, but it was not without a hint of desire. I could feel the erection of his arousal pulsating against my stomach through his underwear, as if someone repeatedly tapping me. Lost in the moment, I was unaware of how long my eyes remained closed. But when I finally opened them, I felt the prickling sensation of Balwinder's mustache against my nostrils, only to discover that he is attempting to lick my lips. He whispered, "There you go, I've cleaned your mouth."

I was taken aback, filled with a mix of emotions - shock, happiness, and distraction. There were numerous reasons for this whirlwind of feelings, but the most significant one was the fact that it involved my mathematics Professor, who also happened to be a friend of my father and a highly respected individual. Adding to the weight of the situation was my father's explicit instruction for me to fully cooperate with him.

As the encounter unfolded, I couldn't help but notice the prickling sensation caused by the hair of his beard and mustache against my skin. And then, unexpectedly, he began to lick my lips. The sensation intensified as he sucked on them, eventually slipping his tongue into my mouth and intertwining it with mine. I wasn't actively participating in this entire incident, but I found myself strangely involved. It was as if some chemical reaction occurred within me, causing my flaccid sissy dick to tighten. My tongue instinctively responded, touching Balwinder's tongue, while the rest of my body trembled with fear.

By now Balwinder removed my underwear, his large palms now caressing my bare butt. I felt my body loosen under his touch, while his tight embrace and passionate kisses grew more intense. Mentally and physically unprepared, I couldn't deny the undeniable physical excitement that coursed through me, compelling me to cooperate in this sexual activity against my will. Balwinder's kisses were so intoxicating that the saliva from our mouths mixed like sweet syrup, dripping from our lips. My hands, seemingly of their own accord, began to explore Balwinder's hips. His erect penis pressed against me, yearning to penetrate my very core. In the midst of this sexual intoxication, I found myself moving towards cooperation, experiencing a strange sense of pleasure.

While our lips were locked in a passionate embrace, revealing my naked buttocks, in response, I pulled down his underwear. With this completely exposed both of us stood there, vulnerable and naked. Balwinder took hold of my penis, pulling and tugging at it, and I reciprocated, feeling a foreign sensation for the first time in my life. Throughout this entire encounter, silence enveloped us, heightening the intensity of the moment. I rested each of his testis my palm they were really big like a ripped peach and weighting about a pound each.

Now I don't know what Balwinder was trying to do when he pulls my penis, therefore I feel pain, I also pull his penis with a feeling of revenge, but easily his foreskin pulls back exposing brownish shinny glans. I was watching the glans for first time in my life, otherwise all my friends' penises including me are the same (I have never seen Vipin because he always laid upon on me, me faced down to lay on my stomach only to get up once he ejaculated on my asses).

I looked at my penis curiously, it looked like nothing compared to Balwinder's enormous one, I felt inferior. He sat down and began to take my penis into his mouth, my penis hardened in response. Every time Balwinder pulled the foreskin back, it pained. Finally, Balwinder looked at me for the first time and said: "I will fix everything, look at my penis, that is how a man's penis should be, it should be big and erect, not a mimosa like yours, your are gentler than Dolly (Dolly is his daughter). Our eyes met and he said, "Put my penis in your mouth and taste it."

Hesitantly, I ran out of there, went to my room, got dressed and went to bed. I couldn't sleep because I was hungry, confused and tired, I didn't know when I fell asleep, burying my face in the pillow. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I felt like someone was playing with my body. I was completely naked from bottom, my penis was semi hard and my anus was wet, I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. Balwinder was licking my arse, my anus must have been wet with his saliva. He slowly spread my legs and, lying between them, started licking my anus. My breathing started to quicken and my legs started to spread apart automatically. Globs of spit fell into my anus and showering of spit continued until it started to flow down my thighs. He caressing my butt and flickered his tongue on my rectum orifice. My breathing became faster and precum leaking, even though my penis was not engorged enough.

In an unexpected turn of events, I discreetly moaned, but we remained unfazed, as if nothing had happened. Balwinder, like a fearless creature, kept exploring my anus with his tongue, delving deep into places I never thought possible. The sensation was overwhelming, causing my body to react involuntarily. My flaccid penis leaking precum, and instinctively, I pressed my anus against his face.

By now Balwinder realized that I was just as horny as he is. With my silence, I was silently participating in this sexcapade. He turned me over and lifted my legs, raising them in the air. Turned around he came over me positioning himself in 69 with my outspread legs up in air, locked by his hands. His face was right over my fuming orifice, I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep and unaware of what was happening. But the strong smell of his penis filled my nostrils. He was at the peak of his arousal, and his penis was dripping with liquid like saliva. His Seminal fluid drops established a bridge-like connection between my mouth and his penis. I opened my mouth welcoming the Seminal fluid dripping from his penis. The taste was not bad. Just then, Balwinder and I met with a direct eye contact, he forcefully pushed his penis into my mouth. I couldn't think of anything. Our eyes met, and further pretence was impossible. Balwinder's dominant animal instinct was something got hold over him like a bull in heat, sniffing and licking moist vagina of a cow, he kept rimming me, pouring gallons of saliva and raised his head, spreading nostrils, whiffed the air to find if I am ready for a mating. Like a beast, he spread my anus, filled it again with his spit. His behavior was not less than an animal. I could not mutter to go against him as he continued to push his penis in my mouth, stopping in between, adjusting he placed his entire body weight on my face to let his penis travel full length all the way down my throat. Balwinder would rest only after inserting an inch of his manhood inside my mouth. In ecstasy I raised my ass further to reach closer of his face. My intoxication had also reached its peak, and without any delay, I started sucking his penis. After some time, when he pulled the penis out of my mouth, it was wet with my saliva and his precum, saliva mixed with now much condensed cum dripping from his penis on my face. He once again domineering inserted his penis completely in my mouth, sucking my buttocks in 69.

His manhood danced like a fish out of water in my mouth, releasing a flood of sperms that filled me with an intoxicating discomfort. Our bodies were raining with sweat as Balwinder's member began to relax in my mouth, his teeth nibbling at my buttocks with a fierce hunger. I moaned as he bit down with such force that my voice was muffled by his throbbing manhood, which he held firmly in place until last drop of his essence had been consumed. Tears streamed down my face as I savored the taste of him, my body trembling with pleasure, squeezing his warmth filling me deep inside.

As he withdrew, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, my shame and inhibitions, melting away like butter in the sun. Balwinder stripped off his clothes and mine, pulling me onto his lap and caressing me with a tenderness that made me feel like a cherished child. His body was a wonderland of black and white hair, from his face to his legs, his chest and even his stomach and buttocks. Running my fingers through his hair was like touching a bundle of soft cotton, and I engrossed in the sensation of his rough, masculine skin against mine. As we explored each other's bodies, I felt a sense of freedom and joy that I had never known before, I knew that I would never be the same again. His armpits, oh those armpits, along with his chest and beard, had transformed into a mesmerizing shade of grey.

The passion between us was electric, as if our bodies were in perfect sync. Fluids flowed freely, connecting us in a primal embrace. Balwinder's touch was both tender and intense, his hands exploring every inch of my body. I could feel his desire growing, his manhood throbbing with anticipation.

With a hunger in his eyes, Balwinder pulled me closer, his lips meeting mine in a fiery kiss. I eagerly reciprocated, our tongues dancing in a passionate tango. Even the prickling sensation of his beard and mustache couldn't dampen the intoxicating pleasure we shared.

As we continued our intimate dance, Balwinder's growing arousal demanded attention. Our bodies pressed against each other, the connection between us unbreakable. His desire took a new direction, as his member brushed against my asses, teasing and tantalizing.

In a moment of pure desire, Balwinder pushed me gently onto the bed, his manhood now in front of me. His command was clear, and I eagerly obliged, wetting his member with my saliva. His touch on my buttocks sent shivers down my spine, and I felt my body respond to his every move.

With a mixture of anticipation and pleasure, Balwinder prepared me for what was to come. His saliva coated my entrance, a slick and sensual prelude. As he pressed against me, his penis teasingly grazed my skin, sending waves of pleasure through my body. The pain was intense as he entered me, but I couldn't deny the overwhelming pleasure that accompanied it.

I tried to resist, pushing him away, but his dominance overpowered me. Like a mythical dragon, he held me captive, his grip unyielding. With one forceful thrust, he claimed me completely, filling me with a mixture of pleasure and pain. My body tensed, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to adjust to the intensity of the moment.

In that moment, everything fell silent. Balwinder's breath held his body still. My own breathing quickened body rigid with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

To be continued... ?

By Shikhandi

~~

~~

~~

[get-back-homeward]

The Case of Thelma Pickles

Thelma's account of John is most often cherrypicked by detractors as evidence he was some lifelong wifebeater. While the violence in the incident she describes is clear, the nuance that makes her account so vivid gets lost in the debate.

I keep coming back to her account for her picture of John at a crucial time, only a few months after Julia is killed.

John’s girlfriend in the autumn of 1958 was Thelma Pickles, a new and interesting student at the art school, just turning 17. Initially, she thought him “a smartarse,” then changed her mind when she witnessed his reaction to a girl who asked if what she’d heard about his mother was true. “She said, ‘Hey John, I hear your mother’s dead.’ He didn’t flinch. He simply said, ‘Yeah.’ She carried on, ‘It was a policeman that knocked her down, wasn’t it?’ Again he didn’t react, he just said, ‘That’s right, yeah.’ I was stunned by his detachment, and impressed that he was brave enough not to break down or show any emotion. Of course, it was all a front.”30

Soon afterward, John and Thelma sat talking at the Queen Victoria Monument and each revealed being deserted by their dads. “He pissed off and left me when I was a baby,” John said of Alf, which was far from correct but no doubt how he felt. Thelma’s father had left home when she was ten; she was sensitive to the stigma of having only one parent and emotional when anyone mentioned it. “I couldn’t sustain the detachment John managed,” she says. “I thought it was quite an achievement to be able to behave like that.”

Suddenly, John and Thel, as he called her, were “going out.” The shared soul-baring cemented it, and also they fancied each other. Thelma was the first female John allowed to get close after Julia’s terrible death. She was given glimpses of his other side.

