#yes that is an america tone indicator

[karl-raccoon-enjoyer]

According to my translation of Crime and Punishment, Lebezyatnikov’s name means “to dawn on someone, cringe, ingratiate oneself” which to me surface-level makes his whole character a cringe fail liberal (/🇺🇸🦅🔥) simp

[heavyhitterheaux]

Jack and FL taking miss girl to the vet and one of tje dogs in the waiting room is doing too mucj and the owner doesn't notice bc she's too 🥵🥵🥵 at Jack and Jack puts her in her place

“Thanks for coming with me, babe.” Jack told you as you were scratching Butterscotch behind her ears in the hopes of keeping her calm.

“Of course my love. We have to make sure our youngest child is okay and I have to also make sure that they don't try to get over on us either.”

A few days ago you noticed that she wasn't acting like her energetic self and quickly made an appointment to see what might be wrong with her. However, something told you to watch the security cameras and the reasoning for her feeling sick was revealed.

She had eaten a paper towel that one of the triplets had dropped on the floor and never picked up.

“Our child would eat a paper towel. Not surprised in the slightest.” Jack replied and you couldn't help but to laugh. However, you were startled by a dog barking in a loud tone and looked to see the direction from where it was coming from.

“Hmm.”

“What's wrong, baby?”

“It seems that you have an admirer.” You told him and he instantly rolled his eyes as he looked in the direction that you nodded your head towards.

“And I have a wedding ring on my finger that could blind the entire continent of North America.”

“You so cute, bae. What did you expect?” You replied as you pinched his cheek making him blush.

“Stop, babe! And I'm all yours so she can stop staring at me. I think she's about to start drooling in a minute. You are the only person that I want looking at me like that.” He told you as Butterscotch was walking back and forth between both of your laps before she decided to lay in Jack’s.

Suddenly you two heard a crash and it looked as if the rowdy dog that had the owner that had been looking at your husband the entire time had knocked over two plants that they had in the waiting room, sending soil flying everywhere.

“Can she not control her dog or is she too focused on you?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question? I will start making out with you right now to get her to stop staring.”

“I don't think she's blinked since she's been here.”

Just then, the girl must have loosened her grip on the dog's leash because the next thing you knew, the dog was coming straight for Butterscotch and Jack was done dealing with the nonsense.

The dog then proceeded to almost hop on Jack’s lap and that's when you heard his protests.

“Uh? Excuse me!?!?? Ma'am isn't this your dog?”

“Oh, um yes.”

“Well can you do a better job of controlling him and getting him to act like he has some sense? Because if he would have bitten my child there would have been hell to pay.”

“Your child?”

“Don't you see me holding my daughter? If you were actually paying attention and not making googly eyes at me you would see that he's torn up this waiting room. And I know you see this ring on my finger and that indicates that I'm a whole married man and MY WIFE is sitting next to me.”

All you did was laugh as you were on facetime with Urban, who heard the entire exchange. You called him to get an update on the babies, and that just so happened to be the time when Jack went off.

“I cannot! Y/N! Get your husband.” He said as he busted out laughing.

“Nah, let him cook.”

“Like how does your dog not know how to act in public? And are you going to come over here and get him or?”

“Oh, right. Um, sorry about that.” She immediately turned red indicating that she was embarrassed and took the dog's leash from Jack.

“I love it when you get like that.” You whispered in his ear once the woman had finally gone back to her seat.

“Once we leave here….” Jack started to say, but was immediately cut off by Urban.

“AHT AHT! I'm still here so stop being nasty!”

“Hmm, I can solve that problem.” Jack said and Urban's eyes went wide.

“Don't you DARE hang up on me.”

“Urb, can't hear you, we’ll call you back later.” Jack replied as he reached over and hung up on him while all you could do was laugh.

“Now where were we?”

[shini--chan]

May I request 2p allies making their s/o mute as a punishment for trying to run for help.

⚫〰️⚫ Thank you

Alright, as the ask indicates, it is not a never family friendly post that awaits you up ahead. Excluding 2p Canada this time, since I had difficulty coming up with another form of mutness other than those described via the other characters.

This came out later than planned due to time management issues on behalf of the author. Nevertheless, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: body horror, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mutilation, misuse of medical procedures, drugging, malnutrition, dark magic

Yandere 2p! Allies - Silence is Gold

America

Allen would loathe to admit it, but he had come to like you when you were quiet. Aside from that, you looked so cute with your neck bandaged up. And those glares and petulant expressions you made! Oh, if he had known how agreeable you’d become after losing your voice, he would have done this far sooner. 

That being said, it had been an accident - he hadn’t wanted to punch you in the throat, but you just had to jump in the way, when he was busy teaching that bastard a lesson. Therefore, he had had no choice but to cut open your throat to ensure you could continue breathing. 

When you leaned down to take his plate, you purposely bumped his shoulder. Yes, you were still very upset with him about what had happened. However, the feeling was mutual. He slapped your arse when you straightened up again. 

It caused you to perform a little jump and then glare at him. 

“If I had known that you’d look so sexy with something around your neck, I would have bought you a set of chokers long ago, dollface. Don’t worry though - you look good with the bloodstained gauze as well”, he slyly complimented you. Oh, how it infuriated you. 

You had tried to talk a few times these past days, causing the wound on your neck to reopen and weep plasma and blood everytime you did. As it was, you were lucky that you had gotten antibiotics, or else Allen would have been far stricter with you. 

Petty as you could be, turned your back on him and flipped the bird as you marched back to the kitchen. At this, Allen could prevent himself from laughing. 

Allen actually wouldn’t want to rob you of your voice, since half the fun in having you is that you talk back. However, he would discover the benefits of muting you after he would have to do it in some shape of form. Once doing so, he would find this experience refreshing and seek to replicate it multiple times in the future. Here, you would really be in danger of losing your voice permanently if you aren’t able to curb his … preferences. 

The problem here is that he would find your muteness and the injuries connected to it to be unbelievably arousing. In ways, your life would biome harder than it already is thanks to that.

China

Could you really be blamed for panicking in a situation such as this? The rush of hysteria made the binds tying you down to the table seem even tighter than they were, and you felt like you were suffocating, no matter how fast you breathed. The air was too hot and your clothes too scratchy, with the latter made all the worse by the fact that you were coated in grim and your own dried sweat.

To your left, you heard Zao approach you. Since your head was fastened to the table, you only could see him once he appeared in your periphery. There was a horrid grin on his face, that stood in complete juxtaposition to what he said.

"My heart, this is really something I don't want to do, but you leave me with no choice."

You wanted to retort, but thought better of it just in the nick of time. He had a brown glass bottle at hand, and you didn't like all the warning labels on it, nor how close it was to your mouth. 

"But give in and swallow, I promise to help you with your recovery if you comply", he told you in a sickly sweet tone as if he was talking to a child. As much as you wanted to shake your head, you couldn't. By now, you were trembling. 

Two fingers pinched your nose firmly. After a few seconds, you started to become lightheaded and you heard and felt your blood pounding. Opening your mouth wouldn't be an option, since the bottle would immediately be emptied into your mouth if you did that. So instead, you opened the corner of your mouth and tried to breathe as discreetly as possible. 

To no avail. The fingers that were on your nose went for your mouth and pried your lips apart. As valiantly as you struggled, the bottle still went in. The fluid caused your throat to burn, and when you accidentally breathed some of it, you let out a hapless scream of pain. 

His method of muting you would be more permanent - rendering your vocal cords and throat useless by forcing you to drink acid or poison. This would either be the response to a multitude of transgressions, or him being particularly ticked off by an escape.

A side effect of this would be that you would be unable to swallow food or drink. But he would be there to help you, either by feeding you through a tube, an IV or by supplying you through your back door (i.e your rectum). This would serve as an extension of the original punishment. Additionally, you would be helpless and reliant on him. 

England

When you finally woke up, you felt groggy and heavy, each of your limbs made of lead and your mouth full of cotton. Sleep drunk, you opened your eyes and eased yourself to a more upright position. 

Not that it was more comfortable - there were kinks and knots in your back that only a professional massage could relieve you from. Why the hell had you fallen asleep here of all places? You were seated in an old dentist car, the once royal red faded. The contraption creaked ominously whenever you moved.

This was getting weirder and weirder by the moment. The twilight of the room you were in didn't help.

Your mouth felt dry and slightly numb, and your lips subsequently cracked. You parted your lips and wanted to run your tongue over the dried skin only to discover that you didn't have a tongue anymore. 

Cold shock made you bolt upright and all at once, the world shifted into sharp clarity. Once again, you tried to stretch your tongue out only for nothing to move, not a stump. That was when you started to panic.

Lungs heaved as you tried to explain the situation to yourself. There was absolutely no pain, you weren't feeling weak. The taste of blood was absent, and the bitter sting of iodine or saline solution wasn't present either. 

In your panic, you opened your mouth and stuck your fingers inside to feel for your tongue. It had been completely removed down to the root. There wasn't even puckered skin where the muscle would have begun. Tears started to leak from your eyes and you tried to force a few miserable sounds out of your mouth. 

"Now, now don't engage in self-pity. You did bring this on yourself, my rose bud."

The blood in your veins turned to ice, and you halted your frantic movement. Despite the dim lighting of the underground room, you could clearly see Oliver Kirkland. He was seated on a red satin loveseat, and in the jar he had balanced on his knee was your tongue. 

Oliver would use magic to completely remove your tongue from your mouth, aiming to insite as much panic in you as possible. As such, you'll only find out what he has done after completion of the procedure. 

Instead of helping you to deal with the situation, he would mock you relentlessly. Furthermore, he would place the blame on you - it was you that ran away, it was you that forced his hand; everything that went wrong is your fault. The jar with your tongue in it would be placed in a spot that you'd have a hard time overlooking. A taunt, and a reminder that the amputation is only temporary. You just have to play being a good spouse for long enough and then he'd give you your tongue back. 

France

Putrid pus stained the sheets as he pulled them away. Yesterday the colour had been yellow, but now it had a slight green tint to it. Francois brushed his fringes out of his face and tied his hair back to a sloppy ponytail. 

With a soft sigh, and placed the bandages and tincture bottles on the bed next to you and tilted your head towards him. Sickness and the corresponding fever made your sleep deep, unlike it usually was. You didn't even stir when he lifted your head onto his lap. 

At this point, it was up for debate what was sealing your lips more - the rough stitches or the infection. The swelling had distorted your mouth, so much so that it was beginning to block your nose and hinder your breathing. 

Cursing softly under his breath, he set out to drain the pus from the needle wounds. He shouldn't have used the expired saline solution, yet you had given him no choice. You had been so busy thrashing and screaming around when he had sown your mouth shut. 

Francois still didn't understand why you had put up such a fuss. The punishment was deserved and it made your resistance all the more pathetic. Seriously, had you really thought he would take you escaping lightly? How could you delude yourself into thinking he wouldn't take all those vile words that you had uttered upon being brought home to heart?

The pus drenched bandages were thrown into the bin, and he proceeded to down the injured tissue with iodine. You groaned in your sleep, and tried to open your mouth. A noticeable tremor ran down your body, and you stopped straining against the stitches. 

Perhaps it was better that you were lost in a haze. It gave your captor more time to think and calm down. 

Francois would elect to make your muteness temporary, but with some caveats. You'd wear scars around your mouth for the rest of your life and the mental and physical trauma would haunt you for years to come. Such a situation would have a high potential of arising if you poured your heart out to somebody else and incited them to help you escape. 

Russia

This was getting more tiring by the hour. Slowly, you were asking yourself if this really was a punishment, or if it was one of Victor's loathsome social experiments.  loathsome social experiments. They both tended to be alike, so it was hard to tell on a normal day. 

“If you keep glaring at me like that, your face will distort to a permanent frown”, the man in question remarked. The knife repeatedly scraped over the wood in his hand, causing shavings to fly with every stroke of the blade. He didn’t even look up from his whittling when he said that. How rude. 

Feeling petulant, you knicked a stone in the river. It was a nice day to be outdoors - the spring air was filled with the sweet smell of flowers, and the sun was shining through the birch tree. Though, you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy, not when he had brought you to the spot where he had captured you a mere week ago, picnic basket at hand. 

You had difficulty swallowing every other bite, and also keeping it down. Now that bastard even insisted on staying a bit longer to enjoy the alleged peace and quiet that the forest offered. 

With how frustrated you were, you opened your mouth in order to say something, only to receive a smack to the face with the flat side of the knife the second you opened your mouth. In shock, you quickly closed your mouth again and looked at him aghast. 

This time, he was even meeting your eyes. 

“You know the agreement, so don’t break it by talking now.”

Mutness wouldn’t even be the intended punishment at first - it would be offered as a second, milder option to a harsher punishment. Victor would have a habit of giving you an option of choosing between two or more punishments. It would be to give you an illusion of power over your own fate and an opportunity to assuage your character. Mind you, he would never give you the full details of the punishments that you can choose from. 

In this case, he would enforce a “voluntary silence” upon you. You would have to refrain from speaking for a certain time interval, or else suffer a harsher punishment. This is one of his games with you, that would be designed to mould your personality to his liking. Also, this would be a form of discipline training for you. 

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lightning Bug - Chapter 24

Masterlist

Warning: self harm, mention of past trauma, angst with fluff, Natasha and Wanda being good parents

Word count: 3.1k

“Stephen,” America said. You stood up slowly, but the room began to spin. “Hi. This is-” You lunged to the side, throwing up the food Wanda made for breakfast in a bowl next to the stairs.

“She’s throwing up in the cauldron of the cosmos.”

“Yeah,” America said slowly. “I’m surprised it took her this long.” She started to rub your back. “You threw up much quicker.” You stood up, and a red cap brought you a glass of water and a napkin.

“Uh, thanks,” you took the items from it, and the cap returned to its proper place around Stephen’s shoulders. He was wearing all blue with a brown belt around his waist. The most striking thing about his appearance was a necklace around his neck. You took a sip of water. “Hi,” you waved. “Sorry about that. I’m Y/n,” you introduced yourself.

“I know who you are,” oh. Okay. Well, that was ominous. “What were you thinking?” He turned his attention back to his pupil. “You could have gotten separated or, worse, caused an incursion .” America sighed, looking down at her feet.

“I know, I know. I wasn’t thinking.” You weren’t the biggest fan of how he was talking to her.

“Hey, chill,” he looked at you, and you heard America quietly say your name in a warning. “No one got hurt. We are back in our correct universe,” well, you hopped you were. “She made a mistake. It happens.” The man crossed his arms.

“I don’t have time to explain the complexity of the multiverse to another child.” You never wanted to slap an adult more than you do now. “America knows it was more than a simple mistake.” You disliked how quiet America was being. It was so unlike her. You wrapped your pinky finger around hers. Stephen’s eyes followed the path of your hand, and you saw his eyes soften at the gesture, but his mask went back on quickly. “I believe your presence is being requested at the tower and America,” your friend raised her head. “We will discuss the consequences of your actions later.” He raised both hands, and orange sparks surrounded the both of you.

You yelped as you fell through the portal Stephen created. Instead of hitting the ground, red magic surrounded you and America and gently rested you down. You stood in the common floor kitchen with a very amused Black Widow looking at you. “Imagine our shock,” she began. “That Vision gave you the day off because you weren’t feeling well, and FRIDAY tells us you and America left the tower,” you cringed at her tone and looked down at the floor.

“You must be feeling better,” Wanda added.

“It’s not her fault,” America defended. “I woke her up to hang out with her,” Natasha said your name, and you looked at her. You saw a playful twinkle in her eye, indicating she wasn’t mad at you.

“Go to your room and get some sleep,” you nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” you looked at America, interlocking your hand with hers. “Sorry you got in trouble,” you squeezed her hand.

“No big deal,” she shrugged her shoulders. You smiled at the couple, pleading with your eyes for them to go easy on her, and took the stairs to your floor.