When we discussed it between ourselves I realized he was clearly more sensitive than he appeared. He spoke of the pure shock of losing his mother, and he said what a loss it was (though I don’t think he used the word “loss”). At such times, he spoke in a much softer, more explanatory way than usual, and though he never demonstrated extremes of emotion, his pain was clear. The other side of the coin was that he’d detect any minor frailty in somebody with a laser-like homing device. I thought he was hilarious, but it wasn’t funny to the recipients.31

Thelma was witness to a rare occasion at Mendips, when John, Paul and George all stood in the kitchen and played their guitars. Mimi was out, and before she was expected back Thelma and the two lads scarpered. John knew Mimi didn’t want them in the house and would raise merry hell about it, and he just didn’t need the headache. For a while, though, John and Thel took regular advantage of Mimi’s going out (it seems she went to play bridge one night a week). The plan, carefully formulated by John, was for Thel (who lived in Knotty Ash) to take the bus to Woolton; she and John would meet and sit across Menlove Avenue in a shelter on the edge of the golf course, and when Mimi left and walked down the street, over they’d go. “I only ever saw Mimi from a distance, in the dark,” Thelma says.

Mostly, Thel found John “enormous fun to be with, always witty, and when we were alone together he was really soft, thoughtful and generous-spirited.” He made them tea and toast, he made her laugh, and he made love to her in his little bedroom above the porch. “We didn’t call it sex—that word wasn’t really used by people then. John called it ‘going for a five-mile run,’ because he’d read or heard this was the amount of energy a man spent.” They used no protection, trusting only to luck, and John told Thel he was glad she was no “edge of the bed virgin”—his euphemism for the kind of girl who would take him half the way there but no further.

John and Thel often took afternoons off from art school to go to the pictures. He liked the old horror films at the equally old Palais de Luxe on Lime Street, and they also went to see Elvis’s final pre-army film, King Creole, which reached Liverpool Odeon in mid-October 1958. Though John very occasionally wore his glasses at college, he definitely didn’t do so in public, and without them, even sitting near the front of the stalls, he could hardly make out how his idol was faring up there on the big screen. He kept nudging Thelma, nagging her to describe all the action: “What’s he doing now, Thel?”

—Tune In, Ch. 9 (June–Dec 1958)

Her account of the beginning of their relationship supports Paul and Cynthia’s characterization of young John as a kid that put on a public front to mask fear and insecurities and grief. She is surprised by his detachment to loss, something she wishes she could attain. (Echoes of this story of John and Paul. Like recognizes like?) Yet with further scrutiny, she sees the detachment as a facade and discovers a shared trauma, and they bond over opening up about their family losses.

After this recognition, they become close. When alone, Thelma sees the softer side to John, thoughtful and generous. When in public, she notices his awareness of the eyes of others, mocking frailties of others while walking around half-blind himself. She finds him hilarious as long as his target is someone else, feeling a sense of specialness by being part of his crew. You can see echoes of John and Paul's mean girls schtick here.

It's notable that by 1959, John has made a habit out of bonding over shared grief/trauma. John meets Paul just after his mother dies, and John lost his father figure a few years before that. John meets Thelma after Julia’s death and they bond over absent fathers. John goes on to meet Cynthia, who has just recently lost her father.

Her account of the end of their relationship supports how John would lash out when power shifted and exposed his insecurities. This lashing out comprises not only one hit in a moment of anger, but several days/weeks(?) of public mocking in response to her ending the relationship over his own actions. Notice how he mocks her with a lie they both know isn’t true all because she wounded his ego? It’s the performance of it all that sticks with me.

And the only way she gets him to shut up is to match him in being equally vicious back. The games of adolescence perhaps, but its echoes in John’s other significant relationships suggest a pattern. Mind games, more than anything, is the weapon of choice.

[Quotes and sources under the cut]

During the course of this, John leaned over to Thel and asked if she fancied “going for a five-mile run.” She agreed, and they slipped upstairs to the Art History room, assuming it would be free. “It was dark but we could tell there were other couples in there, probably having a five-mile run of their own, or trying to,” Thelma recalls. “I told John I was uneasy about doing it in a place like that, especially with other people there, and he wasn’t happy with my attitude. When I insisted on going, and got up to leave, he became rough and whacked me one—his fist connected somewhere between my shoulder and my head, around my neck.”8

During the course of this, John leaned over to Thel and asked if she fancied “going for a five-mile run.” She agreed, and they slipped upstairs to the Art History room, assuming it would be free. “It was dark but we could tell there were other couples in there, probably having a five-mile run of their own, or trying to,” Thelma recalls. “I told John I was uneasy about doing it in a place like that, especially with other people there, and he wasn’t happy with my attitude. When I insisted on going, and got up to leave, he became rough and whacked me one—his fist connected somewhere between my shoulder and my head, around my neck.”8

Thelma stormed off, and decided that was the end of their relationship. She did her best to avoid John through the following week, and when this wasn’t possible she simply ignored him. He started to mock her but she resisted his gibes, and this went on for several days until reaching its culmination in the Cracke. “He was still mocking me, in front of others, and then he called me ‘an edge of the bed virgin.’ That really pissed me off because we both knew it wasn’t true. He was just being sarcastic and wounding because he was pissed off with me, and I got so enraged I shouted back, ‘Don’t blame me just because your mother’s dead!’ It was a cruel remark, but he knew all about those. It just seemed the easiest way to get back at him.”

John and Thelma had reached the end of the line, though they’d remain friends and keep in touch for several years. In an interview in 1980, John reflected on his teenage behavior: “Hitting females is something I’m always ashamed of and still can’t talk about—I’ll have to be a lot older before I can face that in public, about how I treated women as a youngster.”9 Except that he was talking about it, and with the sort of candor customary even when it was to his own detriment. In 1967, John mentioned it within a song lyric and spoke about it to his biographer Hunter Davies. “I was in a blind rage for two years,” he said. “I was either drunk or fighting. There was something the matter with me.”10

This was also, of course, the way it was in many other relationships, and had been for a long time and would be in the future, especially in the north of England. It wasn’t excusable but nor was it unusual, and such attitudes were reinforced constantly in receptive minds by the silver screen. “Not only did we dress like James Dean and walk around like that,” John later remarked, “but we acted out those cinematic charades. The he-man was supposed to smack a girl across the face, make her succumb in tears and then make love. Most of the guys I knew in Liverpool thought that’s how you do it.”11

In terms of dress, John continued to interchange between college scarf and Teddy Boy drape, though being a Ted was always more a state of mind for him.12 The persona remained very much part of his attraction to Paul and George, however—as Paul says, “We looked up to him as a sort of violent Teddy Boy, which was attractive at the time. He got drunk a lot and once he kicked the telephone-box in … [and] what might have been construed as good old-fashioned rudeness I always had to put down to ballsiness.”

—Tune In (Ch. 10, Jan–July 1959)

Based on the accounts of Thelma here and Cynthia elsewhere, both known incidents of John being physically violent with women are single, isolated events. Thelma describes a hair pull and full-on hit (punch) in the neck, which is physically painful to think about, whereas Cynthia describes a slap in the face. In both cases, they feel confident enough to shut it down and walk away, Thelma for good and Cynthia at least making him grovel first (Christmas 1959 card). Domestic violence comes in several forms, some of which do match John’s behavior with Cynthia even if they were common for the time (controlling appearance and activities, possessiveness and paranoia of infidelities, etc.), but neither of these women describe habitual physical violence.

However, this incident does not seem to reflect the guilt with which John talks about it later. Even when put together with Cynthia’s account, which is less than a year later (fall 1959), the level doesn’t seem to match. I notice both incidents would be within the two years after Julia’s death, yet he’s writing about it in 1967 (“I hit my woman”) and still talking about it in 1980. Even 3 months before his death, he was calling himself "a hitter." Either there were more incidents left untold (e.g., Thelma and/or Cynthia are condensing into one where they left, or other women who’ve remained silent) or John’s guilt spun it into more over time. This is notable because there’s not much else he ever seems to publicly regret.

Looking up Lewisohn’s sources, the worst quote from John is actually from Source 11 (the James Dean quote above), a print interview from a dubious author (link in the sources listed below). The author Sandra Shevey has claimed to have spent at least 12 hours interviewing John and Yoko, and while at least one recording of her interview with them is available, I’m skeptical about other quotes in print considering her output. Reading a few pages of her book on John, some parts are so unhinged I wondered why on earth Lewisohn even used anything from her as a source (serious burn book vibes). John has mentioned elsewhere about being influenced by Hollywood’s images of (toxic) masculinity as a teen, but her full quote makes it sound like he was basically raping women all the time. She uses the quote as a springboard to her more outlandish theories (like devoting several pages to the idea that John raped and then murdered Brian over a contract detail?!).

Burn book moments aside, Shevey also gets tons of basic details completely wrong like attributing Get Back’s writing or Bernard Webb’s Woman to John (both are Paul’s) and in general treats Paul as a nonentity in John’s life and work. So I have a hard time trusting anything from her book. However, she is one of the few John bio authors to consider bisexuality (unhinged theories aside) and is questioning the ballad of John&YokoTM in print as early as 1990, perhaps because she spoke with them during a time when the cracks were more visible. So assuming her quotes are accurate and her reading is just wildly off the mark, I think it’s worth mentioning the context of this James Dean quote in her book. It's prefaced with background that may shed light on the case of Thelma Pickles, who had the dubious honor of being John’s first real girlfriend.

Talking in 1972, he's speaking about this in relation to his struggle with accepting Yoko as an equal creative partner on the latest album. There’s a flavor of blaming British society and American culture that sounds very Yoko shaped (he goes on to call British men both effeminate and sadist). However, applying this background to 1958, you can see how a young John would have struggled to apply his relationships with other boys to his first attempt at a relationship with a girl, especially one who was by her own account looking for recognition and belonging with the boys.

Aside from the physical violence, Thelma’s account details the headtrip of John’s verbal violence. When you’re 16, a week of public mockery can feel like a lifetime. Doubly so when it comes from someone you were once close to. Like Pete and Paul, Thelma figures out how to match John’s level and shut him up. Bill Harry also recalls the importance of standing up to John to gain his respect. Thelma has to deal with him like one of the guys, delivering a verbal uppercut that leaves him clocked out and in the sand.

In a way, John’s mockery of Thelma looks like a mirror of the much longer, much more public mockery Paul gets from John 1970-1972. Ram aside, Paul waits to turn the public equivalent on John until 1972—which just so happens to be when John starts to cool his fire toward Paul. Shevey claims to interview John a day in September 1972 and the only recording she’s released is John ruminating about working as a partner with Yoko vs male artists (“It’s a plus, not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without…I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship, maybe that would have solved it”) and the continued struggle of making this transition. Assuming Paul knew more about John after 13 years than Thelma did in 6 months, I’m left wondering why did Paul wait so long in the 70s? Maybe it’s harder to kick back when you’re feeling down? Or guilty? Maybe smarting from result of the last attempt? Maybe it’s harder to kick back when there’s a mountain more of feelings between you.

After Thelma gives him a taste of his own medicine, they continue to be on speaking terms though the closeness they had was gone. She recalls loaning him art college assignments because he’s in danger of flunking out. John goes on to date Cynthia, and Thelma remembers thinking he’d fancied her given his taunts but sounds a bit dismayed by how he got her to change her entire identity for him (“He got what he wanted”). She recognizes being married to John would be a “gargantuan task” and had no regrets herself.

Lastly, a comment on Lewisohn’s framing here. I think it’s appropriate to mention John’s guilt and the effect of pop culture on the social mores of the time here. But I find it incredibly distasteful that Lewisohn concludes this incident with a quote that suggests Paul liked John violent and hitting women, considering the actual context of the quote.

Here's Paul's words in Many Years From Now that Lewisohn quotes from:

The first sentence of Paul's words on this says it all. This quote is all about the image of the Teddy Boy as a protective measure. Conflating violence against women with fashion is not helpful at all.

This word-twisting feels especially terrible because Paul ends up dating Thelma himself a few years down the line...

All the Beatles were now in settled relationships. Having ended with Dorothy Rhone, Paul played a broad field without hindrance, sparking flames old and new, and he also (from August 1962) found himself a special new “steady.” This was Thelma Pickles—John’s art school lover before he got together with Cynthia. Paul had always liked Thelma, and happened to see her in Liverpool while driving his car—his proud and precious Ford Consul Classic, which he bought new (“on the never-never”) in early August.16 She married, had a baby boy and then separated from her husband. Approaching 21, Thelma lived in a Prince’s Avenue bedsit as a single parent and was trying to resume her art school studies, a talented young woman … and here in her life arrived Paul McCartney.

He was no longer a slightly plump young schoolboy but very much his own person. I only like visual art, I’m not into music, so I had just a vague notion that John and his group were still going. Paul said he’d pick me up later to see them play at the Cavern. It was a jazz club when I’d last been there. It was full of raw energy. Girls were screaming and boys liked them as well. I’d only ever watched Six-Five Special and this was different. I hadn’t believed what Paul said about their increasing fame—being brought up working-class in that era, we were given to believe “our sort” couldn’t become successful.17

—Tune In (Ch. 31, Aug 19–Oct 4 1962)

Her comment on class and success is important to put in context with the rest of her account. Given John's more middle class standing living with Mimi at the time, I’m sure Thelma felt the power differential between them at least the first time she visited Mendips. Notice how sneaky John is to make sure Mimi doesn’t meet her? It mirrors how John only has the band over when Mimi's out of the house; he knows how she will react to him seeing a working-class girl and doesn’t want the trouble. That sticks with a girl, feeling like you’re not worth the trouble. He does end up introducing the much more prim and proper Cynthia to Mimi, and it still goes terribly, but at least he tries, signaling to Cynthia he sees some future with her. That hit in the neck? Sounds a lot more gruesome than a slap in the face. And it's in public, after she turns him down. Despite their shared closeness alone, the power differential in public still reigns supreme. But she knew her limits and stood firm in spite of it all. We only have one picture of her at this time, but it’s a telling one all the same. I look at it and can’t help thinking, oh, I know this girl. Good for her.

Even after Thelma and Paul’s relationship fizzles, they stay friends through other connections. She ends up dating (and later marrying) Mike’s bandmate, Roger McGough. She recalls staying with Roger at Cavendish in the 60s. It’s not clear if she crosses paths with John at this time. Perhaps her presence prompted the guilt we see John express in 67 in Getting Better and interviews with Hunter Davies. I hope she haunted him…even just a bit.

Sources by Chapter

Chapter 9

30 Observer, December 13, 2009.

31 Author interview, September 6, 2010.

Chapter 10

9 Interview by David Sheff, September 24, 1980, for Playboy.

10 Davies, pp56–7. The song lyric: “I used to be cruel to my woman / I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved”—“Getting Better,” 1967.

11 Interview with Sandra Shevey, the Hartford Courant, November 26, 1972.

12 “The Teddy Boy … that was my scene, but it was only a club to belong to at the time”—interview by David Skan, Record Mirror, October 11, 1969.

13 Many Years From Now, pp49/33.

Chapter 31

16 Author interview, May 2, 1991.

17 Author interview, September 6, 2010, and e-mails August 29, 2010, and February 28, 2012.

[kiruuuuu]

Siege the Valentine's, Day 11 💘

Hi all, you know the drill, follow @dualrainbow for more events like these and so you don't miss a single entry 😁 Thank you again to all the people organising this and thank you also to the participants!

My entry is a wholesome one (for once) about how Bandit and Jäger go on a date, but not really. I hope you enjoy it!! (Bandit/Jäger, Rating T, fluff, ~3.7k words)

.

“You better dress up for our date later.”

Bandit looks up only once his shoe is lightly kicked and greets his teammate with a wide grin, noticing how Rook’s head in the background whips around at the statement. “Rented a tux for you, babe. You better follow… suit.”

He earns a very satisfying groan and an eye roll, warranting no further questions from Jäger himself, though prompting IQ to lean over. “What are your plans for today?”

“Let’s see…” Bandit glances at the other man to check he’s not forgetting anything. “Early film, of course the most romantic one we could find, then a candle light dinner at an Italian place near the sports park, and if I play my cards right, it’ll turn into a sleepover with benefits.”

“Nice.” IQ nods in appreciation. “Learnt your lesson last year, huh?”

Bandit has long noticed they hold all the attention belonging to an increasingly confused-looking Rook who’s trying his best not to stare, so he hams it up even more. “Yeah, eating dinner first and then going to the cinema was a nightmare, we had to beg the waiter to rush our food even though they were swamped because the old couple who stole our table just wouldn’t leave and Marius was cranky the entire time. We only barely made the film and were too stressed out for any… other activities afterwards. Unlike today, hopefully.” He winks at Jäger and receives a sincere nod in return.

“I was in favour of just staying home and making some food ourselves, but he vetoed that. Vehemently.”

“Look, it would’ve been fine if you were still in your pickled phase, but fermentation?” Bandit makes a face in IQ’s direction. “You don’t want to know how much kimchi I’ve had to try in the last months. And those salty half-alcoholic fruits that never turned out right -”

“The kimchi was fine”, Jäger insists, getting huffy, “you’re just mad because I refused to make beer for you.”

“Absolutely no reason to just leave food lying around until it gets kinda mouldy. I don’t even like sauerkraut.”

“Soy sauce is fermented, actually, and you might as well drink the stuff with how -”

“You’re going on a date?”

It just burst out of Rook – even he seems appalled at his sudden interjection yet his curiosity must burn too bright for he does not recant his question. Instead, his eyes dart between them, seeking a specific reaction, a revealing sign, anything.

“Yeah”, Bandit replies easily, “just one of many, you know.” He doesn’t need to look to know Jäger nods in confirmation. IQ probably does as well.

“So…”

No way he’s letting him off the hook like that. Instead of picking up on Rook’s non-verbal implication, Bandit simply raises his brows expectantly and waits. He’s going to make him say it.

After he’s fidgeted uncomfortably for a few seconds, he finally blurts out: “So you two are dating.”

IQ throws him a pitying look. He’s not the first and he won’t be the last, and this whole thing is part of why Bandit enjoys days like Valentine’s so much. His smirk is overly smug yet he makes no effort to reign it in. “Of course we’re not. Never have, never will. What makes you think that?”

And he just soaks up the mixture of bemusement and annoyance radiating from the young Frenchman.

.

He’d be hard pressed to remember all the details from their first ‘date’, though some aspects preserved themselves illegally in his mind: when he pictures it, all he sees is a lanky, withdrawn nerd who grimaces every time anyone mentions Christmas around him, so Bandit naturally did what he always does. He pokes and prods and rubs it in until he finally gets a straight answer out of his current object of curiosity, and the one they called Jäger admitted his long-term boyfriend recently broke up with him so now all their plans for the festive season were nullified, leaving him devoid of company. And hey, what a coincidence, Bandit’s then-girlfriend (not for much longer, obviously) had just accepted an invitation to her horribly backward, racist and homophobic family’s party and he’d been looking for a good excuse to ditch her.

So they did the most stereotypical shit they could come up with, watched Die Hard and ate potato salad and drank too much beer until Jäger passed out on his couch, and then they proceeded to not interact with each other for a long time. The chance never really came up, is the thing, and Bandit did an undercover gig and Jäger was sent somewhere else after and then a year had passed and Bandit asked for his plans for Christmas with a tongue-in-cheek comment, referring to the previous year and expecting a laugh and to be shot down (like Jäger usually does when it comes to social events with people he doesn’t know well, Bandit is aware and stopped inviting him without changing anything else about their conversations which somehow seemed to put Jäger at ease) – except Jäger is the one who suggests they celebrate Christmas like the Japanese and get KFC together.

And as a casual acquaintanceship slowly blooms into something more, they involuntarily learn a variety of things about each other. Bandit’s habit of putting a cigarette behind his ear, losing it almost immediately and complaining loudly while he calculates how much that single cancer stick cost him. Jäger’s preferences in food, which are as cryptic as they are manifold: sometimes he rejects dishes for consistency, sometimes for colour, sometimes for reasons unknown to everyone including him, and Bandit forgets them all the second Jäger divulges them which turns out to be fine as they keep changing from month to month anyway. Jäger tries futilely to convince him not to buy a new motorcycle whenever the urge overtakes him, and they inevitably end up tuning it together.

Eventually, Jäger readily offers advice whenever Bandit describes whoever he’s flirting with at that point, and Bandit talks a little about his night terrors (though not sober, he needs to be dead drunk, meaning the opportunity presents itself quite often), and Jäger laments his difficulties in finding anyone with whom he’s comfortable enough to start a relationship, and the two of them swap work stories that leave them the unhealthy flavour of desolate. But it’s either Bandit’s dry sarcasm or Jäger’s genuine enthusiasm about his current fixation that allows them to move on, and then one year, everyone brags about their perfect Valentine’s date, so naturally, Bandit and Jäger name each other as their Valentine’s. They go ice skating and Bandit ends up with a bloody nose and nearly a finger less than before and they conclude that next time, they’d rather do something more romantic.