You took each step slowly, your body was still sore, and the adrenaline was wearing off. “There you are,” you looked up to see Bruce walking over to you. You smiled at the doctor, ignoring the concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you headed towards the kitchen and grabbed a glass to fill with water. “Do you need something from me?” You sipped on the water as Bruce flipped through the clipboard he was holding.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been going through many batteries,” he said. Your fingers tightened around the glass you were holding. “I’m glad you are using it, but I want to ensure you use it safely.”

“I am,” you said. The lie ticked the back of your throat. “I use it in the morning and sometimes at night.” It wasn’t a total lie since Maria liked to use the machine during training. He nodded.

“Well, I wanted to give you this too,” he took a piece of paper and slid it across the counter that separated you and him. “It’s a list of places that have used the batteries.” It was a list of hospitals, schools, and clinics that you never heard of before. It made you smile. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.” You giggled.

“Will do,” you said. “Thank you, Bruce.” The doctor waved as he left towards the elevator. Sighing, you cleaned the glass you used and walked into your room. You dropped the paper onto your nightstand. Lying to Bruce did not feel right. It was like when you first moved to the tower. All these lies were stacking up on each other; you crawled into bed and wrapped the blankets around you. You prayed for a dreamless sleep.

*

“I can’t believe she traveled the multiverse and got out of her lessons,” Natasha laughed, cutting up some vegetables for Wanda. “In the same day! I’m a little impressed.” Wanda smiled, resting her hand on the small of Natasha’s back as she walked over to the fridge.

“Are you impressed or jealous America took her?” Wanda asked.

“Both, honestly,” the witch laughed and kissed her cheek.

“Well, we did tell her to be a kid. Ditching class and getting into trouble does fall into those categories.” She wrapped her arms around Natasha’s waist and leaned against her back. It made it a little tricky, but she made do. She would never deny the feeling of her girlfriend’s arms around her. It was calming as she felt every beat of Wanda’s heart and breath. “You don’t think we were too hard on her, right?” Her girlfriend asked. It was a delicate balance that Natasha was unfamiliar with. They needed to enforce some rules, but she refused to be like the young girl’s biological parents.

“I don’t think so,” the Black Widow said. “But we’ll check in with her after she’s gotten some sleep.” Natasha was worried about her not feeling well. Wanda nodded, kissing Natasha’s shoulder.

“She’s special,” Wanda mumbled. Yeah, Natasha couldn’t agree more.

*

Sweat poured down your back as you tried to catch your breath and stared down the machine. You needed to do it tonight. You woke up from a nightmare involving America, and at dinner, those scenes danced around your head. It was awful; it was the only way you could find a word to describe it as America’s screams echoed in your mind, and you were the one that caused them.

“Whoa,” you placed your hands on your temples as the room spun. You shut your eyes tight and felt your body fall to the ground. A pained groan left your lips, and you opened your eyes. The room was no longer spinning, but your head was pounding. This was a new feeling. It made you feel weak, and you hated it. Maybe this was what it felt like when you hit empty. On shaky legs, you stood up and covered the machine with the sheet.

You needed to go to sleep. With every step you took toward your bedroom, your legs felt like lead. You had half a mind to fall asleep in the hallways, but you figured that would raise many more questions. Suddenly, you were standing before a door that wasn’t yours. Wanda and Natasha. Before you could knock or turn away, the door opened, and you were staring at the Slovakian. “Oh, hi.”

“Your nose is bleeding,” you instinctively went to touch it, but Wanda grabbed your hand. “Come with me, and I’ll clean it.” Wordlessly, you let Wanda drag you to the kitchen and sat on the stool. She quickly wet a towel and sat down next to you. “I made sure it was warm,” she said, gently whipping the blood off your face. It was warm, but a shiver still went down your spine. “Did I hurt you?” She pulled away.

“No, you didn’t,” you whispered. “Just not used to this.” You didn’t elaborate, but Wanda nodded as if she understood.

“You know,” she smiled. “You remind me a lot of Pietro. He was very protective of me and the other kids,” you remembered her telling you about him. He was killed when they fought against Ultron while saving Clint and a little boy. “He would steal food for us when we couldn’t afford it.” You smiled.

“Sounds like Caleb” she tossed the towel in the sink and walked around the counter to the other side to clean it and her hands. “How do I remind you of him?” She was quiet momentarily, focusing on washing the towel and her hands. It amazed you that on the most straightforward task, she chose to do it the mundane way instead of a wave of her hand, and the mess would be gone. You believed she needed to keep her hands busy whenever a painful memory arose.

“He never wanted anyone to worry about him. He kept every worry and pain to himself and covered it with a smile,” she shook her hands dry. “Why are you up?” She asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she playfully rolled her eyes at you. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted as Wanda grabbed two mugs and filled the electric kettle. “I haven’t been sleeping well since I told everyone what happened to me,” she placed tea bags in the mugs. “Every time I close my eyes, I relive everything.” The water began to boil, and she filled each mug. With her magic, she made two spoons appear.

“When was the last time you slept?” You chuckled, pressing down the tea bag with the spoon.

“I sleep every night, Wanda,” but an intense feeling of guilt ran through you. Gently, she tapped her finger against your hand, but you refused to look at her. “I’ve been hurting myself,” you whispered. “Not in the same way before, but it’s the only way I’ve been able to sleep.” Once again, she tapped your hand. You gathered the courage and looked at her. There was no judgment in her green eyes. Instead, there was love; you’ve seen mothers look at their daughters like this.

“Thank you for being honest with you,” she said. “How have you been doing it?” You took a sip of the tea.

“The machine Tony and Bruce made me. I’ve been using it to the point my powers are depleted,” you explained. “It’s the only way for my mind to shut off,” you bite your lip and trace the mug’s rim. “I just came from there, and I think it’s what caused the bloody nose. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She asked. She was frowning when you looked up at her.

“I promised I wouldn’t do this anymore,” you whispered. “And I broke it.” You heard a slight hitch in your voice, which Wanda also heard. She quickly rounded the kitchen counter and pushed away a few tears that fell with her thumb.

“Healing isn’t linear,” she said. “It’s messy and complicated. Sometimes, you take one step forward and three steps back, but that’s okay. I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, and I’m proud of you for being honest with me,” she wiped a few more tears and kissed your forehead.

“You’re the only one that’s ever done that,” you admitted. She tilted her head, a little confused by your statement. “I’ve seen my mother do it to Henry a few times and random families on the street, but you are the first to kiss my forehead.” Her green eyes softened, masking the anger you saw that wasn’t directed at you. It was directed at the shitty deck of cards that life gave you. She kissed your forehead one more time and grabbed your hand.

“Come on, you need sleep,” you felt your eyes get heavy as she led you to the couch. She sat down first and encouraged you to cuddle against her. Your head rested on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. It was soothing. A blanket was pulled up to your shoulders, and her hand began to draw circles on your back, but you moved to look at Wanda.

“You and Natasha would make perfect parents,” you told her. “Have you ever thought about having kids?” It would be adorable to see a mini Wanda and Natasha running around. Wanda smiled.

“Maybe one day, once we are done with all the Avenging,” you nodded. That was understandable; their life was so uncertain. “Besides, I think we have our hands full with you lot here,” she ruffled your hair, which caused you to giggle.

“Night, Wanda,” you turned on your side and closed your eyes. The feeling of Wanda’s hand on your back and the calmness of her heartbeat helped you fall asleep in no time.

*

When Natasha reached over to pull her girlfriend closer, she found the spot empty and cold, which was not expected. They made a promise to one another to wake the other person if they had a nightmare. Frowning, she got out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt. The tower was always cold, and she hated it. The cold reminded her of Russia, where her life was changed forever. She walked out of her room and found her girlfriend on the couch. “Hi, malen’kaya ved’ma (little witch),” Natasha whispered, walking over to her. The witch was awake, running her hand through Y/n’s hair as she was fast asleep. The sight warmed Natasha’s heart as she knelt behind the couch and kissed Wanda’s shoulder. “Everything okay?” Her girlfriend hummed.

“Yeah, she just needed some cuddles to help her sleep.”

“Is she okay?” Wanda sighed but nodded.

“I think she will be. We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Natasha wanted to talk about it now, but she learned not to question her.

“Do you want to move her to our room?” Wanda nodded and moved her hand to the young girl’s back.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Wanda whispered, gently shaking her awake. “Can you wake up for a second? Then we can go back to bed?” The girl groaned, blinked open her eyes, and rolled onto her back. Her eyes flickered to Wanda, then Natasha.

“Your girlfriend is a comfy pillow,” the girl mumbled. Natasha smiled.

“Don’t I know it,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.” The girl stood up from the couch, taking the blanket with you. The Black Widow was surprised she didn’t fight them when they laid her in their room. When Wanda opened the door, she crawled into the middle of the bed and under the covers. Her eyes closed as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she fell asleep. Natasha chuckled.

“Glad we got the bigger bed,” Wanda smiled and got onto her side of the bed. Immediately, the teen searched for her warmth. The sight made Natasha smile.

“Are you joining us?” The Black Widow nodded and got in bed. “What’s on your mind?” Natasha gently brushed the young girl’s hair out of her face.

“We should ask her soon. Make this little family official.”

*

Wanda set down a plate of eggs and pancakes in front of you. “Thank you,” you said. “For breakfast and last night.” Natasha set a tall glass of orange juice next to the plate. “Honestly, it was the best nights sleep I’ve gotten in a while.” The Black Widow smiled as she watched you pour syrup over the flood and cut into the pancake.

“No need to thank us,” she said. “We are here whenever you need us.” You nodded; it was a concept you were still trying to learn. “Actually,” Wanda stood next to her girlfriend. ‘We do want to talk about something.” Your stomach dropped, and you placed your silverware on the plate.

“You aren’t in trouble,” Wanda added, but her assurance didn’t help the anxiety spike. “We think it would be good if you see someone to talk to about everything you’ve been through.”

“Like a therapist?” You questioned. The couple nodded. “I don’t know.” You hated opening up to a stranger when it took you forever to tell the Avengers.

“It’s something you don’t have to decide right now, okay?” Natasha smiled. “Just something to think about.” She ruffled your hair, and it brought a smile to your face. The couple began to discuss their plans for the day - a meeting, a training session, and what they would do for dinner. You knew you were damaged, a little broken from everything you’ve been through, but you weren’t sure if talking to a stranger would help.

“Just the family I’ve been looking for,” Sam said, stealing a piece of a pancake from your plate. You stuck your tongue at him as he sat down next to you. “I’m guessing you’ve gotten presents for Barton’s kids,” he told the couple. Natasha nodded her head. “What the hell did you get them? AJ's birthday is coming up, and I have no idea what to get.” You were not sure what birthdays were until you lived on the street and read a book where the main character had their birthday with friends and family. It clicked, then. Once a year, Henry had friends over, your mother made a cake, and he went to unwrap colorful presents. He was celebrating his birthday, something you never got the pleasure to do. Once a year, you lay in bed and listened to a party no one invited you to.

“Hey,” you were pulled out of your thoughts by Natasha. “Where did you just go?” She asked. All three of them were looking at you.

“Nowhere,” you said, but Natasha gave you a pointed look. “I was thinking about birthdays. I never celebrated mine.”

“Well, when it is?” Now, that was a great question. You tilted your head.

“I’m not sure,” you slowly said. “I guess my parents would have had to tell me or Caleb, but no one did,” you shrugged. “It’s fine,” you quickly added. “I went this long without a birthday party. I’ll be fine.” You ignored the look on their face and focused back on your breakfast. A birthday party sounded fun: presents, cake, and being surrounded by people who cared about you. But you were fine without one. Right?

_

taglist: @aestruvx, @toouncreativeforausername, @modedddd, @julilamoment, @mythixmagic, @yourmamacom, @vicmc624, @cherlenovix, @liliesandrosies, @whitewidowsbite, @clintsbigtoe,   @blackbirdv98@arualdcg@yoyo-w​  @natbelovasblog, @johnnyhulu, @blackwidow-3, @theenglishswiftie, @faith-olsen

[switchedandbewitched]

Switched and Bewitched Chapter 6: #25 Menace at Mummy Manor? Got it.

Read more on AO3!

Velma’s head whipped to the left and suddenly she shouted, “Fred! There! Pull over!” 

“Pulling over!” Fred responded. The Mystery Machine seemed to dive into the nearest on street parking spot, jolting abruptly as it tapped the curb. 

"Like, what is it, Velma?" Shaggy asked. Instead of responding, she unclipped her seatbelt, hopped onto the sidewalk, and began making a beeline for a store across the street. Shaggy, Fred, Daphne, and Scooby looked at one another and shrugged, following suit. The Gang found themselves standing in front of an old brick building. Across the storefront window it said "Dinkley's Mystery Book Shoppe" in spooky lettering. 

"I want to go in," Velma stated. Her tone alone made it clear there would be no changing her mind, and her face only reinforced the point. 

"If we're smart about it..." Fred started. 

"And really careful," Daphne added. 

"Have I ever been known not to be smart or careful?" 

"That is, like, a good point." 

They all shrugged at each other again and opened the shop door, which made a pleasant chime. The shop was small and crammed with shelves anywhere they could fit. Handmade signs hung over each section, indicating the location of genres such as noir, gumshoe, and graphic novel. At 3:00pm on Wednesday, the shop was far from crowded, but a few older folks milled about or sat in overstuffed chairs near the front window. 

Velma surveyed the story until her eye caught the clerk behind the register. "Jinkies!" She exclaimed. Behind the register was a young woman, not much older than Velma, who bore a striking resemblance to Velma's younger sister. 

"I know that feeling, man," Shaggy said. He still hadn't recovered from meeting Tim. 

Velma slowly approached the counter and cleared her throat. "Um, h-hello. I kn-know this is a mystery shop, however I'm looking for books on local history?" 

"Hi! Yes, of course. We have a small selection of other genres if you go through the door in the back." The clerk pointed to a black door. "Are there any titles in particular I can help you find? We can always order something." 

"N-no. Thank you." Velma scurried towards the back, waving at The Gang to follow her back. Much like the main room, the back of the store was crammed with books. Genres included romance, sci-fi, horror, occult, history, and old textbooks from the local universities. Velma began pulling dusty books from the shelves they had no doubt sat on for years and piled them on a table in the middle of the room. She opened one up and sat down. 

Daphne peered over her shoulder, "What are you looking for?" 

Shaggy, Fred, and Scooby joined them, also leaning over Velma's shoulder. "History of Magical Items in North America," Fred read aloud. "Damn, this is a great find, Velma." 

"Maybe it will help identify that object in the crime scene photo," Daphne said. 

"I'm counting on it. But in case it doesn't, I think we should get these, too." Velma stacked nearly a dozen books into a neat pile and hauled herself to her feat. The stack contained riveting titles such as "Coolsville 4: Alien Abduction?", "Unsolved California: The Missing Coolsville 4", and "Dark Arts for Dummies." 

"And this one. Just for fun," Fred said. He held up a book titled "Hair-Raisers #25 Menace at Mummy Manor" and scooped half the books from Velma's arms. "Ready, Gang?" 

“Find everything you were looking for?” the clerk asked with a big customer service smile. 

“Yes, thank you,” Velma responded. Velma studied the clerk more closely as she scanned each book. “Can I ask you a question?” The clerk nodded and continued scanning the books. “Is this Dinkley’s Mystery Book Shoppe, as in Velma Dinkley, the missing teenager?”

The clerk’s customer service persona wavered slightly. She was clearly sick of answering this question. “Yes, ma’am! Same family.” 

“How are you related to Velma Dinkley, if you don’t mind my asking?” Fred asked. 

“Velma was my great-aunt. I never met her of course, so I can’t tell you anymore than these books can.”

“This store is really lovely. Do you own it?” Daphne asked. 

The clerk laughed. “No, I just work here part-time while I’m in college. The store belongs to my parents,” she said, putting the books into a cloth bag. “Here,  free bag on the house. It’s been a while since anyone bought this many books. Will that be cash or card?” 

Velma pulled out her shiny new debit card, belonging to her alter ego Nicole Jaffe, and fumbled with the chip and keypad for a minute. 

“Thank you so much! Have a great day!” 

Velma scooped up her books and hurried out the door, throwing herself into the Mystery Machine. 