It just escalates from there. Though they do spend significant holidays with their families or, rarely, their partners whenever possible, more often than not something comes up and they just celebrate together. By the time they can’t remember how long they’ve been friends they’re leaning into it all the way, sipping sickly-sweet cocktails on Christmas while slagging Hallmark-like films shown on TV, mocking the many advertisements in between to the point where Jäger is red in the face and can’t breathe anymore.

(When Bandit finds out Jäger is following him into Rainbow, he ends up crying. Could be all the gin and tonic, who knows, could be the relief of knowing he’ll have someone who has his back no matter what, but he knows he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been pissed, and he certainly wouldn’t have done it had he known Jäger would mirror him. It’s not – not a sob fest or anything, they don’t cling to each other shedding tears of joy, it’s just annoyingly wet and a pain to wipe away of which he does a bad job of hiding while Jäger gets some tissues for himself, and they quickly change the topic afterwards.)

.

“I don’t actually know which film we’re seeing.” Jäger bounces on his heels in impatience, eyes darting around the lobby trying to find the poster that reveals whichever kitsch Bandit might’ve picked.

“You’re remarkably calm about that.” He’s busy operating the vending machine responsible for dispensing reserved tickets, a blessing as far as Bandit is concerned – he doesn’t need to talk to a human being and the poor cashiers don’t have to deal with his sorry attitude. “When I was sixteen, Ced invited my girlfriend and me to a double date and kept the film a secret. It turned out to be some fucked-up gory horror flick. I think I still have the scars from where my girlfriend clawed into my arm while trying not to scream.”

Jäger scoffs. “I would’ve dumped you for that.”

“Even though it wasn’t my fault?”

“No, because you probably laughed at her and brought it up at every opportunity. You told me how you were at sixteen.”

There’s no arguing there. Bandit grins and snatches the printed-out tickets before Jäger can sneak a peek. “I did, and she did dump me. Now she’s working as an accountant and has like three kids, so who really lucked out in the end?” His companion opens his mouth. “Don’t answer that. Let’s go.”

In true date night fashion, Jäger links his arm with Bandit’s and they meander through the floors together, commenting on a few cardboard cutouts and which one they’d put up in their homes if they had to choose. Eventually, Jäger voices a sudden oh! and yanks Bandit to a halt so abruptly he nearly drops the popcorn they’re going to share. “It’s this one, isn’t it.” He points to a pink-framed, mellow poster picturing a woman beaming up at a man at sunset. “This is the worst one I’ve seen so far. What is it called? Building a Bridge to Cloud Nine? Seriously?”

“That doesn’t sound OSHA-compliant.”

“If it’s about a career-oriented woman who falls in love with a builder, I’m walking out.”

“I bet it’s a really sexy quantity surveyor. His catchphrase is ‘let me survey your quantity’.”

Jäger beams at him with an amused and delighted expression not unlike the one displayed by the actress on the poster, and for a brief second, Bandit is filled with the sudden epiphany of this is exactly what I want. Followed by a derisive mental sneer, of course, because he’s far from being the romantic type – quite the opposite. Still, he can’t deny that he craves intimacy, however shape it eventually takes, and he’s secretly glad he didn’t actually choose a film that would fuel this particular desire.

Why can’t it ever be easy? Why is it always complicated, draining, requiring constant work and mental resources, why is being in a relationship so goddamn hard? Bandit has tried, couldn’t even count the attempts if he wanted, and there was always a wall they hit, sooner rather than later. He’s been accused as selfish, withdrawn, brooding, even his therapist complained about him not opening up enough. He doesn’t see why it’s necessary. There are people in his life who know enough about him so that nobody else needs to, like Blitz. Like Jäger.

Why can’t it ever be as easy as with Jäger? They settle into the loveseat like it’s the most natural thing in the world (and it was only last year that Jäger booked one for kicks for the first time though it turned out to be much more comfortable than they expected), and, because it’s Valentine’s and they have to keep the theme going, Bandit puts an arm around him and Jäger laughs but cuddles up to him and the point is making everyone around them think they’re a couple anyway. The gangly nerd is flexible enough to sit cross-legged and it almost feels like they’re just at home on the couch watching something in private. Very cosy.

The cosiness is only briefly diminished when a series of gruesome deaths happen on screen as a building collapses, impaling someone with a steel bar while someone else’s head gets squished between two concrete blocks. Jäger turns to him with a glint in his eye. “Is this the new Final Destination?!”, he whispers. His delight only grows when Bandit nods with a smirk. “I love them! They’re terrible.”

They are. Bandit figured there’s no better film to watch on the day of love than this schlock and, judging by Jäger’s thinly-veiled excitement, he’s not alone in this opinion. He pushes away his musings about relationships and the likes and leans back to enjoy the grisly spectacle.

.

“- look, just stop me if you don’t care about this stuff, but I need to tell someone how wrong they got it”, Jäger blabbers, still exhilarated from the film, “because buildings don’t work like that. Not the one they chose, anyhow, there’s not just… air between the floors, there’s wiring and -”

Though it’s the last thing Bandit wants to do, he interrupts his companion with a gentle: “I think you should order.” He’s already conveyed his choice of food and drink through a series of subtle pointing, acknowledged by the amused waitress with a nod as they’re both subjected to one of Jäger’s famous rants. It usually takes every new person in the engineer’s life about two to three months before they get to witness one since he watches himself carefully around casual acquaintances, which means most people experience him as a friendly and modest co-worker with no noteworthy eccentricities.

But once he’s thawed enough and one of his current pet peeves is brought up (they change depending on his current fixation), there’s no stopping him. He’s never angry, just passionate, with an overwhelming urge to share his grievances with anyone willing to listen, and they’re always factually flawless. Bandit couldn’t name half the topics on which he became an unwitting expert purely by existing around Jäger for so long.

When he loses his train of thought, however, is distracted or interrupted by anything, Jäger deflates instantly and requires a few sincere prompts to start up again. And as much as Bandit loves listening to him, he is quite hungry.

The peppy waitress, who takes it in stride and seems to find the whole thing extremely cute, helps Jäger pick something with no fuss and promises them a short wait time despite the busy restaurant. Seems like they chose well, the service is fast and friendly and the other customers appear satisfied with their dishes.

Jäger comes to the same conclusion and comments: “Nice place. How’d you find it?”

“They offer a discount for couples today.” Bandit winks at him, making him laugh.

“Do I need to start calling you ‘babe’ now so we don’t strain your wallet too much?”

“Oh I think we’re plenty convincing already.” From the few glances and smiles they’ve earned between entering the restaurant and now, he’s sure they have everyone fooled. “We’re like an old married couple who managed to keep the magic alive and still go on dates together.”

His friend shrugs. “We might as well be.”

Yeah. It’s not that far from the truth with how much time they spend in each other’s presence. “Alright, so back to the structural integrity of an office building”, he changes topics and Jäger’s face lights up instantly.

.

“Don’t be ridiculous”, Bandit grumbles as they walk arm in arm through the brightly-lit and pink-clad shopping centre as a shortcut to his car. It’s already dark and though they’ve got to work the next day, they’ve both decided on watching another film in Jäger’s apartment to conclude their ‘date’.

“I don’t make the rules – I get the bill, I’m the top.”

Outraged, he tries to nudge Jäger into a potted plant but his companion merely spins them around it, laughing. “I’ve always gotten the bill before. Every waiter and waitress we’ve had decided I’m the top, the outlier today means nothing.”

“Maybe she just wanted to show her support of top twinks who are as vocal in bed as they are in conversation.”

“Or she didn’t like me and wanted to piss me off.”

“Or she wanted to introduce you to new opportunities, you know. She figured we’d discuss it and I’d get a chance to say I’ve secretly wanted to top you for years now but didn’t know how to bring it up -”

“Marius, you’re so experienced I’d let you top me in a heartbeat if you asked.”

Jäger is about to retort when a blonde woman with a camera addresses them, and Bandit is almost glad for the distraction. While they’ve talked about plenty of sexual escapades before, it was never really about them and something about it made him… uneasy. As if they’re toeing some kind of line. Which is nonsense, they’ve been close friends for so long now that if anything was going to happen between them, it’d have happened years ago, they know too much about each other.

“Sorry to bother you”, the young woman says, eyeing them with a smile, “I’m a freelance photographer and I’m working on a personal project featuring couples of all races and genders – would it be alright if I took a photo of you two?”

The option of correcting her doesn’t even enter Bandit’s mind. He flashes her a winning grin and drags Jäger to a more favourable position next to him. “Of course, go ahead. Today is probably the perfect day for your project, hm?”

“I don’t really like having my picture taken”, Jäger mutters in protest but lets Bandit move him around anyway.

“Babe, you always look camera-ready.” The two of them exchange a look, Bandit innocently smiling and Jäger with a dark scowl, which is exactly when the woman photographs them. “Wait, take another one, you didn’t catch his beautiful smile.”

Somehow, this does not seem to lighten Jäger’s mood. The woman, being a professional, seems to sense his discomfort with presenting himself for other people and opts for a different tactic: “Do you want to try kissing?”

Hell yeah. This will make for a fantastic story tomorrow and even more in-jokes between the two of them, so Bandit doesn’t even think twice about it. He catches sight of a raised eyebrow and curled lips and assumes Jäger is once again reading his mind, as he always does when Bandit is up to his shenanigans, and then he’s already pulled the other man to his chest and locked lips with him. They barely manage a proper kiss at first because Jäger pulls away as soon as Bandit’s tongue touches him, but when Bandit quietly calls him a chicken, Jäger returns with a vengeance. Fully aware of their audience, they violently snog while refusing to allow each other the upper hand and Bandit has to exert immense self-control not to burst out into laughter. He’d love it if they made it into some sort of exhibition among all kinds of other couples with this.

And then he notices he’s wrapped both arms tightly around the other man, and Jäger’s hands are sneaking into his biker jacket to stroke over his sides, and somehow…

It’s not the same, kissing Jäger versus kissing anyone else, though he’s not really sure why. He’s a good kisser, now that the initial playfighting has turned into something more cooperative, and he smells nice, and the faux fur of his jacket is tickling Bandit’s cheek, and their lips are moving against each other like they’ve done it a thousand times before, and this kiss has lasted a long time already, they should probably stop. No use in milking it any further. They got their material, time to move on.

Jäger’s tongue curls against his own and he’s left wondering why it’s so good to feel him in his arms like this, why it felt so good to spend a whole film with Jäger snuggled up to him, why he couldn’t stop smiling as Jäger pointed out all the flaws afterwards, and there’s really only one explanation for all this, the only one that makes sense, and then somebody wolf-whistles them.

Without a second thought, Bandit breaks the kiss to turn in the direction of the whistle and yell out an instinctual: “Fuck off!” He regrets it instantly as he spots another gay couple grinning at them over their shoulders while walking away. So… no sarcasm, instead probably a show of appreciation. “Damn, they were really hot, too”, he mutters, feeling Jäger shake with silent laughter. The photographer has disappeared entirely; she likely figured they needed some privacy.

And all of a sudden, this is extremely awkward. He turns back and Jäger is still smiling though there’s a decidedly lost quality to his features, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself either.

When the prolonged silence of them hugging and gazing into each other’s eyes helplessly becomes too unbearable, Jäger utters aptly: “Well. Whoops.”

Bandit snorts and tries to hide his burning face in the side of Jäger’s fluffy hood. “Fuck, man.”

“I don’t think I can pretend that didn’t happen”, Jäger mumbles to Bandit’s relief as he feels much the same way. “Were you – did you know -”

“Let’s not talk about it here, alright?”

A nod. “Alright.”

They both take a deep breath before separating and though Bandit misses the physical proximity straightaway, the dull yearning is alleviated by fingers interlacing with his own. If this is what’s been going on with the two of them, without them being aware of it, it would explain a lot of things. He tries his best to calm racing thoughts, not very successfully, and a random one pops into his head, unbidden: if Rook gets wind of this, he’ll have a field day.

“You know”, Jäger says, cheeks red and not looking at him, thumb stroking over the back of Bandit’s hand, “if this turns out to be our first proper date, it was a pretty good one.”

“It was”, Bandit agrees. Now he just needs to play his cards right.

[jessreallywantsitall]

ok I'm here to ask for some advice:

Lauren and I have been toying with the idea of having a "baby shower" (I put this in quotes bc we do not want a traditional shower but we'll get to that in a moment). However, we are not really the type of people who want to be the center of attention (especially Lauren) and we don't want to spend a lot of money on the shower. I know traditionally it is thrown for you, I believe? We just want to be able to do our thing and pay ourselves because that's who we are.

So, the pickle: our living space is pretty small and won't be able to hold our nearest and dearest so an at home get together is not happening. We've thought about going to a local lunch/cafe/coffee place but obviously that will be a lot more expensive than doing our own thing at home. Supporting a local place is very nice though so it's not entirely out of the question but still not something we're immediately saying yes to. (Note: they do a specific baby shower lunch thingy so that would take out the pressure of putting our own thing together but again more expensive).

Then we started talking about the point of the shower. We don't want to do the diaper game or any other (in our opinion) cringy things (my god we sound exactly like David Rose, iykyk) and we don't need a sex reveal or everything to be blue. It's mostly just... having lunch or dinner with some peeps we love and maybe they give us a gift if they want to.

But we're still torn bc if it's a more intimate thing than it kinda just turns into dinner with my parents or a lunch date with our bestie and we do that already? And they've also given us things for baby already, so its not like we need a special occasion for them to gift us something.

With all this info I'm curious to hear you thoughts and ideas. Thanks in advance ❤️

[samstclair]

Javier Peña’s Klepto

Javier Pena X Reader

Anonymous Request -

"Hey hey hey Sammy Sammy Sammy! I've just finished my 5th rewatch of Narcos: Colombia and can't stop thinking about Pedro's slutty little waist in it the entire time! I was hoping to see if you could whip something up for me - maybe an enemies to lovers? Me and Javier being the enemies, then lovers? I am a self-admitted kleptomaniac, so maybe this could help me come over that hurdle in my life? You do your thing!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Play it again! NOW!"

"Again, Danny? We get it now, if we watch it again it'll be our fourth time today! I don't think so!"

"Pablo told us to watch it over and over until we are really able to immersive ourselves into the story, to BE the characters, BE in the setting, BE a part of the heists themselves," Danny stopped and turned his head aside, closing his eyes. His abrupt silence and failure to finish his sentence caused everyone in the living room to turn to him.

"Uh, hello? Danny?" Angelica snapped in his face.

"I think he fell asleep again." Adrienne said. "Go and shake him awake. I hate when that happens."

Angelica let out an annoyed groan before thrusting her foot into Danny's shoulder, quite violently, until he shot open his big blue, Miley Cyrus-esque eyes, giving Angelica the biggest and most bombastic side-eye yet.

"Oh my god, why did you kick me!?" he snapped at Angelica. Spit and particles of Glossier lipgloss flung from his BBL lips onto Angelica's red glasses, causing them to fog.

"We thought you fell asleep!" you snapped back, defending Angelica's and Adrienne's honor. "You were talking and then you just stopped!"

"I wasn't done talking!" he exclaimed, "I stopped because I wanted to leave suspense for what I was about to say next and you guys didn't give me a chance to continue! God!"

"Oh," Adrienne giggled, "then why didn't you just say so, silly?"

"Why the fuck would I say that if I'm supposed to be quiet for the suspense?" Danny asked, still spitting.

"Danny, just face it," you said, "you're not that femme-fatale enough to go silent for that long. You're just narcoleptic."

Danny turned to face you. His face was unreadable, but you could read it. He was seeing red. If there was one thing about Danny, he took suspense pretty seriously.  "And you are? Look where that landed you in Paris, bitch."

You shuddered at the memory. Paris seemed a lifetime ago. No help in remembering that!

"Fine," you said, sort of frightened from more aggressive humbling from him, "finish what you were going to say."

"I was going to say...I actually forgot what were we talking about?"

"How your ass thought we were going to watch Ocean's 11 for the fourth time!" Angelica said, cleaning her foggy glasses with her shirt, making a windshield wiper sound. "I think Pablo knows we get the whole point. After all, it is tomorrow. We should get some rest, it'll be a big day."

How you didn't know just how big of a day that big day that Angelica said was gonna be big.

Everyone rose from the living room and began to pick up all the garbage from the floor that accumulated slowly but surely after your six hours of watching the first of the Ocean's trilogy on repeat. It consisted of dried pickle chips, Elf Bars of all different flavors, Monster energy drinks, Costco Animal Crackers, laxative pills, SpongeBob ice cream wrappers, empty and half full water bottles and more that aren't too important to mention.

You and your girls (this includes Danny) lived in a high rise apartment in Medellin, Colombia. You kept forgetting the year was 1989. The year is 1989 and you're in Medellin, Colombia living with your girls. It overlooked the communes of the city - it made you feel high in the clouds like God. The apartment was bought and paid off by none other than Pablo Escobar, or as you all referred to him, "Pablo", his code name. Pablo is among the five most popular boy's names of all time. It can be any Pablo.

This free stay didn't come without a cost, however. You four girls (and Danny) worked for Pablo and consequently the entirety of the Medellin Cartel. It was pretty crazy, but nothing you girls couldn't handle.

It was you, Angelica, Adrienne and Danny. You four were known as the Five Sisters, or by Pablo's affectionate little nickname, Las Putitas. Yes, though it may be confusing to others that there were only four of you and not actually five, Pablo liked the idea because he considered himself the fifth Sister/Puta. He wouldn't actually tell you guys any of this, but word spreads fast among the Cartel.

What you four did was simple: steal. Whether it was the Dollar Store or Goodwill, or both, you four had some sticky fingers that just had a knack for snatching just about anything. And Pablo liked that. And for you all having ten fingers, that's forty fingers in total, which is quite a lot. And that doesn't even count your toes.

He first encountered you four when you were set to go on vacation to Cancun with your girls. You four had been in the Miami airport, ready for liftoff! Everything was packed and ready - the outfits, sunscreen and suntan lotion, carts (weed) stuffed in your shoes and bras but slightly leaking, and bikini regions waxed.

But all four of your spirits were rained on and dampened when you find out that your liftoff! was delayed until the next day. Shucks.

Waiting for your next flight, you four decided to kill time and wander around Miami and see what was up. You grabbed some virgin Pina coladas and Miami lifeguard hoodies before going over to the beach. You all laid on the sand feet out and perked up, enjoying that beach breeze. Angelica had sat in front of you three facing towards the sun. You three had to turn your back towards it because the glare was too bright, but Angelica's red glasses shielded her eyes.

She leaned into you three after some time of sunbathing.

"Guys, don't like, look now - but there's this really fine dude behind y'all. I think he might be Colombian. Cause I'm actually Colombian and I know, I sense it. Should I try talking to him?"

"Oh my god what does he look like? He's right behind me, isn't he?" Adrienne asked, sitting across the sand from Angelica.

"Yes, I already said he was behind you but don't look now you're going to make it obvious -"

Adrienne whipped her head around back the moment Angelica said yes. You and Danny also turned your little heads albeit not as harshly and obvious and saw a man smoking a cigarette with a mustache, yellow sunglasses and flat cap. He was dressed like a Cuban grandfather.

You had to admit, Angelica was right.

He turned and noticed you four. You faced back around.

"You guys are like, fucking morons. I told you not to look." Angelica said.

"It's okay, Big Ange!" Danny assured, tapping his toes on hers, "I'd go and talk to him if I were you. He looks lonely."

"Yeah!" Adrienne agreed, "just walk up to him and ask about his day! Easy peasy lemons have been squeezed."

"I'm too nervous, though. What if he turns out to be really weird, or like," Angelica moved her face closer, in a whisper, "a cocaine dealer."

"Are you assuming that since he's Colombian, he's a drug dealer?" you asked.

"Oh please, everyone today is! Colombian or not! It's 1989! And if you're nervous, just grab a brewski for some liquid courage!" Adrienne said.

As if a light bulb lit up above her head and red glasses, Angelica turned to her backpack and pulled out her three-day-old can of Four Loko Gold. She took a big swig before wiping her mouth and throwing the can out to sea. Apparently the can was bio degradable so you didn't mind the littering.