“Rare rou rokay, Relma?” Scooby asked. 

“Like, yeah, Velma. You seem upset, what’s wrong?” Shaggy added. 

Velma drew her knees to her chest and sank into the bench seat. Tears streamed down her face. “They just moved on! Our families moved on! They got married and had kids and opened businesses and moved away. It’s like we never even existed, except for these true crime books and shows. I wanted to be the one opening Dinkley’s Mystery Book Shoppe and I wanted to see Madelyn grow up and have children and meet her grandchildren. That woman in the store should know who I am.”

Daphne gathered Velma into a hug. “I know this is hard, Velma. This is really, really hard. I’m looking at it like this: it’s better that our families moved on and lived fulfilling lives. I wouldn’t have wanted my parents or sisters to sit around mourning me forever, especially when I’m not even dead! We’re right here and we’re going to get back home. This won’t matter eventually.” 

“There’s even some good things,” Fred said. “Think about all the scientific advances you’re getting a sneak peek into. Look how far surveillance and trapping technology has come! Mystery-solving in 2022 has to be at least ten times as fun.” 

Velma wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater and sniffled. “Thank you. You’re both right.”  

Shaggy joined what had now turned into a group hug. “Like, let’s go get some weird, overpriced food and then head back to the estate.” 

Back at the Shaggleford Manor, The Gang snuck into one of the basement conference rooms and spread out their books. Daphne found notebooks, pens, and post-its in a supply closet and began handing them out. The Gang wasn’t avoiding Tim exactly, but he had more than gotten on all of their nerves over the last week with his constant scheduling and hand-wringing. And so, they delved into research, highlighting, sticky noting, and murmuring “hmm” for nearly an hour before Tim made his way to the conference room. 

“There you are! I was expecting you t-to report b-back when you arrived home,” He said, miffed. 

The Gang let out a collective sigh and looked at him, “Not now!” 

Taken aback, he turned on his heel and made a “tut-tut” noise as he left the room.

Their noses went back into their books for a few more hours, until Fred finally said, “Alright, Gang, what d’you have?” 

“Like, not a whole lot, Freddie. This book has a lot of information, but, like, most of it isn’t useful information,” Shaggy replied, waving around Dark Arts for Dummies. “There’s a section on sending an object to another place using a magic globe, ya know, geographically-speaking. It, like, doesn’t mention any trippy time-travel.”

Velma pinned the photo of the unidentified gold object to the corkboard. “I found three possibilities in this book, but I am not convinced, yet. First we have this pocket watch, supposedly created by a British watchmaker turned warlock. The book indicates it is used to slow down or speed up time in the immediate area.” Velma ripped the page from History and Origins of Mystical Items in the West and then set the book on the table. She picked up another and ripped out another page. “True Crime Coolsville describes an unsolved missing person’s case where the man claims to have found some kind of statue in the woods and subsequently disappeared for 3 years. No memory of those three years, no clues.” 

“We didn’t go missing from Coolsville, Velma. Do we really think that talisman is an option?” Daphne asked. 

“Daphne has a point. We were in Gatorsburg when everything happened,” Fred said. 

“I am willing to put all possibilities on the board, even remote ones. Do you disagree?”

“No, that’s fair,” Fred responded. “We don’t have anything to lose by exploring all the options.” 

Velma tacked the final option to the board. “This is a bronze medallion said to be used to invoke the powers of Roman god Janus, god of time, beginnings, and related concepts. I’m the least convinced this is a possibility. Time travel... fine. Gods? No, I think that is too much.” 

“We have to go back to Gatorsburg,” Fred asserted. “And we should go back to the forest we landed in.”

The Gang nodded. 

“A logical course of action,” Velma said.

"Tomorrow morning, let's split up and look for clues. Daphne and I will go back to the forest. Shaggy, Scooby, and Velma -- you head to Gatorsburg."

"Like, go back to the creepy forest where a witch sent us into the future? Uh uh. No way, no how. Count us out." 

Daphne smirked. "Would you do it for a Scooby snack?" 

"Raphne, rey don't rake real Rooby racks in 2022." Scooby was right. He had discovered that even the ‘Scooby-Snack’ dispensing machine in the new Mystery Machine was filled with knock-off dog biscuits. 

Daphne reached into her pocket and pulled out two biscuits.

Read more on AO3!

[ask-the-pearloftheorient]

[First ever long post that isn't an ask]

[Analysis of my own 2P design since I am still doing comic layout panels at night not because I was busy in the morning but because I'm a morning procrastinator]

Mahárlika / 2P Philippines, fanmade variation of canon Hws Philippines

When reversed, the Philippine flag turns into a symbol of war. The last time the flag was flipped was on the final war against Japan in the fascist era.

Red symbolises Patriotism and Valor, hence why Mahárlika is always depicted with red text bubbles and drawn in/with a lot of red tones.

On the other hand Blue means Peace, Truth, and Justice. Piri is Blue, as he keeps the country away from bloodshed

That brings us to his hair

Notably, Mahárlika has long brown hair tied into a low ponytail. During the Spanish occupation, he refused to cut off his long hair— 2P Spain chopped off a bit of the ends with a sword when they had a fight about it, which made the guy so pissed since nobody messes with the fucking hair

And the tips are intentionally stained red, like pale blood. Honestly I just added it in for aesthetic purposes

Piri and Mahárlika's eyes are different, both in shade and sparkle. I always draw Piri with stars in his eyes to make him seem more friendly and bright. But in drawing Mahárlika, I add only a tiny sparkle— sometimes even none.

The 3 white stars indicate the rank of a Lieutenant General. (Also I only noticed it also parallels the stars on the flag while writing this post lmao fun fact, the three stars stand for Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao)

The earrings are inspired from the Philippine flag's iconic sun, which stands for freedom, democracy, and sovereignty

As for the Bandana, when unwrapped it reveals the design of the revolution flag, the KKK (Kataastaasang, Kagalanggalangang Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan/Supreme and Honorable Society of the Children of the Nation) aka the Katipunan which revolted against the Spanish

Not to be confused with the KKK of America that's a whole different story

Finally, the outfit. Mahárlika wears the Rayadillo uniform worn by the Philippine army in 1896-1898, Mahárlika wore it during the war against Spain. The medal is a Distinguished Aviation Cross which is given to those who serve in Arial combat, so yes he can fly fighter planes.

And the boots . . . Nothing, I just like heeled boots (it all started with Alois Trancy) and figured he looks cool with it

[You'd think I spent weeks thinking of a design but nah I whipped out the first sketch of Mahárlika in 40 minutes while my cousin had me watch Minecraft videos]

[Also the fighter plane thing reminded me of the whole "He's not a soldier he's a pilot" line oh my god save me from the feels]

[kemetic-dreams]

Are Yoruba and Igbo language tonal languages? If yes, please explain.

Yoruba and Igbo are both tonal languages belonging to the Volta-Niger branch of the Niger-Congo family.

Except for Swahili, and some languages of the Atlantic branch such as Wolof and Fulani and the notorious Swahili (Bantu branch) almost all Niger-Congo languages are tonal.

Tone is the use of pitch in language to distinguish lexical or grammatical meaning – that is, to distinguish or to inflect words.

All verbal languages use pitch to express emotional and other paralinguistic information and to convey emphasis, contrast and other such features in what is called intonation, but not all languages use tones to distinguish words or their inflections, analogously to consonants and vowels. Languages that have this feature are called tonal languages; the distinctive tone patterns of such a language are sometimes called tonemes, by analogy with phoneme. Tonal languages are common in East and Southeast Asia, Africa, the Americas and the Pacific.

Ásụ̀sụ́ Ìgbò

Tone varies by dialect but in most dialects there seem to be three register tones and three contour tones. Igbo words may differ only in tone. An example is ákwá "cry", àkwà "bed", àkwá "egg", and ákwà "cloth". As tone is not normally written, these all appear as ⟨akwa⟩ in print.

In many cases, the two (or sometimes three) tones commonly used in Igbo dictionaries fail to represent how words actually sound in the spoken language . This indicates that Igbo may have many more tones than previously recognised. For example, the imperative form of the word bia "come" has a different tone to that used in statement O bia "he came". That imperative tone is also used in the second syllable of abuo "two". Another distinct tone appears in the second syllable of asaa "seven" and another in the second syllable of aguu "hunger".

Èdè Yorùbá

In Yorùbá Language is a tonal language with three-level tones and two or three contour tones. Every syllable must have at least one tone; a syllable containing a long vowel can have two tones. Tones are marked by use of the acute accent for high tone (⟨á⟩, ⟨ń⟩) and the grave accent for low tone (⟨à⟩, ⟨ǹ⟩); mid is unmarked, except on syllabic nasals where it is indicated using a macron (⟨a⟩, ⟨n̄⟩). Examples:

H: ó bẹ́ [ó bɛ́] 'he jumped'; síbí [síbí] 'spoon'

M: ó bẹ [ó bɛ̄] 'he is forward'; ara [āɾā] 'body'

L: ó bẹ̀ [ó bɛ̀] 'he asks for pardon'; ọ̀kọ̀ [ɔ̀kɔ̀] 'spear'.

Apart from the lexical and grammatical use of tone, it is also used in other contexts such as whistling and drumming. Whistled Yoruba is used to communicate over long distances. As speakers talk and whistle simultaneously, the language is transformed: consonants are devoiced or turned to [h] and all vowels are changed to [u]. However, all tones are retained without any alteration. The retention of tones enables speakers to understand the meaning of the whistled language. The Yoruba talking drum ‘Dùndún’or 'iya ilu' which accompanies singing during festivals and important ceremonies also uses tone.

[chrisgraves09]

The Return to Freddy’s Rewritten: Chapter 2

>Chapter 2: Birth of Fazbear INC.

It is now the 1960s, about 20 or so years ever since Alison and his men raided Gilbert Facility for Gilbert's Machine. They have already started running their own business called Fazbear Incorporated, a manufacturing facility where they create a whole line of animatronics of their own design and create different businesses all around America to receive more cash money, making Alison's ego and greed grow stronger and stronger with how much they're making. It's exactly what he wanted from the start: To gain absolute power at the palm of his hand and he won't hesitate to take matters by any means necessary. Putting up a "Help Wanted!" sign on the building's window of Fazbear INC, quite a lot of people flocked into the building and were hired by Alison. One person he hired speaks to him in particular and it was a relatively well knit man wearing a fitted purple shirt and golden badge that reads "Vincent Smith '' on it. His face looks like he had just recently come back from the war.

"So your name's Vincent, huh? And you served in the military, you say?" Alison spoke, observing him closely.

"Yes, I did. I just got out not long ago, actually." Vincent replied. "Hmm, I see..." Alison said, his mind already working overtime as to how he can use it to his advantage.

"Well, welcome to Fazbear Incorporated. We're glad to have you here to work with us." Vincent gave Alison a silent nod as he was given an annual Fazbear INC. uniform to put on. Alison could see the military air about his new employee. This was exactly the strong and competent staff he wanted for his company.

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

As Vincent started work on developing the animatronics, Alison became more intrigued by this new employee as he saw many possibilities running through his mind. He had his personal agenda when it came to what this company would become, and he had a lot of ambitious plans laid out for it. He could sense that Vincent could play a big role in his plan, but Alison would need to gain his trust first before going further.

"So Vincent, question. What made you want to join this company instead of continuing serving the military?" Alison asked, his tone and expression indicating curiosity. Vincent shifted awkwardly as he felt pressured to leave after a certain event happened, but didn't want to elaborate on it.

"It's... complicated," Vincent said hesitantly.

"Hm.. complicated, huh? Alison said, sensing something going on with Vincent's past, but decided not to go deeper with any more questions. "Well in any case, you're starting to be a hard worker and a diligent employee," Allison said with a grin forming on his face, "And I can tell just from looking at you. You have what it takes to succeed here at Fazbear INC, especially for a military vet like you, no less."

Vincent smiled as his tone became slightly relaxed,"I appreciate the compliment, and I promise to do whatever task you or your other employees ask me to do." Alison nodded as he walked away, leaving Vincent to continue on his work.

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

A few days later, Vincent was hard at work in his new position at Fazbear INC. Everyone in the company saw how hardworking he was and respected him for that. Vincent put in his best efforts and continued to do his absolute best, gaining recognition and trust by every employee, especially Alison who seems to rely on him more. One day, he was on his work break talking to someone on the phone about his job. Unbeknownst to Vincent, a young adult woman was silently watching him with a knife in her hand on the other end of the room. She quietly approached Vincent and was just about to stab him until Vincent looked back and quickly moved out of the way, with just a small scar on his arm. Vincent was in shock for a few moments to process what just happened. He looked at the woman with a mix of shock and fear in his eyes.

"You..." she said in a cold, menacing tone, clearly blaming Vincent for her outburst as she pointed the knife to him.

"What... Do you mean?" Vincent asked, his voice getting shaky while struggling to keep his composure. The woman just keeps advancing, getting dangerously close to Vincent and gripping the knife in her hand. Suddenly, Alison walks into the room and watches the scene unfold before him.

"Scarlet, what are you doing?" he said, his tone remaining neutral but sharp, approaching towards them. Scarlet remained in her aggressive position for a few moments before putting the knife down and ran off with a huff. Vincent felt his heart racing after that sudden encounter as Alison turned towards him with a neutral expression on his face.

"Sorry about Scarlet," he said with a slight smile, "She's one of the few employees that worked here for about a year and heh... time hasn't been too kind to her and she grew more unstable and irritable, you know what I mean?" Vincent tilted his head slightly in confusion before nodding as his heart rate began to steady. Alison then continued speaking calmly with a sly grin.

"She'll get over it like normal," he said dismissively, "Things like this happen often here so don't worry if you're feeling stressed." Alison then walks away with his hands behind his back, leaving Vincent alone to give him some room to breathe and to process what had just occurred.

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

On October 29th of 1963, weeks after the sudden incident, Vincent was on break once again as he recollected what had happened throughout his time working at Fazbear INC. When he begins to sip his cup of coffee, a fairly skinny man wearing a green fitted shirt and yellow tie walks into the room and notices Vincent who looks up to see him too.

"Gron? Is that you?" Vincent asked, putting his coffee mug down and rose from his seat.

"Hey Vincent! Good to see you again after so long," Gron replied happily before giving Vincent a genuine handshake. Vincent smiled back at Gron, feeling happy to see an old friend after so long.

"It's been ages. How are you and Lynda doing?" he said, clasping Gron's hand firmly with his own.

"We've been doing great, thanks," Gron replied, feeling just as happy to see Vincent. "Having to take care of our two kids with a third one coming has been quite exhausting, but we've been doing fine though, haha." Vincent chuckled, feeling more at ease as he catches up with Gron.

"Sounds like you guys have got your hands full," he said before continuing,"so what brings you here? You got hired for the company?"

Gron replied, "Yeah I did, and almost everyone is just so nice to me after I got employed. Well, apart from getting a side eye from our boss." Vincent's expression turned concerned as he knows who Gron is talking about. "Alison?" he asked.

"Yep, after I got employed, he looked at me in kind of a stern and threatening way. Almost like I did something wrong or that he saw me from somewhere," Gron explained, feeling a twinge of shiver in his spine. Vincent looked over at Gron, listening intently as he recalled a similar event happening while working.

"Alison has been acting off since I started working here," he replied,"he commented that one employee was acting all stressed out due to stuff in her life after she attempted to attack me. And yet, I don't exactly know what to make of it." Gron looks at Vincent for a few moments, trying to think of a possible explanation for this.

"You think Alison has something to do with that employee's strange act of violence?" he asked, his curiosity growing by the moment. Vincent slightly nodded at Gron's answer.

"Maybe... we'll just have to keep an eye on him in case he does anything irrational," Vincent commented with a concerned expression, getting an uneasy feeling on what kind of company both he and Gron are working under.

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

Later, both Gron and Vincent spotted Alison turning his head left to right, acting as if he's being suspiciously watched.

"He's hiding something, and we have to find out what it is," Vincent said, his tone growing determined.

"But what if we get caught?" Gron whispered back, feeling a tiny bit anxious but willing to take the risk.

"Then we'll have to be careful and not alert him," Vincent replied as they both started to quietly and stealthily follow Alison. The pair grew more and more suspicious of Alison, making sure they weren't making too much noise. As they watch Alison, they notice that instead of walking to his office like normal, he was heading down a hidden stairway that when closely inspected, looks to be covered with red stains.

"Something just isn't right..." Gron said, his voice whispering and filled with caution. Vincent felt inclined to agree, but didn't say it out loud so they continued to quietly follow Alison, not making a sound.

Continuing down the stairs, Alison took a second glance to make sure no one is following him as he heads to a secret area that no one but Alison is aware of in the building. Gron and Vincent followed silently behind him, feeling their curiosity peaking by the minute.

"He's definitely up to something, let's see what it is..." Vincent whispered, as he and Gron creeped down the steps, remaining out of sight. Gron and Vincent were now nearing the bottom of the stairs, being able to see that there is a door at the very bottom, as it appears to be locked.

"Damn, a locked door... and there doesn't seem to be a keyhole," Vincent whispered to Gron, remaining as quiet as possible as the pair got close to the door.

"Perhaps it needs some kind of code?" Gron suggested, looking around the dimly lit area for some kind of clue. Both of them search the door and its immediate surroundings for any sort of hint until Gron looks under a nearby table to find small numbers that read "204-863". Once Gron saw the small hidden numbers, he immediately knew what it was: A passcode.

"Found it," Gron exclaimed quietly to Vincent as he implemented the code into the door, unlocking it instantly. With quick, silent movements, Gron and Vincent carefully and quietly opened the door to reveal a small narrow staircase. The pair felt their anxiousness and suspicion grow as they descended deeper below ground. When the pair reached the last stair and peeked beyond the corner, they were both left speechless.

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

In this rather large area that is being unveiled before their eyes, there are people enslaved, whipped and abused until their bodies are bruised and bloodied, and are forced to work continuously without rest. The cries of many echoed all around them as they were being forced to worship an animatronic chained to the wall that was under construction. Vincent felt his gut churn as he looked at the scene, feeling more and more horrified by the second.

"What... is that?" he muttered, his tone shaky. Gron too is filled to the brim with shock and disgust that he couldn't bare the words to say what it is. In the centre of the room, the large unfinished animatronic emitted unknown voices and whispers as the enslaved workers worshipped it by reciting a word for word poem in its honour.

"Those are our co-workers down there..." Vincent whispered out, repeating it while feeling a mix of rage and sorrow welling up inside him. What has Alison been keeping secretly from so many people? They both knew that Alison was suspicious, but didn't realise he was this horrible. Vincent and Gron quickly escape the hidden room, making their way to the building's top floor without anyone noticing them. However, Alison knew they were there, hearing the metal staircase as the pair made their way upstairs. They soon reached the elevator and quickly entered, not wasting any time before confronting Alison.

"We need to stop him..." Vincent said, his tone grim.

"Immediately." Gron agreed,"

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

Soon, the elevator ascends up to the last floor of Fazbear INC where the duo enters the room to find Gilbert's Machine, the one thing responsible for creating the animatronics, in the centre of the room. Vincent approaches it with slight caution, making sure no one's around.

"So this is the machine that Alison told me about," he said in a grim tone, looking over to Gron who also approached it with an uncomfortable expression on his face. Gilbert's Machine was grey in coloration and shaped like a bucket, having a wide chamber sitting right at the centre, cables and cords sitting at the top with switches and dials on the side. It truly was a complex device designed to create robots.

The duo decided to sabotage the machine so no more animatronics were created and Alison's company would go out of business. Gron quickly finds a power switch while Vincent examines the wide chamber, figuring out how to damage it. Having attempted to pull the power switch, the machine wasn't gonna let up that easily. Vincent then damaged the chamber by slamming his fists onto it while Gron spotted an emergency shutoff button and pressed it, resulting in the machine to have stopped moving.

"Phew, hopefully that should do it," Gron said, wiping a sweat from his face as he and Vincent went into the elevator and descended to the first floor again.

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

With Gilbert's Machine seemingly disabled, Gron and Vincent returned to the first floor only to see Alison standing across from them, looking furious. His expression instantly hardened and his eyes narrowed, looking directly at the pair with a stern glare.

"Both of you, what the hell were you doing on the top floor?" Alison said in an aggressive but stern tone. Gron points a finger at him angrily.

"What were YOU doing to our co-workers? We saw what you've been doing in that room!" he yelled, not backing down. Alison steps closer to Gron and Vincent, his face growing more and more furious as his tone becomes darker while his temper flares.

"What exactly do you think you saw there?" he says, growling at Gron in particular. "Look here, whatever you saw is what I always envisioned ever since I was a child: Having to overpower the weak and making sure they're in their place, doing exactly what they're told to do. By any means necessary. And I'm not letting some Vietnam veteran and some vomit weakling ruin what I have built up to and is accomplishing!"

Vincent then stands in front of Gron with a firm expression, speaking in an aggressive way to Alison. "Just because you're our boss doesn't give you the right to treat innocent workers in a way that's despicable. What you've been doing to our co-workers has been nothing short of barbaric and unjust! So how about instead of acting like the problem is just our presence on the top floor, you begin fixing yourself up and become a better person, owning up to your actions?"

Alison just started laughing maliciously before glaring at both Vincent and Gron.

"That part of myself died a long time ago..." He grinned evilly before running towards Gron, attempting to kill him first.

Just as Alison was about to kill Gron, Vincent stepped in and brutally punched him directly in his face so hard that he became knocked unconscious on the side of the floor, giving Vincent and Gron the opportunity to make their way out of Fazbear INC, escaping the building quickly and successfully.

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

After that day, both Vincent and Gron came to a horrifying realisation: They've been working under a man who could only be described as a monster, someone who was doing the deeds of the Devil himself. It was as if Alison were a demon, hellbent on controlling the lives of innocent people and causing large amounts of pain and torment.

"We worked under him this whole time, not knowing his true colours... how could I be so blind?" Vincent said, his voice becoming more sombre and grim. Gron shared his friend's grave tone as he too felt sombre.

"And I had just got hired by him on my first day too," he said,"I can't imagine how many people that also worked under him were brutally abused by... that creature."

Soon, their voices grew quieter as they both tried to take their minds off of that by drinking.

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

Meanwhile back at Fazbear INC, Gilbert's Machine, now damaged, had suddenly turned back on, starting to create animatronics that couldn't be described by anyone. Due to Gron and Vincent's sabotage, its AI and whatever that inhabits the contraption became corrupted, leading to unexpected developments to occur like a torturous future hitting the world.

End of Chapter 2

[banannabethchase]

first off, lemme at your coworker, I just wanna talk 😠

here is another tumblr post I always thought would be a fun story https://sarahcakes613.tumblr.com/post/680725394897371136/portraitoftheoddity-thinking-about-how-my-mom (my thought had been Roman and Seth both sneaking things into Dean's bag but I could also see it with many other pairings!)

File under "things Sara thought would be a quick little fun prompt fill that escalated and took on a life of its own, Alex."

Intrigue - on AO3

Somebody keeps leaving Band-Aids in Mox's bag after matches, and it's getting weird. As he tries to figure out who the culprit is, things escalate. Quickly.

~

Multi chapter because I needed 3 different points of view, and my compulsive issues did not allow me to mix POVs in one chapter. Yes, I know that's weird.

Written for a prompt by sarahcakes613 based on this delightful text post and I kind of went haywire with it. I think my brain went, "How can I simultaneously answer the prompt and disregard it completely?"

Chapters 1 and 2 are teen rated silly fluff. Chapter 3 is...well, chapter 3 is the reason for the E rating. For the purposes of easy reading, they will be combined into one post here on tumblr with indications for each chapter.

~

Part 1: Mox

It happens first after Mox gets cut open after Blood and Guts, when he looks back at it. That day he’d gotten a little bloody, but most of it was somebody else’s. He considered it a win. When he got backstage, there was a neat little box of Band-Aids on top of his bag. Peach toned, various sizes. Just sitting there.

“Anybody lost a box of Band-Aids?” he called to the locker room, but nobody noticed or said anything. In hindsight, this is when he should have realized.

Mox is beginning to get suspicious. It’s not that he can’t forget things – God knows he does so even more now that he’s older – but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t pack this many Band-Aids in his bags. He’s almost positive. He knows it’s only at AEW shows, because he actually went looking for a Band-Aid in his bag after a rogue tack at a GCW show and couldn’t find any.

There’s more than just the box this time. Somebody’s shoved a bunch of Captain America Band-Aids into the pocket of his jeans along with the box neatly settled on top of his bag.

Mox looks around the room, trying to find somebody looking suspicious or guilty, somebody who’s watching his movements a little more clearly than usual. Nobody. He asks Yuta, thinking the sweet kid was trying to be helpful, except, when Mox thanks him, he looks bewildered.

~

He’d had a hint to who it had been before his match with Hangman, but, as he makes his way back to his bag in the locker room, there they are. There’s no way Hangman had put them there before the match -Mox had been in here until the last second – and after, well. Hangman couldn’t even walk.

This time, though, it’s a handful of Barbie Band-Aids scattered all across his bag. No neatly placed box. He figures whoever it was didn’t have time.

He shakes his head, feeling a little crazy. There’s every chance he’s made this up, that the Band-Aids are just left over from somebody’s kid toddling through the locker room while saying hi to their parent.

But not three times.

Not in his bag every time.

~

He reaches his breaking point in January, when it’s happened almost every day he’s been at an AEW taping since Blood and Guts. It’s gotten even stranger. He gets back from his match, a box of standard peach toned Band-Aids resting on top of his things, and then a handful of…they look like crayons? When he looks closer, he confirms it: a bunch of loose crayon Band-Aids shoved into one of his gym shirts. He sits up and looks around.

Nobody is staring at him, waiting for a reaction. Yuta’s on the phone. Claudio’s doing one armed pushups, the showoff. Mox watches for a moment, because he knows on good authority that Claudio likes it when people watch him. Jungle Boy is texting somebody furiously while Hook looks asleep next to him. The Best Friend clan is huddled around Danhausen, muttering like nobody else is in the room with them.

He’s got to get to the bottom of this before it drives him to break out the nonalcoholic beer.

~

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck.” Mox stands up and walks into the meeting room. After Rampage, most of the talent have usually left, but the leadership group (that’s who he is now with the new contract, he’s leadership, it still baffles him) been requested to check in with Tony before everybody leaves. The time difference here on the West Coast was fucking with him just as badly as the Band-Aid weirdo so he’s not even tired. He should be. “Who the fuck keeps leaving the Band-Aids all over my shit?” He holds up the box, turns around the locker room, waving it in everybody’s faces. He would probably benefit from using one of them to staunch the bleeding on his forehead, but it adds a level of drama he’s a bit fond of. “Spill. Out with it.”

To his surprise, Nick Jackson looks completely bored. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s not you?” Mox asks, shaking the box to make a fun little noise. Nick, to his credit, just blinks slowly.

“What’s not me?”

“The Band-Aids!” Mox practically yells. “Somebody in here has been leaving Band-Aids in all my stuff.”

He looks around the room for some sort of hint, somebody with a shitty poker face. Tony, exasperated and so done. Kenny Omega, furiously typing on his phone who looks up only to shake his head and go back to the conversation. Amanda and Megha, standing impatiently as they glare at Mox. Finally, he hits the mark: Matt Jackson’s eyes widen.

“Oh, your dumb little Bambi eyes gave you away, you little shit,” Mox says, staring down Matt.

Matt does not have an ounce of Nick’s stoicism. “I – not those!”

Mox blinks. “What?”

“Can you two do this later?” Tony asks. “Also, Jesus, Mox, clean up your forehead. What’d you do, blade with a steak knife?”

Mox is fuming through the meeting, something about increasing the reach of the community engagement program. He tries to pay attention to Amanda, because he really likes her, but knowing that the most annoying Jackson is the one who’s been leaving Band-Aids all over his bags like a goddamn taunt is at the front of his mind the whole time. He ends up volunteering to be the Ohio lead for the program, just to try and apologize for being a little insane right now.

“Alright, that’ll be it,” Tony says, clapping his hands. His eyes go right to Mox. “Please. Don’t kill an EVP. I’ve had enough bad PR for a lifetime.”

“No promises,” Mox grumbles, but he shrugs at Tony. Because he’s not actually planning on killing Matt. Not planning to.

“I can explain,” Matt says, when Mox grabs his arm and hauls him out of his chair

Nick and Kenny look almost bored as they follow Mox and the ragdoll formerly known as Matt Jackson down the hallway. “Where’s your room?” Mox asks Matt.

“End of the hallway. Look, you can let go of me now, if you want. I’m not going to run off.”

Mox stares at Matt’s face. “If I want?”

“If you want.”

Mox considers it. “Nope.”

They reach the end of the hallway, and Matt opens the door. Unlocked. Mox will have to remember that.

He turns to the other three of the doucheketeers. “Alright, gentlemen, we’ll be out in a second.”

Nick and Kenny are standing there, mouths open as if to speak, but Mox slams the door in their faces.

“So,” Mox says, getting in Matt’s face. “The Band-Aids.” Matt looks up at Mox, turning on the infuriatingly effective baby cow eyes. They won’t work this time. “You think it’s funny? You ribbing me or something? This WWE in 2004 and you’re trying to fuck with me?”

Matt frowns, grabbing the Band-Aids from Mox’s hand like he’s meant to touch Mox. “These ones aren’t mine!”

“What,” Mox rocks back, just a little, “wanna explain that?”

Matt, to Mox’s shock, shakes the box in his face. “These are not the Band-Aids I’ve been giving you. I’ve been tossing random, like, superhero and stuff Band-Aids in your bags. I did not put these in.” He looks at them, wrinkling his nose. “The color looks weird on me.”

“I hate that you think of how a Band-Aid looks on you,” Mox grumbles. “Okay, if you left the other ones – they suck, by the way, you’d think a self-obsessed millionaire like you would spend the big bucks on decent medical supplies – then who the fuck left this?” He snatches the Band-Aids back from Matt, wiggles it in Matt’s face like Matt had done to him.

Matt folds his arms across his chest. Mox is definitely not affected by the way it makes Matt’s biceps flex and…Nope. He’s not looking. “Self-obsessed? Nice, Mr. Bleeds Every Week for the Vibes.”

“It’s – it’s not for the vibes – and this one – fuck you!”

“Eff you!”

“Fuckin’ princess can’t even swear,” Mox huffs. “Fine. Whatever. You are helping me figure out who the fuck is leaving the other set of bandaids in my bag.”

Matt fixes his face into some sort of indignant pout. “Why would I help you?”

Mox crowds into Matt’s space, using the height advantage to pin him against the wall. He tries not think about what else they could get up to like this. Matt looks good from this angle. “Because, if you don’t, I’ll kick your ass.”

Matt mutters something under his breath, but Mox doesn’t catch it.

Part 2: Matt

Matt has a boner and has to hide it, because Kenny and Nick are fawning over him like Mox actually did something to hurt him.

“Are you sure we don’t need to talk to Tony?” Kenny asks, eyes searching Matt’s face.

“It’s fine,” Matt says, waving them off. “Look, I did leave some Band-Aids in his bag. I thought he’d need them, you know? He took it wrong. I explained the situation, and we’re good.” His leg’s doing the annoying twitching thing, and Kenny notices.

“He threaten you or something?” Kenny asks.

Matt shakes his head. “No, oh my god. It’s fine.” Matt exhales and goes over everything, leaving out the way his pants aren’t exactly comfortable right now.

“What compelled you to mess with Moxley?” Kenny asks. “Of all fucking people?”

“I wasn’t fucking with him!” Matt says, for what feels like the eightieth time that day. “I just – I liked the fun Band-Aids, and he’s always bleeding all over the place. It’s a gift and a workplace safety initiative.”

“Workplace safety ini – oh, god, I’m breaking up the tag team.” Nick leans against the wall, head in his hands.

“Are not,” Matt snaps back.