She walked over, feet sinking into the hot sand causing her to go slower than expected, but she finally made it to the man. You three watched them talk.

"I hope he's cool," you said.

"Of course he's cool, who smokes a cigarette with a flat cap at the beach by themselves?" Danny said.

After some time, Angelica turned back towards you three and walked back with a big big smile.

"What did he say?" you three asked excitedly in unison like a little choir.

"You guys won't believe it! He said he could get us to Cancun for free literally right now!"

"What? What are you talking about?" you three said again in your choir.

"He said he thinks we're all hot and his friends would love us, he said he's leaving to Cancun literally right now and has a private plane we could hop in!"

"Whoa, slow down." Again, in unison.

"Could you guys stop doing that the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

"Wait, hot like we're hot or hot like we're sweating dick and balls right now?" you asked. She shrugged.

Whether it was one or the other, it was too good to be true.

How you laugh at your naivety back then.

After some deliberation, you guys came to the agreement that a free flight to Cancun was better than one that wasn't free. You gathered your things and walked back over to the man, who later introduced himself as Gustavo. He explained to you three as he previously did to Angelica while you all walked down the pier to his car that he knew someone who was a pilot and was heading to your destination.

You all finally got to the landing strip after about ten minutes of driving. The plane itself was not what you imagined it to be. Instead of your usual airline, commercial plane - it was a small, janky and little private plane. Everything was very suspicious now looking back, because a bunch of men were pulling out loads of carefully wrapped packages out of it. The man who was the pilot had a giant Swastika tattooed on his arm which didn't appear to be a good sign.

"What's with those packages?" Danny inquired to Gustavo.

"Ay, nada, mamacita. No se preocupe!" he responded in his Colombian accent that sounded like he was about to cry. "Em, how do you say - como los pinguinos? Hear nothing, see nothing?"

"Oh, no. Those are the monkey emojis. What you mean to say is 'Smile and Wave boys, Smile and Wave' from Madagascar. Close though!" he corrected, with a smile on his face. "An A for trying, honestly."

You four hopped into the back of the cockpit and were off. The fun didn't last for more than fifteen minutes, as the rest of the ride was bumpy and the A/C was broken so you all sweated profusely to the point where you all were so stiff it looked as though you were doing the Mannequin challenge from Vine (that wouldn't be popular until like forty years later because we're still in 1989). Gustavo sat in front with the Swastika-tattooed pilot, talking all sorts of Spanish mumbo jumbo that you all couldn't bring yourselves to try to understand.

White dust was stuck under all the crevices of the interior that didn't look like normal dust. It looked like cocaine.

"You guys...I think this all this white dust is cocaine," you said, low in a whisper.

"No shit dumb ass look what type of plane we're in," Danny said.

You looked around. "Seems like a normal plane to me."

"Yeah I guess so." replied Danny.

You would later find out it was actually cocaine and you were in fact right. But later Pablo told you all with the same leisurely "Hear nothing, see nothing, no?" as his cousin Gustavo. He even covered his eyes and ears to demonstrate to you all. You all felt that you were being talked down to like you were children and he was something of a father figure, but you didn't find yourself complaining because it made up for your lack of one in the first place.

When you guys had finally made it to what you THOUGHT to be Cancun, you hoped off the plane into this villa out in the South American boonies.

To make a long story short you were actually up in the mountains near Medellin. And you know where Medellin is? Not Cancun.

Gustavo thought that kidnapping you all for work would be something beneficial to the cartel. Basically, no one would suspect a group of non-conspicuous girls (and Danny) to be working for Pablo. And what did Pablo want? Free Dollar Store and Goodwill merchandise. They were just too much for him to want to pay.

You met him that day and he laid out the ground rules for you after throwing some more threatening Spanish mumbo jumbo at you guys:

1. No contacting police/DEA.

2. Do what Pablo says and that's THAT.

3. Make enough money in stolen merchandise that's satisfactory to Pablo enough to where you could return back home to America.

4. No complaining! No negative Nancies or Debby downers get any job done!

5. No asking about how the cartel works or any details, you don't have to know.

6. Apply hear nothing 🙉 see nothing 🙈 say nothing 🙊 to anything that applies to rule number 5 that you happen to accidentally encounter.

And that's how it's been ever since. Living in the apartment, you all wait for Pablo's next order and you go to do your magic. He'd send his men occasionally to pick up the stolen goods and bring you all food, which were just bandeja paisas. (They were always good and never grew old so you all didn't mind it being your breakfast/lunch/dinner/dessert.)

You all had completely acclimated to the new way of life and had a system to it at this point, which made it more confusing as to why Danny was so dead-set on watching Ocean's 11.

Over the course of two months, you all had committed a total of 132 robberies, individually or as a group. Those forty+ fingers...

Though you wished to be back home, a part of you enjoyed the rush of the forced labor. You knew you were all protected by the Cartel, so if something were to happen they'd always be near. Once, Adrienne had actually gotten caught for stealing a Hello Kitty bag from Marshall's, and bailed out by Pablo for a grand total of $100,000. That's efficiency. And this is Stockholm syndrome.

It wasn't without trouble, however. The DEA and Colombian police were cracking into the entire Medellin operation little by little, being what Pablo described to you guys as "party poopers" and wanting to "rain on their parade" and "ruin the vibe". You agreed, you didn't feel there needed to be a reason for the government to feel the need to get involved. Just let a girl live, in this case, the girl was Pablo. You all didn't enjoy seeing his mustache go into a sad face.

There were specifically two DEA agents that were American assigned to the case. All you knew through word of mouth that one was a white guy and the other was Hispanic. Because of how broadly generic the descriptions were, it was very difficult for you girls to know what they'd look like if you encountered them. Pablo just told you four to just assume everyone was DEA.

And you wish you had. But you didn't.

"So, you still on Hinge?" Adrienne asked you as you all slid into your bunk beds. You all slept in the same room and across from a large window that overlooked the city. The sun was well beyond set by now.

You took out your phone to check for any new notifications. "Yeah, but no luck yet."

"Wasn't there that one guy?" Angelica asked.

"What guy?"

"That one guy, the one with the mustache. Remember? You two were talking, like a lot."

"Every single guy here has a mustache."

"He's the one with the slutty waist."

It clicked. His face suddenly appeared in your mind and it left you disappointed. You let out a heavy, tired breath. "Oh, yeah. Javier." It hurt you to even say his name. It was such a waste.

"Oh yeah. What ever happened with him?" Danny asked. "Didn't you two go on a couple dates?"

"Yeah, we did," you started to remember. The more you thought about it, the more it turned down your spirits and reminded you as to why you chose to wipe it clean from your memory and ignore it all like it was trauma. "But, nothing came out of it."

"Well what happened?" Angelica pressed.

You hesitated but then you remembered - these are your girls. You tell them literally everything.

"Everything was going great. He was really funny and nice and all around the vibes were good. We'd been going out and finally one of the dates he wanted to invite me over to his apartment. I was looking cute, Pablo let me borrow some of the clothes from one of our runs, remember the Bebe jeans? The Y2K ones? Yeah, well those. My ass was looking fucking fat," you smiled to yourself, thinking about how Pablo and Gustavo told you that when you wore them, "Anyway, we ate dinner then went back to his apartment, and he had these like, yellow sunglasses he wore all the time. I thought to be nice I should get him new ones, so I was able to talk Gustavo into letting me keep these yellow Bebe ones I snatched at Dollar Tree for him. When we got to his apartment, I saw the old ones on the table and thought I should surprise him! When he went to the bathroom I put the new ones on so he'd be, well, surprised. When he came out and saw them on me, he got all weird all of a sudden. I was like, 'look! I got you new  sunglasses that are Bebe's like my jeans!' Then I showed him my fat ass to show the Bebe emblem, and he was not feeling it at all. Those good vibes at the beginning? Yeah, they weren't there anymore. He like, ripped them off my face and told me it would be best for me to leave."

Though it was dark and you couldn't make out your friend's faces, you knew they were all confused. Just like yourself when he removed those yellow shades from your face. You felt tears well up in your eyes - it was so sad.

"What the fuck? Who cares they're just sunglasses." Adrienne said. "He really told you to get out?"

"Was he offended that you got him new sunglasses? Like, you're implying he can't buy new ones himself?" Danny asked.

"I know, that's what I thought." you said.

"Maybe his old glasses are prescriptions?" Angelica said, "maybe he was reminded of the fact he could be legally blind?"

"Well did you ask why? What happened after?" Adrienne asked.

"I did, he just said that he had work in the morning and shouldn't have brought me to his apartment in the first place. Anyway, I left after that. It just killed the mood, I really thought we were gonna like hook up or something. He even got pale when he walked me out."

"What an asshole. Who cares? There's like so many other people who would appreciate new sunglasses from you and wouldn't want you to leave." Danny said. "Like Gustavo."

You all giggled at the mention and went to sleep soon after...

The big day was finally here. And for time's sake, let's literally just skip to when everything became BIG.

You four had driven to the location - another Goodwill. This was your fifth this week, there had already been a bulletin put out among all Goodwill employees about missing items across every one throughout the city. It had been a hot topic among the staff, but you four didn't know and frankly didn't care. Pablo was behind your back at all times. And the industry was crumbling.

You all walked in casually, careful not to bring any attention all to yourselves. And why would any of you? You're just a group of girlies (and Danny) who just want to do some shopping fun! Women be shopping!

"Okay guys, remember, Ocean's team only got what they needed, that's it," Danny said, "so don't go overboard. Do you guys have your bags?"

You all nodded, tote bags glued to your side.

"Okay, great! I'm like the George Clooney of this little team we got going on here," Danny said, biting his tongue and doing that white mom expression, absolutely eating up his new title.

"Um, who said that you were?" Adrienne asked, brows arched in confusion.

"I just did."

"That's not fair. We should all be able to choose who we want to be!" she argued.

"Well you snooze you loose! I don't make the rules, but the Daddy Clooney in me does, therefore we must get started!" he roses his arm with his index finger pointed upwards, "Girls, to your stations! We'll meet back in ten!"

You weren't sure why Danny decided to yell this at the entrance of the store for everyone to turn their heads and see. It didn't seem that George Clooney of him to announce the heist to the world. But, Danny did share the same name as George's character in the movie, so he must have had a reason? You weren't sure where the correlation in that was.