Kenny groans. “Okay, fine. Fuck up your life by interacting with Moxley. I literally could not care less at this point, as long as you don’t get yourself killed before the end of this seven game series.”

~

Matt considers himself a decent spy, but it takes until the day before game seven to catch the culprit. He’s been pulling out all the stops – hiding in piles of other people’s stuff, sneaking into the locker room before and after the show starts, even pretending to be on his phone while actually filming Moxley’s bag. It works until it doesn’t, because he technically is supposed to be in a different locker room. He hadn’t realized that his presence would be that, well, noticed. It’s like he can hardly walk into the locker room without one of the other wrestlers waving and calling attention to him.

It happens again as he tries to sneak into the locker room, and Mox scares him half to death by popping out from behind a shower curtain. He’s still wet, and it’s distracting.

“Jesus, warn a guy,” Matt mutters.

“Figured it out yet?” Moxley asks. He shakes his arms out, cold water spraying and hitting Matt in the face. He fidgets trying not to look at, well, the everything about Mox. Then he drops the towel and begins getting dressed in his gear, which Matt thinks is a direct attack. He hopes it is, at least.

“No,” Matt replies, intentionally looking away as Mox puts on his pants, “and you could help, you know.”

“Nah,” Mox says, doing a little hop to adjust the fit of the gear. It’s weirdly endearing. “This is your penance for being an ass.”

“I was being helpful,” Matt snaps.

Mox laughs as he gets his boots on. “Sure you were, baby.”

Matt does not blush about it.

~

He should be talking strategy with Kenny and Matt, but there are more pressing issues. Namely, finding the other Band-Aid person so Moxley will be, like, happy with him. Or something. He’s not willing to examine his motivations further.

Matt’s hidden in the same little hidden shower Mox had been in when it happens. His jaw drops. Hangman, still covered in sweat from his match, slides into the locker room and neatly settles the box of plain Band-Aids on top of Mox’s bags. He glances around and makes his way toward the door. Matt takes a second to let it sink in: there was more than one moment that he worried, after that doozy of a concussion, he’d never get to see the man with his post-match glow ever again. It looks good on him. It sparks a funny little ache in Matt’s chest.

Shaking himself out of it, because he has a job to do, Matt wonders if his strategy was too inelegant, just throwing the Band-Aids all over the bag, as he steps out of the shadows and clears his throat.

Hangman freezes in place like a deer in the headlights.

“So it’s you,” Matt says, and he feels a little like a supervillain. “Stole my idea.”

“I did not steal an idea,” Hangman argues, finally getting his normal stance back. “He’s always covered in blood. Sometimes I even make him bleed the hard way. The Band-Aids are an apology.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “An apology.”

“Yeah,” Hangman says. “I used to get him beers, back in the day, but we, uh. Neither of us do that anymore. So Band-Aids.”

“You didn’t think to, I don’t know, tell him? Or give them to him face to face?”

Hangman raises an eyebrow, a little bit of a smirk hinting at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, like you did?”

Amanda must have texted Hangman about it while he was off. Traitor. “Shut up.” Matt ducks his head, glad he kept his hair down.

“You have no leg to stand on,” Hangman says, teasing. “I mean, I at least gave him the whole box. You, what, tossed a couple in his bag? Were you trying to be annoying, or is that just your default?”

“Oh, eff off,” Matt laughs. “Look, he’s pissed about it, but if you just, like, talk to him, I’m sure he’ll be normal about the whole situation.”

Hangman raises an eyebrow. “Jon Moxley. Normal about something.”

“Fair point,” Matt concedes. “He’ll be not trying to murder you about it.”

“That sounds more like him.” Hangman – Adam’s – smile is just as bright as it always used to be, and it strikes Matt that this is the first real conversation they’ve had in a long time.

He goes quiet and Adam settles into that expression of careful neutrality Matt’s always been able to read. He’s nervous.

“You okay?” Matt asks. “I – I was just joking about it. He probably won’t be that mad.”

“It’s not that,” Adam says. “I just – this is the first time we’ve been able to talk to each other without punching the other out in years.”

“I was just thinking that, too,” Matt says. His leg starts going, and Adam’s eyes dart to it. Sometimes he forgets just how much of him Adam really knows.

Adam’s smile is soft and gentle. “I’ve missed you. It’s good to talk to you.”

It feels almost too good to be true. “I’ve missed you, too.” Matt’s too scared to step closer, to risk himself again, so he just offers Adam a smile. “Mox, uh. Moxley probably won’t be able to come back here to get the bag, with the way you clocked him.”

Adam winces. “Yeah. That was,” he pauses, eyes searching the room like it’ll give him the words, “a lot.”

Matt shrugs. “It’s the business. You can let him know when he comes back.”

~

Lucky for Matt, who has been overly obsessed about it for too long, they’re all in the same place again January 18th, when Matt’s backstage. He just doesn’t know it until he sees Hangman over the screen as he watches backstage.

“He’s here?” he asks Nick, hand over his mic.

“Yeah, looks like it,” Nick mutters. Matt watches him choose his words carefully, the way Nick’s had to do ever since Adam left the Elite. “You gonna go talk to him?”

There his leg goes again. “Maybe.”

“Go,” Nick says, offering a soft smile.

“But I’m needed –”

“I got it,” Nick says, pushing at Matt’s shoulder. “I know how much it – how much he – means to you.”

Matt presses a quick kiss to the top of Nick’s head, because he really doesn’t know what he did to deserve him as a brother, and dashes across the arena. It takes him so long Adam’s no longer in the little alcove where he filmed his promo. He panics for a second, until he gets his head out of his ass and realizes the locker room is the most likely place to find Adam. Plus, Moxley’s here to keep an eye on the competition, even though he’s not cleared, so there’s every chance…

Matt laughs in relief when he opens the door to find Adam leaning over Moxley’s little backpack, the one he hauls around on days he doesn’t have a match.

Adam jumps about a foot when he turns around. “I wasn’t – oh.” His face melts into a smile. “Matt. Hi.”

“Caught in the act again,” Matt says, grinning. He leans up against the door frame. “Shameless.”

“I haven’t told him it’s me yet, and he’d be confused if I just all of a sudden stopped.” Adam tucks his hair behind his ear. It looks even better than usual. Matt wants to get his finger twisted around some of those curls. “It’s a bit. You have to keep up with the bit.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “He’s not cut open, though. He doesn’t need a Band-Aid.”

“He’s Moxley. He’ll crash into a wall and bust an artery or something.” Adam settles the box a little more on the bag. “But I’d rather him not catch us, so.”

“Right,” Matt follows him out of the door. And it hits him, hard: this is the moment, isn’t it. He pauses a step or two past the door to the locker room. “Um.” Adam turns to him, stops when he sees Matt isn’t moving. “You mentioned. In your promo, a few minutes ago. Fences.”

Adam nods. “Fences.”

Matt doesn’t want to hope. “And, um. Mending them?” He hopes Adam can’t hear how loudly his heart is beating.

“Yeah,” Adam says. He takes a step closer to Matt.

“I want to.”

Adam finally breaks that mask and smiles, those eyes softening. “Oh, thank god.” He rushes in and pulls Matt in for a crushing hug, one Matt hadn’t enough known he’d been missing all this time. He buries his face in Adam’s chest, trying not to think of how this feels a little like home. Adam rests his chin, or maybe his cheek, Matt can’t tell, on top of Matt’s head. They stay there for a minute, and Matt buries his face into Adam’s chest. Nothing else matters.

“This looks cozy.”

Matt and Adam pull apart to see Jon Moxley, looking mildly amused. “So, I found some more bandaids in my bag,” he shakes them in his hand, backpack slung over his shoulder, “and you two are the only ones in the hallway, so.” He looks them up and down. “Both culprits found.”

Matt fights a smile while Adam starts to go a little red.

“I – I was gonna tell you.”

Mox breaks out in a grin. “Of course it was you two in the end.”

“Why of course us?” Adam asks.

Mox licks his lips, looking the two of them up and down. “’Cause you two have been a little obsessed with me since I walked into the company.”

“I am not obsessed with you,” Matt argues, almost on instinct.

Mox laughs. “Sure you aren’t. What about you, Cowboy? You gonna deny it, too?”

“I wouldn’t say obsessed,” Adam says, with more poise than Matt would have expected from him in this situation, “I’d say intrigued.”

Mox’s grin goes a little less kind, a little more knowing. “Intrigued, huh?” He makes his way backward down the hallway, eyes locked on Matt and Adam. “If you ever want to satisfy that intrigue, let me know if you two want to, uh, not wrestle sometime. Maybe altogether.” He spins on his heel and swaggers off, and Matt is far, FAR too hot right now.

“You think he knows we used to…?” Adam trails off, and Matt is happy to see that he’s just as bright red as Matt’s pretty sure he is.

“Oh, you think?” Matt says. He feels hot all over, like his skin’s too small for his body. “You’re really using that college degree brain.”

“Shut up,” Adam says, but it’s not mean, and he’s still smiling. So Matt thinks they’re still good.

~

Part 3: Adam (this is where the E rating comes into effect, folks)

Adam knows it’s a dumb fucking idea. He’s going to do it anyway.

He ducks into the locker room after his match with Moxley, covered in sweat and victory, and grabs the last box of Band-Aids out of the front pocket of his duffle. He’s making his way over to Moxley’s bag when he hears it:

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Adam sighs and turns around to see Mox there, blood mostly mopped off of his face. Adam feels a little proud at the stitches on Moxley’s forehead. Proof of his second victory over the man. “Oh. Hi, Moxley.”

“Get the fuck away from my stuff,” Mox laughs. “Really? Again?”

“I cut you open again, so I figured…” He trails off. Mox really does move the same way out of the ring as he does in it.

Mox walks toward him, a hint of a smile on his lips. “God, you really don’t learn, do you.”

“I learn,” Adam says, standing to his full height. “I just have no impulse control when it comes to – ” He cuts himself off, because he’s not exactly sure what was going to come next. To Mox? To men with pretty eyes who like it when they beat each other up? To people who he can’t decide if he wants to fight or fuck?

“To what?” Mox asks, sidling up to him. He’s got his hands in his front pockets, looks way too comfortable.

Adam refuses to break eye contact, but the words stick in his throat.

“Come on, Cowboy,” Mox says, voice a low growl, “You can say it.”

Adam’s eyes flick between Mox’s lips and eyes. He speaks before he can let himself think better of it. “Matt’ll be jealous if we start without him.”

Mox lets out this laugh that Adam’s never heard from him, something surprised and glorious. “Oh, I get it. You made yourself a package deal.”

“Pretty sure that was you.” Adam licks his lips. He can’t keep his eyes from Mox’s eyes and lips. “What hotel you at?”

“The one Tony paid for,” Mox says. He’s all the way in Adam’s space, now, and, if Adam takes a deep breath, their chests will touch. “Room 485.” He darts forward, gives Adam a sweet, chaste kiss with none of the tension behind the moment. It feels like a challenge. “Soon as the Rampage taping is done. I’ll be waiting.” He pulls back and rubs at his own lip with his thumb, eyes on Adam’s mouth. “You bring Matt if you’re willing to share.” He walks away without another word or a look behind.

Adam lets out this weird little noise as he feels like the world is rocking around him. With slightly shaking fingers, he pulls out his phone, and gives himself a second to let the anticipation wash over him. Meet me at the EVP locker room?, he texts, crossing his fingers that his number wasn’t deleted.

The answer comes almost immediately. b there in 5

Adam hustles to the EVP room, new anxious energy enveloping him. He counts to a hundred in his head, but only makes it to 75 before he sees Matt half-running down the hallway, already in gear. They go on last, so Adam’s sure Matt has more important things to be doing right now. But he needs to make sure he gets a chance to, in person, talk to Matt. Before whatever happens tonight. Matt lights up when he sees Adam, but he still doesn’t quite smile. When he’s walking, it’s not as clear that he’s brimming with anxiety. But he’s walking a little too quickly, limbs moving a little too frenetically, for this to be under control.

“Go ahead in,” Matt says, a little breathless. “It’s always unlocked.”

Adam smiles as he pushes the door open. “Kenny still forgetting his keys?”

“Always,” Matt says, sounding exasperated. “And then, like, Nick and I’ll be in the trainer’s or getting dinner and he’ll run in like a maniac demanding the keys! It’s just a habit at this point.” He wiggles a little, bouncing on his toes, as he leans against some sort of counter. “So. What’s the emergency? Nick and I were stretching.”

“Right, course. Uh.” Adam brushes his hair out of his face. “Mox wants us to meet him in his hotel room. After Rampage.”

Matt raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

Adam nods. “The direct quote was, ‘I’ll be waiting. You bring Matt if you’re willing to share.”

Matt’s eyes widen like a goddamn anime character, and a flattering blush spreads across his cheeks. “Sh-share?”

Adam nods. “So, um. I didn’t want to commit or anything until I knew if we – if…” He trails off, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “If you wanted to be each other’s again.”

Matt’s eyes go even more Bambi at that, wide and earnest and reminiscent of the man Adam first met years ago, when Adam was teaching and Matt was still convincing himself he had what it takes to change the world. “You want me to be yours?”

“I want – ” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Matt’s launched himself at Adam, kissing him like their lives depend on it. It feels like breathing, like a sip of cold water on the days when they’re short staffed and Adam’s working twelve hours to keep the plants in shape. It feels even better than winning the match against Moxley, barely an hour ago.

Adam tries to hold Matt as preciously as he holds the moment, flooding with nostalgia for a time he never thought he’d get back. He pulls back, pressing his lips to Matt’s cheeks, his forehead, all across his face, until Matt’s letting out this half giggle and looking up at him. Adam would fight the world for those eyes. “I want you to be mine,” Adam finally gets a chance to say. “Again. Right, this time.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Yeah, I – yours. And you’ll be mine?”

Adam nods, raising a shaky hand to brush Matt’s hair off of his shoulders. “Yes.”

“And we can share, huh?” Matt asks. His smile grows a little devious, a little too knowing for the way he was beaming up at Adam a few seconds before. “Jeez, you never change, do you.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “We – we both had fun those few months with Cole, and you know it. Mox’ll be, uh. I think he’ll be a little different.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, and he almost looks too excited. “Seen his dick. Dude’s packing. We’re in for a hell of a night.”

Adam clears his throat. “I’m done with the evening, but you, uh. You got a match soon.” He peeks down – the gear doesn’t allow much for the imagination to come up with. Matt’s clearly hard. Working on a hunch that Matt hasn’t changed as much as he likes to pretend he has, Adam leans down to his ear. “Better get that under control before thousands of people see you’re desperate for it on live television.”

And there it is. Matt lets out that little whine of his, reaches up to grip Adam by the biceps and pulls him in for the kind of kiss you couldn’t show on cable.

“You can’t – you can’t just say that kind of thing to me,” Matt laughs, sounding near hysterical. “God, you’re evil.”

Adam shrugs. “And you’re mine. So what does that say about you?”

Matt rolls his eyes and hauls Adam in for another kiss, then pushes him off. “I’ll meet you in the hotel after my match.” He squeezes Adam’s hand. “Don’t you dare leave without me.”

Adam beams at him as he walks away. “Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

~

Matt barrels backstage with the kind of grin that could blind a person, belt in the air and hair plastered to the back of his neck.

Adam steps into the hallway, hoping this isn’t a mistake. “That was a great first title defense,” he says. He feels a little too tense, like the three of them weren’t once his reason for waking up in the morning. “Fantastic match.”

Kenny exchanges a look with Matt, then with Nick. “Thanks, man.” His tone is careful. Hesitant. “Yours was amazing. Never seen you pull off two Buckshots in a row like that. Picture perfect.”

“Coming from the Best Bout Machine, that’s a big compliment.” Adam grins, but it feels a little strange. “Fuck, this is weird.”

“Okay, thank you!” Nick says, throwing his arms in the air. The end of the belt clips him in the arm, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “If you three would just be, I don’t know, adults about it and apologize, we’d be way better off. So you. All of you. Be nice.”

Adam startles. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I tried to,” Matt says, stepping next to Adam. “But it was all ‘no, we can’t break out the hammers again, Matt.’ I wasn’t trying to bring up hammers.” He points to Adam. “We – again.”

“Romantic,” Adam snickers.

“Shut up, this is hard,” Matt snaps.

Adam snickers again.

Kenny laughs. “Oh, fuck, they’re back together.” It’s not mean or vitriolic. It reminds – well, it reminds Adam of before AEW, before the civil war. It reminds him of when they were the Elite, and they all made sense to each other. “Neither of you are allowed to fuck it up this time. We’ve got too much bad PR in the past year.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I don’t recall.”

Nick sighs. “Well, love this, love you guys, but I’m going to go shower for, like, fifteen years, and then I’m passing out in the room.” He raises an eyebrow at Matt. “I’m assuming I won’t see you tonight.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Matt says. “Yeah, I plan on being busy –”

“I forgot about the oversharing part,” Nick says with a wince, while Adam and Kenny laugh. “Please don’t finish your sentence.”

“Well, I was just –”

Nick shoves his fingers in his ears and starts yelling, “La-la-la,” as he half sprints down the hallway toward the EVP locker room.

“Can you make sure he doesn’t gamble his life away out of concern for his dearest big brother?” Matt asks Kenny. “I’ll be otherwise occupied this evening.”

Kenny rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Take care of each other.” He gives Adam a pointed look. “I shouldn’t have to tell you not to hurt him again.”

Adam opens his mouth to answer, but Matt beats him to it. “We all hurt each other,” he says. “And we’ll all do better this time.”

Kenny nods. “Fair.” He claps Adam on the shoulder, gentle, kind. “We missed you.”

Adam’s a little light headed as he packs his things, but Matt is waiting for him by the door eagerly. He doesn’t want to keep him waiting. He chances a glance around the locker room. It’s empty.

“Come here,” Adam says, reaching out for Matt. He scoops him into another kiss, gentle this time. Matt sighs into it, arms settling on Adam’s hips. “Missed you,” he says into Matt’s mouth.

Matt hums, looking up at him. “Missed you, too.”

The anticipation of what comes next gone for a moment, Adam basks in the familiarity, the safety of holding Matt. It feels like home.

“Um, so, tonight,” Matt says. He licks his lips. Moment broken, but Adam’s dealt with much worse. “What do you think his whole deal is?” Matt asks, speaking a mile a minute into Adam’s shoulder as they make their way into the hallway. To keep it at a whisper, he’s pressed against the side of Adam’s body. He’s even more tactile, more desperate for physical contact than Adam remembers. It’s distracting in the best way. “Mox, I mean. You think he – think he’ll want to fuck me?” Adam turns to Matt, and his eyes are wide with glee.

“Okay, hold your horses,” Adam says, pressing a kiss to Matt’s temple. “Let’s just – let’s get to the hotel and figure things out there, okay?” Adam leans down to Matt’s ear. “The whole company can’t hear you this desperate. Think of what they’d say.”

A whole body shiver from Matt is Adam’s reward. “I really hate that I love it when you do that,” Matt says, but he’s quiet and red until they make it to Adam’s rental car.

“So, what – ”

Matt grabs him by the collar and hauls him in over the center console between the seats to shove his tongue in Adam’s mouth. Adam takes a split second to adjust, then gives just as good as Matt, trying to get one of those desperate little noises Matt’s always been so good at making.

He pulls away, breathless, after probably longer than they should have risked. “Okay,” Adam breathes. “Okay, we – we should get back to the hotel.” He can’t fight off his smile, can’t avoid looking at Matt’s smiling lips. “Don’t want to get caught.”

“Okay, well, if you do it too much, I’ll get used to it,” Matt says, buckling his seatbelt.

Adam glances down to Matt’s crotch. “Sure you will.”

~

They have to leave space between the two of them as they make their way to the hotel, to the elevator, to Adam’s room, and the anticipation is almost impossible to manage.

Matt’s on him the second the door is closed, though, shoving him up against the wall and hands going everywhere. It stuns Adam, gets his knees week, and Matt takes the moment to slide a leg between Adam’s and press up.

“Wanna touch you,” Matt murmurs against Adam’s throat, sucking hard. It’ll leave a mark, Adam realizes with a thrill. “Want you now.”

“What would Mox say if you couldn’t wait for him?” Adam asks, catching Matt’s wandering hands in his.

Matt sighs, a shiver running down his spine and all through his body. “Oh, you are the worst.”

Adam stretches, trying to get his own dick under control. “In the way you like, though.”

Matt texts Mox, who shoots back, stop by whenever, like it wasn’t his idea.

“He doesn’t even seem excited about it,” Matt pouts. He looks up. “Think he changed his mind?”

“Absolutely not,” Adam says, pulling his hair back in a little ponytail for function. “He’s just weird.”

Matt considers it. “Yeah.”

They take their own trips down the hallway to Mox’s room, and Adam makes Matt go first. The anticipation of waiting the five minutes to get down to the fourth floor, to meet up with Mox and Matt, damned near kills him.

He walks too quickly down the hall, too quickly into the elevator, too quickly to Mox’s room. He knocks, and time slows as he waits for the door to open. It doesn’t.

With a shaky hand, he goes for the handle. He pushes it open slowly to see Mox kissing Matt so gently, so meticulously, it makes Adam’s head spin.

“Started without me?” he laughs. He makes sure the door is closed, locked, behind him. He swallows hard. “God, that’s a pretty sight.”

Matt’s eyes are already a little dazed when he turns to Adam, but not so much they don’t light up when he sees him. “Hi!”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, coming to kiss Matt’s cheek. He offers an awkward wave to Mox. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hey,” Mox says. “Took you long enough.”

“I waited five minutes,” Adam says, playing with a strand of Matt’s hair that’s come loose from his hair tie. “Figured that’d keep anybody from getting suspicious.”

Mox’s laugh is low, quiet, full of potential. “Let’s hope the rooms near us are empty.” He drops his head to Matt’s ear, and Adam can hardly hear it when he mutters, “Don’t want people hearing it when you get loud.”

Matt’s eyes flutter shut and he lets out one of Adam’s favorite sounds.

“Yeah, he likes that,” Adam says with a little chuckle.

“What else do you like, baby?” Mox asks, tugging at Matt’s earlobe with his teeth.

“Somebody’s gotta fuck me,” Matt says, head thrown back. “Otherwise I might die. I, uh.” He shakes his head. “Okay, if you keep doing that thing with your tongue, I won’t be able to answer any questions.” Mox takes a step back, and Matt straight up pouts. “I didn’t mean go that far away, but fine.” He licks his lips. “I, uh. I want to see you guys kiss.” He swallows. “And, like. Don’t hold back.” He sits himself on the bed, kicks off his shoes, and crosses his legs. “Alright, then.”

Adam turns to Mox, heart racing. “I’ve never been able to say no to him before.” He swallows. “Don’t want to.”

Mox grabs Adam by the arm and hauls him in. Adam’s not willing to cede control of the kiss, though. He wants to put on a good show for Matt, give him everything he wants and more. He leans in, biting at Mox’s lip before he dives into the kiss. Mox kisses like he wrestles: rough, ruthless, dedicated. Adam gets a little lightheaded when he threads his hands through Adam’s hair and tugs a little, undoing the ponytail. Adam grabs at the front of his shirt, holding him to his chest. He wants Mox to remember he’s not the only world champion in the room.

“This is good,” he hears Matt say. “This – this is really good.”

Adam laughs against Mox’s mouth and presses Mox against the wall, cracking his head against a rather ugly painting. “Sorry,” he murmurs against Mox’s neck.

“’M good.” Mox grabs at Adam’s shirt, yanking it out of his jeans. “Take off your shirt.”

“You take off yours.”

“Take them both off,” Matt says from the bed. Adam looks over to see him a little eager, a little antsy. “Please?”

Mox lights up as Adam pulls his shirt off. “Oh, he says please?”

“Wait until you get him underneath you,” Adam says, biting at Mox’s neck after he gets the shirt off. “He asks so nicely. He’ll beg real pretty, too, if you’re patient.” Adam meets Matt’s eyes as he sucks a bruise into Mox’s collarbone. Matt’s squirming from where he sits on the bed, tugging on his hair and biting his lip. “Oh, Mox, look at him now.”

Mox turns his head, grins. “Matt, you want in on it?”

Matt nods frantically. “Yes, oh my god. Yes.” He reaches out and Adam has to laugh – Matt still does the little grabby hands when he’s particularly excited.

Adam turns to Mox, and it feels like they’re in the ring. This time the prize is Matt Jackson, and they can both win. Adam dives at Matt first, though, because Matt’s his and all, and flattens him to the bed. He presses his mouth to Matt’s with single-minded determination, sliding his hands up Matt’s shirt to tweak at his nipples. He grins as he swallows Matt’s whine. And then Matt yelps.

Adam pulls back to see Moxley, at the head of the bed, gently gathering Matt’s wrists in his hands. He looks at Matt. “You good?”

“Of course I’m good! Why the eff did you stop?” Matt arches up to Adam, eyes fluttering closed when he pushes against Mox’s grip and finds immediate resistance. “Oh my god,” he mumbles.

“Worked on a hunch,” Mox says. “Good, Matt?”

“Yes, good, so good.”

Adam slowly pushes Matt’s shirt up, sliding it into Mox’s hands so he can pull it off of Matt’s body while keeping his grip on Matt’s wrists. Adam gives him a second to stare, to take in the man in front of him. “God, you look good,” he mutters, “you – fuck.”

Matt’s eyes are closed when he replies, “You look good too. So good.”

“Your eyes aren’t even open,” Adam laughs against the skin of Matt’s chest. He drags kisses around the skin until he reaches Matt’s nipple, flicking his tongue over it.

“I – oh – you always look good,” Matt says. “So, so good right now. You,” he stops talking, trading words for the most intoxicating little sigh that makes Adam desperate for more of it. He turns to the other nipple, giving it the same attention.

“You both look fucking great right now,” Mox says. His voice is deeper than Adam’s ever heard it. “Like – fuck.” Adam raises his head in time to see Mox reach down and grab at his cock through his sweatpants. Adam’s mouth starts watering.

“Yeah?” Adam asks. He locks eye with Moxley as he slides down Matt’s body, getting his fingers into the waistband of Matt’s sweats and slowly pulling them down. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Oh, yes,” Matt groans as Adam wraps his mouth around his cock. He’s not working with an end goal right now, focusing on keeping his eyes locked on Moxley’s and getting him to lose his composure. He’s too controlled right now, too steady, and Adam’s got to see what’s behind that wall. He wants to tear it down with his teeth.

“Keep goin’,” Mox growls. “Look so good like this, Adam. So good.”

The use of his name sends a tingle down to his spine that gets Adam’s cock harder than he’d thought possible, and he has to pause to breathe and adjust his pants.

Matt immediately goes to sit up, and gets stopped by Mox’s hand on his wrists. “I – oh, Adam, why’d you stop?”

“Mox is – he’s,” but Adam finds himself struggling to find the right words, settling instead for turning for more room, pushing his sweats out of the way and wrapping a hand around his own cock, already leaking. He sighs in relief, gives himself a few strokes.

“Are you – Mox, is he touching himself?” Matt asks. “Stop it! That’s our job.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Oh, because you’re the one in charge.”

Mox laughs.

“I could be in charge!” Matt says, and he starts pulling at Mox’s hand enough that he slips out of his grip. He dives off the bed into Adam’s lap and grabs Adam’s hands, pins them to the side of the bed.

Adam does his best not to smile, but this is great. “Baby. You’re so good at so many things, but you’ll never be a top.” Matt literally pouts, gets those big fucking boo boo eyes that get Adam every time. But he’s not a liar. “Come on, sweetheart, look inside yourself. You know it to be true.”

“Oh, fuck, you quote Star Wars in bed?” Moxley says, sounding strangely delighted. Adam bucks his hips and knocks Matt off his lap, sending him sprawling, so he can look at Mox’s face. He’s grinning so wide he looks like he won the lottery. “Between the two of you, you hit all my fuckin’ buttons. Get the fuck back onto the bed. I gotta get inside of one of you before I lose my goddamned mind.”

Matt stands up, pulls off his sweats all the way. “My turn. Adam’s being a dick.”

“You were on my lap, I needed to get you off.”

Mox and Matt, at the exact time, say, “That’s what she said.”

“Oh, god, you’re both like this,” Adam grumbles. “Okay, well, if that didn’t kill my boner, nothing will.” He nods at Mox. “You want him?”

“Sure!” Mox says. “Matty, come over here.”

Matt rolls his eyes, but he crawls back up on the bed and throws a leg over Mox’s hips, twitching his hips forward just a little. It’s enough to get Mox to exhale shakily. The composure is breaking. Maybe Adam’s not the one who can do it.

Adam watches greedily as Matt and Mox kiss each other deeply, Mox’s hand grabbing at Matt’s ass. He pats it gently.

“Is it okay…?”

Matt nods. “Yeah, oh yeah. Leave handprints on my ass, all that.”

Mox quirks an eyebrow and looks over to Adam. “He always like this?”

“Usually,” Adam remembers. “Loves to talk about it, too.” He winks at Matt.

“Oh?” Mox says. “Tell me, Matt. How hard?”

“Handprints,” Matt repeats. “Please?”

Mox grins as he pulls back, the crack of his hand against Matt’s ass music to Adam’s ears. Matt drops his head down against Mox’s shoulder, rocking his hips forward. “Oh.”

Adam stands up behind Matt, drawing back. His slap is a little more gentle, but Matt responds to it, too, tilting his head back this time to rest against Adam’s chest.

Matt turns up and catches Adam’s mouth in a kiss. When he breaks away, he pats at Adam’s chest, and Adam steps away, interested in what comes next. He’s not disappointed. “Mox, can I suck your dick?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Adam settles himself on the bed next to Mox as Matt drops to his knees. Without prelude or fanfare, Matt tucks his loose hair behind his ear and dives in, mouth stretching around Mox’s cock like it’s not the first time.

Mox’s eyes flutter closed, hands gripping at the sheets. “Oh, fuck, you’re good at this.”

“He likes it when you pull his hair,” Adam murmurs into Mox’s ear. “He gets this little look – just try it.”

Matt nods, and he looks so goddamn good with Mox’s cock in his mouth that it makes Adam want to drop to his knees and propose right then and there.

“Good,” Mox says, voice honey and gravel. Adam watches, raptly, as Mox threads his fingers through Matt’s hair, and pulls.

Matt moans around Mox’s cock, sinking deeper onto it as his eyes flutter closed.

“Yeah,” Adam says, brushing Matt’s cheek where Mox’s dick nudges that. “So pretty, baby.” He looks up to Mox. “You can pull harder.”

He grins a little. “Okay, Cowboy, who said you were in charge here?”

“Who said you were?” Adam retorts, licking his lips. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“It’s my hotel room.”

There’s an infuriated little noise followed by a wet pop. “Can you two stop arguing about who’s gonna be better at topping me and just do it?” Matt asks. He looks genuinely annoyed, which, to Adam’s own annoyance, is also hot. “Jesus, what’s a guy gotta do to get fucked around here?”

Adam sighs and grabs a fistful of Matt’s hair so he stands, pulling him into his lap. Matt sighs happily as he settles on Adam’s legs. “Least you could do is ask nicely.”

“Eff that,” Matt says. “Right now you guys are being annoying and, still, nobody’s fucking me.”

“You really haven’t changed.”

Mox laughs, low and dark and delicious. “This may be my best idea yet. Matt, kiss Adam.”

Matt does so without hesitation, leaning over Mox and pressing his lips to Adam’s. Adam opens up to it without a second thought, smacking Matt’s ass again. Matt hums in approval, grinding down on Adam, and it’s enough encouragement to get Adam to suck at Matt’s collarbone. Mox might be here, but Matt is, and always has been, Adam’s.

Adam leans back on the bed, pulling Matt with him. Matt kisses down his chest, biting at his chest, leaving little marks.

“Mine,” Matt mutters, “mine again.”