You all dispersed like little ants, all having their own role in the mission. Before entering, you reviewed the list Pablo wrote for you to find and snatch:

1. Juicy Couture bag

2. Low rise Y2K jeans

3. P.E. shirt of the local school

4. Y2K Jewelry, (playboy bunny themed preferably)

5. Twilight DVDs (I only have Breaking Dawn Pt. 2 and Eclipse, that's embarrassing for me as a Twilight fan. Change that.)

6. Hello Kitty toys (check toy section, push the kids out of the way if you have to, or steal from them themselves idgaf tbh)

7. Borat DVD

8. Ed Hardy anything tbh

9. Cute trinkets!

10. Lastly, anything that reminds you of me <3

The list was extensive and specific, but nothing you all couldn't handle. This wasn't your first rodeo.

But your last?

Maybe...

You went straight for the clothing rack, trying to find the wanted items. You looked around and saw your fellow girls all seemingly in their own worlds. You chuckled to yourself. They weren't ordinary girls. No one here knew or had a clue what you were all up to.

You kept looking through, pushing all the clothes to the right quickly like a machine and scanning the designs and graphics of the t-shirts to see if they reached the requirements. You felt that undiagnosed carpal tunnel syndrome flow through your veins and bones - it only fueled you. Pain was for the weak. Pablo told you that <3

"What do you have so far?" Angelica asked, inconspicuously standing aside you and going through the clothes as well.

"Not much luck here so far." you kept rummaging through, and found one shirt that stuck out to you - sending actual shivers down your spine. It was black and in funky letters spelled "Make the Rich Pay Tax".

"Oh my god, wasn't that the same shirt one of your old boyfriends had? What was his name? Hussain?" Angelica asked, oblivious to its dense and deep lore.

You quickly pushed it aside onto the next. "No, I don't know what you're talking about," you moved on quickly, "what about you? Have you found anything?"

"Check this out," she whispered to you as she shimmied her tote bag off her shoulder and revealing to you its contents.

"Snowglobes?"

"Yes bro they're stacked! You think Pablo will like them for the trinkets category?"

The globes clashed together softly as she shimmied it bag onto her shoulder.

"I guess, but what's useful about a snow globe?"

"They're trinkets. Trinkets aren't supposed to be useful at all, that's the point. They're just pretty clutter." Angelica explained. "Plus, he can't leave the country, you know, extradition and all - so it'll give him a unique perspective on the places he'll never get to visit. He'll be able to imagine them with glitter sprinkling all over!"

About fifteen minutes had passed. You were able to find several items of clothing you thought Pablo would like, all stacked on your arm. It was so heavy you felt it get sore, but you couldn't bear to put any of it down.

You began to felt that familiar disassociation kick in, however. Your head felt light and that tunnel vision you entered with had died out, you were on auto pilot. Crazy shit could go down in front of you and you wouldn't bat an eye. Nothing was in focus. Your head began to bang with heat and you felt your tummy rumble.

Mama needs to eat, you thought. Mama needs to eat soon.

You cradled your stomach in hoping of soothing it to overcome the hunger. It rumbled and rumbled, soon you realized it wasn't just hunger - you needed to shit. And you needed to shit now.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! you cursed yourself. I haven't even had laxxies????!!!

You looked around trying to find the nearest Sister of the group to lend all your items to and you finally spotted one. Danny was in the toy section to the far end, so you made a beeline towards him, dodging all the people and their pesty children.

"Danny. Danny." you called harshly.

He turned to see you, with a pile of toy dolls in his arms. His curious faced dropped.

"I'm not supposed to know you, remember? You really didn't pay attention during the movie," he said, "you might as well blow my cover entirely."

"Danny shut the fuck up you're so annoying who gives a fuck listen I need you to hold all this shit I need to go to the bathroom bad."

"Hold all...that?" he gulped, wincing at your subtly shaking arm. "That's a lot of stuff."

"Yes that's what I just fucking said. Hurry up it's coming out!"

"Not with that tone." he waved his finger at you in a 'no no'. "What's the magic word -"

Without thought, you launched all the clothes at him so hard it knocked his back against the shelf of toys, sending them crashing down. He tumbled down, draped in all the clothing. He let out a yelp as the air was knocked clean out from him. The crashing sound rattled throughout the entire store, sending ripples of its sound waves out to deafen every patron's ear canal.

By the time Danny had fallen, you were already towards the bathroom door, which was fortunately only a few steps away. You gripped your butt from the behind in an effort to keep everything together. A teenager had been in your way to the bathroom ahead of you, and as if you had just been given that familiar bump of Pablo's dusty dust dust, you stepped on the gas of your adrenaline and caught up to him.

"Get the fuck out the way!" you yelled, pushing him from aside like a footballer who had that football for that touchdown. He fell flat onto the ground too like Danny. You didn't feel bad. All the nerve endings of your asshole slowly opened wider as more seconds passed, that shit literally creeping out ready to make its own ripples into the toilet water like those sound waves.

Fuck Dunkin' Donuts coffee, you thought. Fuck that Dunkin' Donuts coffee! Might as well be laxxies!

Your patas were slamming on that floor.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

But you made it.

The moment your bare ass hit that toilet seat, it was game over. It was the same effect as an oil rig exploding except in reverse.

"Oh thank god," you said to yourself as it burned through. "Thank god the almighty."

After about fifteen minutes, you exited the bathroom a new person. You had spent the most of those fifteen minutes wiping. But it didn't matter, what happened in that Goodwill bathroom would STAY in that Goodwill bathroom. You were a new girl. A new Sister. A bright smile was plastered on your face that resembled some creepy anime character.

Danny was still in the toy section, a little bruised and cut up but nonetheless alright. He had all your clothes in one arm, the dolls in another. The floor was littered with all sorts of the colorful toys, and the shelf had been broken with pieces of metal shards all over.

"Hey Danny! Thanks for holding my stuff!"

He turned and glared at you. "You're a real fucking whore for that. Here." He gave your items back and you took them gladly.

You noticed he had accidentally given you one of the dolls, it was a beaten and dirty American girl doll. You thought it might've been Kit Kitteredge. There was something oddly human about it, oddly uncanny valley about it. You didn't like the way it made you feel. It reminded you of a furby...

When you looked up to Danny to give it back and get it away from your vicinity, he'd been gone. Disappeared. Disintegrated. He was literally no where in the store.

That's creepy...where did he go? you thought. And why did he give me this doll? Pablo never asked for a doll...

"Uh, Y/N, you might wanna come check this out." Adrienne said, suddenly at your right.

You turned to her. "What? Do you know where Danny went?"

Adrienne gulped, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. You didn't understand what she looked worried about. She didn't even appear this worried when she was in jail for the Hello Kitty bag.

"What's with the long face?" You asked, still living off the euphoria from the mess you left in the bathroom at the expense of your own personal relief, "he's right behind me, isn't he?"

"Y/N," Adrienne turned straight ahead of you both. You didn't realize, but she had her arms up in the air the entire time. You looked forward.

Ain't. No. Fucking. Way.

Your group was all suddenly surrounded. You stood by one another, back to back - targeted. Random ass fellow Goodwill shoppers circled around you with AK's and pistols pointed directly at you. They were not too happy. You all didn't realize but all these regular patrons were just the police and DEA in disguise. It was deathly quiet.

You looked them up and down - at one of their feet they had Danny pinned to the ground with their foot. His limbs were spread out like a cockroach that got stepped on.

"Let them through! Stand aside!" you all heard one of them call. They all then divided like Moses parting the Red Sea, letting two tall (and fine as fuck) men walk through. It was a white guy and a Hispanic guy. They were also not too happy. They had their own pistols pointed to your direction, with bullet proof vests fitted on labeled 'DEA'.

And there he was - Javier. Your hinge date. You felt that your shit circulating through your intestines once again, ready for round 2 in that bathroom. It couldn't be, no - it can't. Well it is. Uh oh this is not good. What's a girl to do right now?

"Javier?" you mumbled out. It all that was you were able to even mutter since you were so flabbergasted. He didn't seem as shocked as you would think, it was as if he knew about your true identity and intentions this entire time...

The white guy who also had a mustache looked over from you to Javier, confused about you knowing his name. He leaned in a whisper but you were able to hear because of your super sonic hearing -

"She one of your little informants, too?"

Javier shook his head and was back to you. "You're all under arrest for -"

Before he was able to finish, Angelica attempted to make her escape. She started to run so fast in one spot like a cartoon character, the friction creating a grey dust cloud from under her before bolting through the police and agents, holding the tote bag of snow globes to her chest like a mother running with her child away from danger.

"Stop her!" Javier ordered, in somewhat shock that everyone just opted to watch her run instead of trying to catch her.

One of the men ran behind her and launched himself at her, tackling to the ground like some regular football shenanigans like from earlier. She fell hard to the floor, a hard glass shatter sounding as she landed. The snow globes had bursted and spilled their glittery water all over the floor.

"Angelica!" you all yelled.

The officer that chased after her was disgusted as he was drenched in the glittery substance.

"Fuck is all that glittery water?!" the white guy yelled.

"Um, uh," Angelica's mind was racing behind those red glasses for any possible answer. You could tell she was in shock about the destruction of the globes. "My water broke?!"

"Why is your water all sparkly?" Javier asked, more confused than concerned.

"She was pregnant with Edward! From Twilight! Please she's just a young girl trying to make her way through this dog-eat-dog world!" Danny cried from the ground, the foot cutting some of his speech capacity short.

"The fuck is Twilight?" the white guy asked Javier.

"I don't know. But we better get this group to the station for questioning, soon. Let's go," Javier said, starting towards the entrance with his hands on his waist, "good job team!"

You gripped that toy baby harder. But it wasn't for any longer as they confiscated all your incriminating tote bags.

Some hours later, you had been in a small, gray interrogation room, with a black glass facing you. You were handcuffed to the table and shit was kinda tight. You felt your circulation slowly getting cut off. It was not a good, fun or fresh feeling. It just hurt. And it didn't help your carpal tunnel syndrome.

You hadn't seen your girls since the sting operation. A part of you wished that Pablo was here to help bail you out, but chances are he hadn't found out yet. Word sometimes doesn't travel fast in the Cartel.

Your disassociation was through the roof, higher than it ever was before. You might has well been dropped in the middle of the Saharan desert with no food or water - you felt all your sense of reality slip away as time ticked and ticked on. You were slumped forward, bare face on the cold table. These bare walls gave you nothing to hyper fixate on.