“That’s sweet,” Mox says. “What else do you want, Matt?” He plays with Matt’s hair, and the vision of Mox behind Matt is a glorious sight.

“I have an idea,” Matt says, punctuating with one last nip at Adam’s nipple, “like, a really good idea.”

“Hmm?” Adam asks, dazed. Mox rubs at Matt’s hips, up his sides, to the back of his neck.

“What if – mm – what if Adam, you fuck me while – while Mox fucks you?”

Adam pauses. “Oh?” It’s never been an option before, but it’s suddenly all Adam’s ever wanted.

“You never get railed enough,” Matt says, like he’s discussing Adam being low on vitamin c, “you need it, but I don’t…do that. So.” He looks over at Mox, big ol’ Bambi eyes in full force. “Would you do that for him?”

“For him?” Mox asks, a splash of laughter in his tone. “Baby, I’ll do that for me.” He taps Adam. “Hey. Cowboy. You down for that?” He locks his eyes on Adam’s.

“Yes.” Adam’s voice comes out as a squeak. He clears his throat. “Um, hell yes. Please. Yes.” He shakes his head. “Definitely. You got condoms? Lube?”

Mox leans over to the hotel room drawer and pulls the supplies out.

“They just keep that stuff in there now?” Adam jokes.

“We’d have saved a bunch of money in the Ring of Honor days if they did,” Matt says.

“Nah,” Mox says, with a lewd sort of grin. “I bring my shit any time I think somebody on the roster might want to have a little fun.”

Adam blinks. “Damn.”

“You two have been on my radar for a while, though, so nobody for a bit.” He reaches out for Adam and pulls him in, lips going for Adam’s neck. His mind goes a little blank, hands gripping at whatever’s in front of him, desperate for this to never stop.

“If you want to give Matt what he wants, we’re going to have to stop,” Mox says.

Adam shakes his head, pulls back. “Right. What’s next?”

Mox’s grin is slow and dirty. “Just watch.”

And Adam does. He watches as Mox, with painstaking, careful, concentration, opens Matt up, fingers nimble and slick as they slide in and out of Matt.

“So pretty,” Adam murmurs into Matt’s ear, pressing kisses.

Matt smiles. “He does it different than you.”

“Good different?”

Matt nods. “Very good.”

“He takes it so well, huh?” Adam says to Mox. “Just wait ‘til you see him take my cock.”

Mox rolls his shoulders, and his gaze burns when he meets Adam’s eyes. “That sounds like a fuckin’ dream.”

Adam gets impatient fast, watching the glacial pace of Mox working up from one finger, and grabs the lube himself.

“What are you doing?” Matt asks, looking intrigued.

“Mox is busy,” Adam says, slicking up his fingers. He drops back on the bed next to Matt. “Sometimes to get a job done you have to do it yourself.”

“Impatient,” Mox chides, but his eyes are sliding between Matt and Adam, like he can’t decide where to focus longer.

Adam’s mind goes a little blank as he works himself up to one, two, three fingers. Mox matches his pace with Matt once he starts to beg. At some point, Matt’s reached over and grabbed Adam’s arm, which is so sweet that Adam whines.

“You ready, Adam?” Mox asks. “Looks like Matt’s ready for you.”

“So ready,” Matt says, nails digging into Adam’s bicep. “C’mon, Adam, please.”

It takes a minute to get everyone in the right place to make this work. Sliding into Matt is like opening your front door when you get home, Matt laid out on the bed like an angel. Adam’s body covers him completely, fucking into Matt a few times to get that frustrated, desperate look out of his eyes, but he stills as he feels Mox’s hands on his hips.

“I’m gonna check with you, like, thirty times,” Mox says, stroking up and down Adam’s sides. “If anything feels off, you gotta tell me, okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam replies. The waiting is almost too much to take. He hears Mox slick himself up behind him, feels the head of his cock nudge up against him. “Oh, my god, do you get off on torture or something? Get in me already.”

Matt laughs. “You sound like me.”

“Yeah, sexually transmitted brat,” Mox chuckles. “Okay, Adam, you ready?”

“Obviously.”

Adam almost collapses. Mox fills him painfully slowly, like he’s taking the time to memorize every inch of Adam, and Matt reaches up to cup Adam’s cheek.

“You like it?” Matt asks, like there’s any answer but yes.

Adam nods, turning his head to press a kiss to Matt’s palm. “Yeah, baby. All of it.”

They all settle around each other, and Adam’s never felt this before: filled and surrounded. He’s drowning in the way Mox curls around his back, hands on his hips. The way Matt’s threaded his fingers with Adam’s, is smiling up at Adam like he’s everything Matt could have imagined.

“You can start moving,” Adam says, wiggling his hips. He hears Mox exhale hard against the back of his neck, sees Matt press his eyes closed at the moment.

Mox presses a kiss to the back of Adam’s neck. “Okay.”

Adam doesn’t think he’s ever felt this right in his life.

“You good, Cowboy?” Mox asks. He sounds strained, the way Adam feels, buried to the hilt.

It’s almost too much, Adam thinks, Mox filling him while he feels the heat of Matt curling around him. “Good,” Adam gasps. “So good.”

“Matt, he look okay?” Mox asks.

“He looks great,” Matt says, and the way he locks eyes with Mox over Adam’s shoulder is almost enough for Adam to come right then and there. “He – oh, god – he’s.” But Matt cuts himself off, twisting his hips so that Adam sees stars in his vision.

“I’m good,” Adam says, “I – please.”

“Sounds like Matt’s not the only one who can ask pretty,” Mox murmurs into Adam’s ear, and Adam can’t help it. His hips buck forward, shifting Matt a tiny bit up the bed.

But the movement isn’t what catches his attention – Matt’s face falls open in a perfect little gasp, hands gripping at the sheets. “Yes,” he moans. “I forgot how good this is.”

“You guys do this a lot?” Mox asks, and he pulls out slowly. Adam’s about to beg for him to fuck him harder, when Mox starts a steady pace. Adam almost doesn’t have to do anything to push into Matt, but he picks up Moxley’s rhythm and is able to match it with thrusts into Matt’s body. It’s easier to coordinate than he would have expected, but they’ve all been in the ring together. This is just a different way to do it.

“Used to,” Adam manages. He’s spinning with sensation, with the warmth and the smell and the feel of it all. “Stopped for a while. Broke up.”

“Back together now?”

“How the fuck,” Matt pants, “are you so put together, Moxley?” It’s a fair question – Adam feels wrecked already and he hasn’t even come, and Matt’s face is so screwed up that he looks like he’s in pain.

“Practice,” Mox laughs. “And I have a job to do.”

They’re quiet for a while, save for wordless sounds from any of the three of them, and Adam focuses on Matt, mostly. He knows the way he likes it, memorized years ago the way to move to hit the right spots. The places on his body that are the most sensitive. He brushes a thumb across Matt’s lips. “You good, baby?”

“Close,” Matt whines. “I – can I?”

“If you ask nicely,” Mox says, “what do you think, Adam, does Matty deserve to come?”

“I think so,” Adam says, picking up the pace along with Moxley. He wants Matt to come first. He always makes sure Matt comes first. “Matt?”

“Please,” Matt begs, “god, please, I gotta – Adam,” his voice goes soft, his eyes meet Adam’s. Those big doe eyes do Adam in every time. “Adam, please. Touch me.”

And how could anyone say no? Adam steadies himself with one hand and reaches between them to stroke Matt’s cock with his and Moxley’s thrusts. It requires a level of coordination Adam finds himself thankful to wrestling for. He wouldn’t be here and wouldn’t be able to pull any of this of without it.

“Faster,” Adam tells Mox, and he complies. Matt needs it fast, a little rough, when he’s this close. There’s no way that’s changed.

Adam’s right – quickly, Matt’s coming all over his belly and Adam’s hand with a wordless sigh that makes him look goddamned ethereal.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Moxley says, “Cowboy, you ready to go?”

“What?”

Mox laughs in his ear. “Ready for me to wreck you?”

“Oh, fuck yes. Just – hold on one second.” He leans down, feeling Mox slide out of him in a way that leaves him squirming, but he presses a kiss to Matt’s forehead. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Matt says, beaming. “Wanna see you and Mox.”

Adam presses a quick kiss to his mouth and pulls out of him, rubbing at Matt’s thighs soothingly as Matt adjusts. It only takes seconds, though, until Matt is up at the headboard, half-lidded eyes staring at Adam and Mox like he’d be ready to go again in minutes.

Adam ties off the condom and manages to get it in the trash without much problem, something he’d probably gloat about if he wasn’t about to get railed within an inch of his life by Jon Moxley.

Moxley grabs Adam by the waist. “Alright, slide down to the end of the bed. I’m gonna fuck you so Matt can see your pretty face when you come.”

Adam and Matt make a dumb whining sound at the same time, but Adam will intentionally not remember that. He does as Mox says, and Mox throws one of his legs over his shoulders. “Good?”

“So fucking good,” Adam pants.

“Hang on, Hangman,” Mox says with a wink.

And hang on he does. He’s worried he’s about to slip off the bed, but Mox has a decent grip on Adam and he doesn’t fall, no matter how close he comes to it. Matt slides down to his level, pressing the sweetest little kisses to his cheeks, chest, neck, licking over the bruises on his chest from earlier, a hand over his stomach as his muscles flutter and tense. “Doing so good,” Matt murmurs into his ear, “never seen you like this, you take it so well.”

Adam forces his eyes open to see Matt, hair framing his face like a halo, and that’s what does him in. Matt kisses him as the moment washes over him, coming hard across his stomach and Matt’s arm where it rests across Adam’s chest.

“So – fucking – pretty,” Mox moans, and Adam feels Mox coming by the way he digs his fingernails into Adam’s thigh. He makes all these little noises, ones Adam’s used to hearing from Matt, as his hips stutter. Adam feels dizzy.

Mox drops to his knees, resting his forehead on Adam’s thigh.

“You good, Mox?” Adam asks. He reaches out and strokes the back of Mox’s neck. “Okay?”

“Awesome,” Mox says on an exhale. His whole body shivers. “Oh, man, I’ve been dreaming of that since I joined this fuckin’ company.” He lifts his head, grinning.

They all catch their breath where they lay for a few moments. Unsurprisingly, Matt’s the one to break the silence. “Everybody back on the bed,” he says, scooting back. “I’m cold.”

All Adam can manage is to flop on the bed face down onto the last pillow that didn’t get kicked off. “Night.”

“Absolutely not,” Mox says, pushing at his hip. “Give me that pillow.”

“Nope.” Adam says, snuggling down. “I live here now.”

“Then I’m getting a cigarette,” Mox says. “Lord knows I need one after that.” Adam takes in the sounds of the room. Rustling, a door opening, the flick of a lighter.

Matt snuggles around him, arms around his waist. “This isn’t as comfortable without a pillow.”

“Check the floor,” Adam mumbles.

The bed shifts. “Uh oh,” Matt says.

“What?” Mox asks. He sounds a bit far away.  

Matt plants his hands on his hips. “The lube spilled. Like, everywhere.” He picks up a pillow, now practically translucent. “I think these sheets are a goner.”

“Oh, Tony’s gonna be pissed at that hotel bill,” Adam mumbles, still face down in a pillow. He feels somebody brush his hair off his neck, and sits up to see Matt beaming at him.

“You guys are too fuckin’ cute,” Mox says. Adam turns to see him on the balcony. He takes a drag on his cigarette from where he sits, shirtless with the sweatpants back on, looking fucked out. It’s a good look. “Weird you were both just begging to be railed within an inch of your lives.”

“I can be cute and horny,” Matt says, tying his hair back

“Damn right you can,” Adam grumbles. He pushes himself up, rolling his shoulders and flexing, the stiffness from the match replaced with the delicious ache after sex. “I’m hungry. How’s room service here?” He turns to see Matt staring at him, looking hungry in a very different way.

“It’s good,” Mox says. “Got the mac and cheese last night.”

Matt wrinkles his nose. Adam wants to kiss it. “That would eff me up for days.”

“Oh, baby, we took care of fucking you up,” Adam laughs, nuzzling into Matt’s neck. He wraps his arms around Matt’s waist and rolls him back into bed. It’s a level of comfort and familiarity that Adam hadn’t realized he’s been aching for, craving, for years.

Matt hums as Adam presses kisses to his hair.

There’s heavy footsteps and the bed dips again, an arm thrown over Matt and Adam. “I like you two,” Mox says, and Matt raises his head to see Mox spooning up behind Adam in a surprisingly charming move. “We should definitely do this again.”

Adam mutters something through a yawn, and his grip goes a little loose around Matt.

“Oh, wait, hold on,” Matt says. “I gotta go shower before we sleep. And there’s no way we’re staying in this bed. We have, like, one pillow and half of a sheet.”

“We’ll make it down to my room,” Adam says. “We can go in shifts or something.”

“Nah,” Mox says. “Let ‘em see.”

It takes a while to find all of the clothes the three of them had thrown around the room, but they make their way down to Adam’s room. The neat bed is inviting, and Adam throws himself down onto it. “Go shower, baby,” he murmurs. “Mox’ll order food and I’m gonna nap.”

“How come you don’t have to do anything?” Matt laughs.

Adam flips him off, and dozes off.

When he wakes up soon after, there’s a cozy, dry Matt snuggled up with him, and Mox has, indeed, ordered the mac and cheese. He could get used to this.

[techtired]

What Does 'MHM' Mean in Text Messages?