What's a girl to do....I've been caught, you thought to yourself.

It seemed your string of luck had finally run out.

The door swung open, walking in the white and Hispanic guy (Javier). They shut the door behind them, and the sound of it sprung you up like you just took a bump of Pablo's pixie dust.

You reminded yourself - you couldn't show them that you were weak. But, let's be real - a girl was tired. How long could you keep the facade? But no, they can't - they need to think you're resilient! Like some random person said, fake it 'til you make it girl!

"Y/F/N Y/L/N, right?" the white guy asked. They took a seat in front of you, manspreading to the max. Buzzfeed would be livid.

I can't answer them without a lawyer, you thought.

The white guy stared at you with some dead tired blue eyes for an answer. Javier lit a cigarette.

You looked at him with dead eyes back. You thought you looked intimidating, but in reality you looked shell-shocked like a war veteran.

He looked to Javier.

Javier looked to you. He was also waiting.

"Okay, anyway -" Javier started.

"That's your name, right?" the white guy asked.

You took a moment to scan your vibe - is this too serious you can't joke or is this all just a test? Either way, you needed to outsmart these narcs. And quick.

"What's your name?" you asked sneering, biting your tongue to yourself in your white mom self, knowing you ate.

"Agent Murphy."

You didn't know how to expand after the question. "Alright, sweet."

"Why can't you answer the question?"

"I choose NOT to incriminate myself. Don't you know about Miranda rights? Mr. Lin Manuel wasn't playing around," you retorted.

"There's no such thing as Miranda rights in Colombia," Javier said lowly, somewhat embarrassingly. Murphy gave him an annoyed look.

"Whatever, c'est la fucking vie. I don't have to tell you guys anything," you shot back, crossing your arms as best you could since you were still handcuffed and looking to the bare wall beside you, away from them. "Like, no taxation without representation, honestly." you muttered, not as loud since you weren't confident if that applied to Colombian law or to the situation in general. I should really pick my battles, you thought.

"Look, you can make this easier on yourself and just talk. We don't want you," Javier said, "we want Escobar."

"See, this is the problem with you guys. You don't want to see a woman in STEM succeed, like me, because of others that are caring and giving, like Pablo," you covered your mouth - you'd just revealed the codename for Pablo to the DEA.

Fuck, you thought.

"Whatever," you rushed, trying to move on from the slip up, hoping they didn't catch on because they're boys and they're naturally slow, "anyway, I can't give into your demands. I'm no rat."

"Pablo has you captive. We can help you and your friends, if you help us." pleaded Javier. Murphy had his arms crossed and seemed to be getting impatient.

"Your friends already talked. They're all rats. It's just you left." Murphy spat.

"They wouldn't rat." you said.

"They did," Murphy sat up from his chair and got in closer, intimidatingly. "Your Danny friend spilled everything. You all work for the narcos."

"The 'narcos'?" you asked, pretending to play stupid.

"Yes, the narcos."

"Danny is no narco."

"Danny is a narco. He works for them, just like you."

"The only narco Danny is is narcoleptic," you said, raising your thin ass eyebrows, chewing your mouth as if you had gum in it, which you didn't. "Look, why don't we end this war we have going on, right here and right now? I can be the mediator. Let's end this once and for all."

"You're confident enough to speak on behalf of the entire Medellin cartel?"

"I've never felt more confident in my life," you smiled. You were lying.

"How do you suppose we do that, then?" Murphy asked, intrigued. You had him.

"Well, maybe we could start with some Co-Exist bumper stickers? I have some in my tote bag that's sitting pretty in the evidence room. Maybe we can all start by slapping them on our cars? It could probably end all conflicts, actually."

"Really?" Murphy scoffed, making a snarky laugh. "You really think that could solve all conflicts? What about Israel-Palestine? You think that could solve it?"

"Honestly, yeah. Maybe," you answered. You had no idea what that was, but it sounded important. "I'd just have to get a couple more stickers."

Murphy slammed his big hand on the table. "Control your informant, Javi!" He was not happy. He had snapped.

Got him there, you smiled to yourself.

"She's not my informant. Look, Murphy, let me handle this. Okay?"

"You want me to leave?"

He leaned in closer to his BFF's ear to whisper. But since you have super sonic hearing you heard him.

"...just go on back, leave it to me. She's kind of a, uh, a bimbo."

You smiled to yourself at the comment. You did love being called a bimbo. It was who you are. There was something so powerful about being a lil ignorant. "Oh, you're too sweet, Javi," you said. They both shot you a confused look.

Murphy then rose and stepped out, leaving now just you two. He shut the door behind you.

"And then there were two," you said, squinting your eyes and trying to give yourself that femme fatale persona. "So Javi, this is what you've been up to since our date? Since you kicked me out of your house?"

"I've actually always been doing this."

"Oh, so you've always known about me, is that it? Are you some sort of a stalker? And what have you been telling that Debby-downer, negative-Nancy friend of yours? That I'm an 'informant'?"

"I never told him about us, or anyone. When you gave away that you worked for Pablo, I knew I couldn't have a relationship with you. That's why I kicked you out. I don't sleep with criminals."

"I'm not a criminal. And what I do isn't even that bad. I literally just take from capitalistic greedy organizations and businesses and give it back to the public - what's rightfully theirs. Like Robin Hood shit. And plus, how did you know I worked for Pab -" you caught yourself, "I mean, for Escobar?"

"Only people like Escobar have access to Bebe jeans and sunglasses." he said, not giving you any eye contact as he let out a puff from his cigarette and put it out on the table, unbothered.

It then hit you - those stupid pee-colored aviator glasses had hung on his buttoned shirt revealing his lack of chest hair. That stupid gift you went out of your way to get him for, those stupid jeans that made your ass fat - they had done more than compliment your outfit - they were the catalyst the entire time.

"Honestly, that's kind of a relief. I thought you didn't think I was hot."

"No, you are, but being a criminal isn't. And what's uglier is being one of Escobar's criminals. It's actually an eyesore." he rose up and sat on the table beside you. "So why don't you say what happened, then you and your girls can go to Cancun," he leaned in to whisper like he did earlier to his BFF/boyfriend Murphy, "And you won't be an eyesore to me anymore."

You felt yourself get hot down there. If your genital region was a diesel powered car, shit would be hauling actual ass. But no, you couldn't give in. You had to stay true to what Pablo would do.

What would Pablo do? you thought to yourself, looking down to your W.W.P.D. anklet. It was pink, Pablo's favorite color. What would Pablo say?

"Or what, Mr. Agent Javier Pena?" you whispered back. You weren't sure if that's what Pablo would've said, but there was no going back now.

He leaned in closer, an inch away from your mouth.

"Come clean and admit to all those grand larcenies your naughty little big Bebe butt did," he brushed his fingers through your hair, tucking it behind your ear. "And your ties to Escobar and his cocaine operation."

"The only cocaine operation I know about is the one with the bear," you whispered back, eyes fluttering, "have you seen the movie?"

"No, I don't watch movies," he whispered back. You felt his breathe on your cheek, it tickled it. You felt your rosacea arise. "But I do watch Escobar's every move. That's like a movie to me."

Mama can't hold back any longer. you thought. Mama's getting hot.

You didn't realize, but the handcuffs weren't as tight as you thought, and you were able to slip  free from their restraint.

You jump up to hug him, he hugs tightly back, he then throws you on the table and you feel his member pressed against your leg. He begins kissing you, his tongue licking your lips for entrance. You let him in. Your tongues fight for dominance but you let him win. He eventually starts going down on you, taking your Bebe booty jeans and panties labeled 'Thursday' you got as a personal gift from Gustavo, (it was actually a Monday, but you liked breaking rules), off, and starts kissing your labia.

"This...this is a labia" he says.

You lift your leg as he begins to eat you out, his wet breath on your cooter. He holds your foot up and raises himself, ready to press his member into your entrance. Your eyes are closed, ready to take the boy from the United States of America in. This is it. No DEA, no grand larceny charges, no creepy baby dolls, nothing - just you and Javier.

You heard the agents on the other side of the door bang and bang, but Javier had actually locked the door. It made you more hot thinking this is what he had planned the entire time. He was always one step ahead. Maybe he wasn't so different from Pablo after all.

Hope you enjoyed!

xoxo,

~Sam St. Clair

P.S. ~ Just a friendly reminder, DO NOT refer to me as anything else if it's not the following: Sam, Mr. St. Clair, Sam St. Clair, Clair, or St.. Hearing 'Sammy' makes me feel very violent. Next time, I won't accept any request that starts with it, just a friendly warning! :)

[saetoru]

two sateesugu selfship hcs and two teeyusae selfship hcs GO🚨

oh em gee my most beloved hello

sateesugu:

me and geto get stuff from the grocery store that gojo requests but we get them sugar free when we can just to mess with him 💀 he’d get so upset every time too that’s so funny fjsjfjshfhsfh and we’ll keep telling ourselves its mean and we should stop and then the time comes where we go shopping and gojo’s lazy ass doesn’t come and has a laundry list of demands and we rmr how funny he looked when he was upset and we just go “okay this is the last time” and we will probably never stop let’s be real

when i’m mad at either of them they tighten the pickle jar so i have to ask them to open it except they team up against me. like if im mad at gojo i can’t just go to geto to open it to avoid him bc then geto will be like “only if satoru gives me permission” and then the only way to get permission is if i obviously talk to gojo and it’s also true the other way around and yeah. they’ve created this system together and it’s the only time they get along and see eye to eye without bickering. me when im mad: satoru 🤝 suguru

teeyusae:

shidou is the food dumpster boyfriend: as in me and sae just give him whatever we can’t finish and he happily eats it every time. and he’s also the one that ends up having to share food bc me and sae are both the type to be like “i’m not hungry” and then shidou gets food and suddenly it’s “wait i’m hungry” and he’s sick and tired bc he’s not just sharing with one person but two so really he only gets to eat like a third of his food and its his biggest regret tbh

since sae is the only pale one out of the two of us me and shidou make a big deal out of making him wear sunscreen and we’re like “here we’ll do it for you” and it’s meant to seem like we’re being sweet and caring lovers except really it’s just an excuse to touch him. we take turns over who gets to do his face and touch his cheeks without him swatting your hand away and acting annoyed and who gets to do his arms and feel his biceps and he probably knows it’s on purpose but he’s a little princess coded so he likes being pampered a bit