Perhaps you texted someone and got back, "mhm." Perhaps you were speaking, and "mhm" found its way there. Perhaps you are simply perusing terms you do not know. Still, you are here seeking what "mhm" denotes. Among the simpler English slang terms, this one makes sense. You can say "yes" with the acronym "mhm." Read the blog to understand the meaning of mhm in the text. What Is Mhm Meaning In Text? Given the ubiquity of online acronyms—especially those with three letters—you might naturally conclude that mhm stands for something. But mhm actually isn't an acronym at all. Still, it's a good answer, and I agree with you, as the abbreviation "mm-hmmm" suggests. Mhm is applied online or by text, just as in real life. Though it's not often as evident or forceful sounding as a simple "yes," mhm usually denotes "yes." Usually, one person probes another, asking a question, and a yes or no response is needed. Should the other person mentally nod in agreement, they may choose to type mhm instead. In real life, mhm might be understood differently based on how the person says it. Whether the person responds yes with passion or disinterest, tone greatly influences that response. You will thus have to use additional elements to understand any response, including mhm, since a person cannot communicate their exact tone of voice online or in a text using their voice in person. The background of the conversation and the rapport between the questioner and the responder can allow you to sense better what a person means when they answer with mhm. Understanding "Mhm's" Origin Long ago, at least in English, "uh-huh" was a sound of agreement. Try closing your mouth to speak it; it sounds like "mm-hmm." From then, as language often does, it's switched more regularly in writing to abbreviated versions of the same noise. Including "mhm." "mhmm" is another word variant that is quite often used. Additional Meanings And Nuances Slang, "mhm," can be used in many nonliteral rather than literal ways. It may occasionally be used sarcastically. More usually than that, it is used with extra letters stressed to convey the same as "Yes, duh,," or "Yes." Who Makes The Sound "Mhm"? Many people find "mhm" useful. Those who would rather not type it often speak it aloud in America. Most individuals who use it seldom stop considering it; it's a frequent approach to show a "yes" or agreement. If you are in an informal setting, you most usually mean "yes" from "mhm." This will be useful for friends or relatives and those your age or younger. If you are conversing more officially with a teacher, supervisor, elder, or anybody else, avoid it or use it sparingly. Mhm Meaning In Text: When A Guy Says "Mhm"? Nonverbal Mhm is a sound used in agreement, understanding, or affirmation. Often used instead of "yes" or "I see," it answers a question or statement. It can be challenging to ascertain its meaning from a male perspective without extra background. The man might be using it to show agreement or comprehension, but it suggests that he is not primarily engaged in the discussion or otherwise distracted. Your response would rely on the conversational setting and the guy's tone when he uttered "mhm." If you are unsure how to reply, it is best to keep talking and observe his reaction. Based alone on "mhm," one cannot ascertain whether the man likes or hates you. Furthermore, without more information, it is unclear if the man is trying to approach you or if you should approach him. Mhm Meaning In Text: When A Girl Says "Mhm"? Mhm is a nonverbal cue indicating agreement or affirmation. Usually used when someone is listening to someone else talk, it might be answered to a question or statement. From a girl, Mhm most certainly has the same connotation as it would from anyone else. It doesn't show whether she is trying to move or likes or hates you. It's just a means of demonstrating that she is listening and recognizing your statement. If you are unsure what Mhm implies, you could continue the usual chat or seek an explanation. You might say, for instance, "I'm sorry; I didn't really catch that." Could you restate what you just said? Illustrations of Mhm Meaning In Text Example 1 Friend #1: "Did you get the file I sent over this morning?" one asks. Friend #2: "mhm". Friend #2, in the first case above, merely has to respond yes or no. They decide to use mhm, which suggests the possibility of a casual, friendly connection between them, even though it isn't nearly as explicit and direct as saying yes. Illustrations of Mhm Meaning In Text Example 2 First friend: "Hey did u catch last night's game??" Second Friend: "Mhm, epic play during the 2nd period!" The context affects Friend #2's response in the second scenario above. Their "mhm" response indicates that they are most likely speaking energetically. Illustrations of Mhm Meaning In Text Example 3 First friend: "Are you sure you're okay to postpone our meeting until next week?" Second friend: "mhm...just need to edit it in my calendar." In this last case, context produces the reverse of what was understood in case 2. The two friends are altering their plans, and Friend #2 appears to agree to make the change. Still, their use of an ellipsis and apathetic reply raises questions about their possible unhappiness. When should I use Mhm instead of just saying yes? Mhm is thought to be equivalent to yes, but usually, there is a time and a place for it to be applied. If you wish to include it in your online/texting lexicon, here are some broad rules to think through. When Should I Apply "Mhm"? Your chat is entirely laid back. Messages to a friend? Facebook Question Answered: You are suitable to utilize mhm. Having responded, you have more to say. As mentioned above, mhm is mainly influenced by context, so if you want to comment on what you agree to, your mhm response will reflect that. Though you should respond "yes," you can be indifferent or even against it. It would be best to say yes, but your emotions are not entirely there. A straightforward mhm can let the questioner understand your lack of interest or hostility. The Bottom Line You are having a professional or appropriate discourse. Your best strategy is to say yes if you email your college professor, discuss a major issue, or have any other communication requiring appropriate email etiquette and no kidding. You want to give your response as clearly as possible. Not everyone understands mhm or can read it as a confirmed yes, depending on its use. If you wish no ambiguity about your response, stick to stating yes. You are not second-guessed about accepting. People usually accept your word for it whether you say yes online or in a text. Say yes if you wish to let others know you are not genuinely experiencing or considering a probable no. Read the full article

[maniccaffeineaddict]

I’m not the one arguing but I have seen white people with the same hair as you. but Italians aren’t white

mate.

i cannot believe i have to explain this. it’s genetics. hair and skin colour/types depend on levels on melanin. which are indicators of race to the eye. but you can’t know someone’s roots by just looking at them. at in today’s world you can find plenty of racially diverse people with dna from all over the world so yeah, absolutely you’ve seen white people with the same hair type as me before. still doesn’t change the fact that my hair how it is because of my partly mediterranean dna.

as for the ‘are italians white’ debate. there’s two parts to it. are you talking about the racial group or skin tone? i’ve said this twice before now. skin tones vary. obviously they vary. across racial groups too.

and my mum, who is italian, has brown coloured skin. you can’t look at her and say ‘yes that’s a white person’ you might say that about me, yeah.

and as for the racial group i’ll ask you to educate yourself before you proffer your opinions. and i’ll refer you to some articles i could find that might be helpful

italians have always teetered on the edge of brown and white. your opinion doesn’t change that

[popoaniani]

I found my old journal from 2016

I was working on a book that I completely forgot about and never finished. It surprised me and also made me laugh so I had to share it (I don't really write like this anymore lol). Here's an excerpt:

“HARD CORE PORN!!!” Mike bellowed at some unfortunate tourists, imitating the street vendors peddling their wares. Hot Dogs! Genuine Cajun Cooking! Ghetto Burgers only three fitty! then Mike: “HARD CORE PORN!!” Nobody indicated interest in making a purchase.

I decided to join in supportingly. “Soft core porn?” I suggested in a low, sultry tone to passing tourists who had snubbed Mike’s loud offer.

“HARD CORE PORN!!!” Mike hollered. 

“soft core porn” I cooed.

I am uncertain how long we kept this up, as my perception of time came and went in gross, unwelcome waves. We received surprisingly few acknowledgements; our seedy offer folding in seamlessly with the debauched hustle and drug addled bustle. A permanent, Charlie-Sheen’s-forever-bachelor-party vibe in the New Orleans French Quarter.

Earlier in the evening, we had purchased two hits of acid from a teenage girl sitting on the step outside Checkpoints. After about a half hour of no visuals, we cursed her for burning us and turned to a new connect. Aha hooked us up with some green jelly tabs that did the trick. The rest of the night is a demented blur. Mike had gifted me a small baggie of cocaine that was in his possession. He told me blow makes him throw up. Why he had it in the first place was unclear, but I sat down on a tree stump next to the fire station to do a few bumps. The chaos of the tourist jammed streets was all the cover I needed. With all the real crimes being committed in the Big Easy, one grows acclimated to a certain false secure feeling while engaging in recreational drug use.

In a city where sex tourism and alcohol abuse make up the best part of the economy, it’s easy to believe that in fact most of the people around you are tripping balls, and those who aren’t really have no business being here at all. 

“BUTT PLUGS!! HARD CORE PORN!!” Mike publicized his latest offer.

I have a vague memory of someone with a bong stopping us for a smoke break on his front step. New Orleans was that kind of a city. A well meaning observer sees two belligerent nut jobs running down the sidewalk, hooting and hollering in the queasy depths of an acid binge, pupils dilated, sweat pouring from foreheads with pulsing blue veins and crazed grinding smiles cracked across their sticky, pale faces. He thinks to himself, those guys could use some mellowing out, packs a bong and invites them over. There is no other city in America that even comes close to the ill-advised hospitality, the genuine New Orleansness, of New Orleans.

It was a comfortably warm October night and Mike and I had made the lack of arrangements that goes well with staying out all night long. My Chrysler was safely parked in a neighborhood with no meters where I was unlikely to find it until I sobered up the next morning. We had no plans and nobody knew or cared where we were. Or so we thought. 

We finished the bowl, thanked our new found friend whose face we would never remember, for his hospitality, then resumed our walk around the neighborhood. 

I don’t remember the chronology of events that night, so I’m taking some liberty in the order in which I tell the story. At some point we had some weed and some candy. We sat on the front steps to some house in the Quarter and asked passersby if they’d like some M&Ms. If they said ‘yes’, we shared our candy with them, then invited them to smoke a blunt with us. If they said no to the M&Ms, we inquired if they’d like to smoke a blunt with us. We even made the acquaintance of an older gentleman who gifted us a handful of magic mushrooms in exchange for walking directions to a good burger place.

“Do you know how to blow smoke rings?”

“No”

“Do you want to learn how?”

“No”

“Ugh, look it’s easy. Just make an O face.”

I laughed

“Just make an O face! An O face, like this.”

Mike shaped his mouth into an O and made little puffing sounds, demonstrating how to blow the smoke. I laughed hysterically.

“What’s so funny? Stop laughing and let me see your O face.”

Mike and I were finally getting a chance to get to know each other better and ask all the questions we’d had on our minds. “Have you ever played happy wheels?,” he asked me.

Just then, (or maybe significantly later) Mike’s phone buzzed: an incoming call.  

“Just let it go to voicemail” I advised.

“No, I have to take this.” Mike replied.

“Why?” I was confused. You don’t have to do anything, I thought to myself. And whoever is on the other end of that call probably wants nothing to do with your fuck up, acid brain conversation right now. What time is it anyway? It’s got to be late.

The volume on the phone was high enough for me to clearly hear the menacing, low male voice on the other end. 

“Come home Mike.”

“I can’t come home right now. Jazmine and I are staying out all night. We’re tripping balls.”

“But you HAVE to come home.” Holy creeping christ. The voice was that of a cartoon super villain. Somehow I knew that wasn’t the drugs talking either. Whoever it was, they were creepy as fuck. Tonight, tomorrow, fucked up or sober, that voice belonged to a mad man.

“We can’t drive right now. We’re still coming up I think.”

“It doesn’t matter how you get home. This is your home. You need to come home at night. Every night. You will come home now.” The call ended.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK.” I gave Mike a look to emphasize my bewilderment.

“That was Rooster. Can you drive?” He asked.

“You’re not seriously going home are you? Why would you listen to that psychopath? He’s obviously nuts and creepy as fuck! Why does he want you to come home so bad? Why does he treat you like he’s your pimp? What the hell is going on anyway? Is he your pimp? Has he ever touched you inappropriately? I must be missing something.”

“Look, we just have to go.” He wasn’t kidding. I told him there was no way in hell I’d get behind the wheel of my car.

“You don’t have to. I’ll drive. I’m not even tripping that hard anymore.” He offered.

I got behind the wheel of my car. There was some comfort in knowing we were at least sober enough to find the car in the first place.

Mike pointed out turns and warned me of upcoming stop signs as we sped back to Rooster’s apartment.

If this god forsaken roadway would stop expanding and contracting, this drive would be a hell of a lot easier, I thought to myself. Or maybe out loud. Either way, Mike responded. The possibility of him having mind reading abilities was not out of the question. I eyed him suspiciously. 

“You’re doing fine, babe. Only three more blocks straight ahead. There’s a stop sign at this next intersection.”

I was going too fast to stop. We’d have to cross our fingers, hope for the best, and gun it.

Again, Mike interjected, “You know, you can go a little faster.”

I peeked at the speedometer, the numbers dissolving away as I tried to focus on them. I deduced we were in fact idling down the road so I pumped the gas. Dear god, it’s a miracle there are no pedestrians gawking at us or other motorists flipping me off. The neighborhood had an abandoned, 4 am kind of feel. It must have been some ungodly hour of the morning when even New Orleans sex tourists take a breather and weathered French Quarter hookers get a drink and rest their bones at the Spotted Cat before calling it a night.

We pulled up and parallel parked smoothly on the grass in front of Rooster’s apartment. He must have been watching from a window because he opened the door to the main building entrance as we approached.

“Well, well, well. Welcome home Mike… and… Mike’s friend.”

Evil villain voice. I shuddered. Then I smiled. I tried not to but I couldn’t help it. My acid brain was pulling hard on my cheek muscles.  An uncontrolled grin twisted across my face. I couldn’t look directly at Rooster. I knew the moment I did, he would twist into something blotchy and demonic. And I would laugh. Which I couldn’t imagine would help things.

I followed Mike up the stairs to the apartment. Rooster asked us to sit down in the room where another couple was sitting on the floor, playing with scattered tarot cards.

“Do you know why I needed you to come back tonight?”

“No.” Mike replied. I decided to let him handle the situation, since I had only recently arrived and had little background information on his and Rooster’s working relationship. 

Rooster sighed. “I didn’t expect better. Drugs…. and sex…. they corrupt a person. All this coming and going. And your friend… Jazmine, is it? I’ve hardly gotten to know her. Why is that?”

Now the attention was on me. There was uncomfortable silence. Was it the acid blocking some receptor in my cerebral cortex that was stopping me from understanding? What did he want from me? I was starting to get a rapey vibe. Was he trying to ask why Mike wasn’t sharing me with him? I knew he and his girlfriend were swingers. He would bring women over and his girlfriend would watch them through a mirror in the bedroom, unbeknownst to his female guests. Mike confided in me the first day I came over that Rooster had begged Mike’s permission to sleep with either me or one of my friends as some sort of perverted birthday present. 

And if that isn’t what he was asking, why should I have gotten to know him? I’ve only been here two days. Or was it longer than that? Suddenly I couldn’t recall. It couldn’t have been a week already?

“What exactly do you want?” I asked. Maybe a straightforward question would elicit a straightforward response from this mad man.

“If you are learned in philosophy, as I am, you will understand. One can only do so much, to make themselves clear. I have thought it over for some time and have been as polite as I can be. I cannot go on however, in this way. There are others to consider. My girlfriend, for one. I want to be sure, first and foremost, that she is comfortable. Do you follow? Why are you smiling at each other? Do you think this is funny?”

I had been putting all my strength and effort into not laughing. But I couldn’t hold it in. The acid was too good and Rooster was too strange. I was also terrified and laughing was all I could do. I looked at Mike and felt I could read that he was thinking the same thing. That Rooster had lost his mind. I snorted loudly, trying to suppress a laugh. Overcompensating, I considered my words carefully, then spoke.

“I’m sorry, Rooster. I’m just too high for this. Maybe if we had this conversation when I wasn’t tripping balls it would be more productive. I am having trouble understanding what exactly you want from us. Do you want money? How much money do you want to end this conversation right now? I have $300 cash. That covers half your rent for the month.  Let me know if that works for you.”

[stainlesssteellocust]

“My gaunt-looking friend sat back then and visibly relaxed. He closed his eyes for a second and I knew that he pondered the best way to tell his story. After a few moments, in a quiet and controlled tone of voice, he commenced: 'De Marigny, I'm glad we're two of a kind; I'm damned if I know whom I might confide in if we weren't so close. There are others who share this love of ours, this fascination for forbidden things, to be sure, but none I know so well as you, and no one with whom I've shared experiences such as we have known and trembled at together. There's been this thread between us ever since you first arrived in London as a boy, straight off the boat from America. Why! We're even tied by that clock there, once owned by your father!' He indicated the weird, four- handed, strangely ticking monstrosity in the corner. 'Yes, it's as well we're two of a kind, for how could I explain to a stranger the fantastic things I must somehow explain?”

Hehe it reminds me of old Victorian fiction, all those outpourings of male on male affection

and I bet that clock is gonna come up at some point I see you and your guns Chekov

[mcgiggers]

Special Collectibles Edition (Bagel Dunk) - January 2023

This is not an invitation to brunch or a late-night nosh. It’s a report on the quest to buy a pair of sneakers, more specifically, the Nike Bagel Dunk Low PRM. The pursuit unfolds over a little more than 24 hours and pits physical stamina alongside virtual dexterity (or lack thereof), and features everything from weathering the elements to frozen screens, and last-minute disappointments to an unlikely surprise. All for a pair of sneakers? Yes, but sneakers with a truly unique design and steeped with a rich cultural provenance that is close to the heart.

While Nike has released many sneakers dedicated to cities around the world, there has never been one that pays homage to Montreal, until now. The city’s rich history of sports teams and celebrities, as well as important artists and iconic landmarks could have easily served as more typical inspirations for the shoe’s design. Instead, the Beaverton creative types turned to the humble bagel as their muse, the thought being that the widespread adoption of the delectable treat of immigrant origins into the city’s culture was representative of the multiculturalism that thrives in Montreal and was worth celebrating. With Montreal being my home and having a strong appreciation of the diversity the city offers as well as a huge fondness for our bagels, I was swept away by the premise and the prospects of acquiring a pair.

In designing the shoe, Nike was careful to sidestep the debate as to who the true originator of the bagel was or whether Fairmount Bagel or St. Viateur Bagel makes the better one. The focus instead was to highlight the characteristics that make the dense, chewy, doughy Montreal bagel unique and truly different from all others.  

The Nike Bagel Dunk Low PRM (product code: DZ4853-200) is anchored off the familiar dunk low model and the PRM moniker indicates the use of premium materials. From there, the Montreal bagel inspirations take over and transform the shoe into a contemporary masterwork of wearable art. As per the Nike copy, it features a two-tone upper with a textured Sesame seed print that is accented by a Royal Blue swoosh representing the colours of the flag of Quebec. The creamy white set of laces and the tongue labels pay homage to the classic bagel condiment, cream cheese, while the translucent gum sole nods to the honey water Montreal-style bagels are dipped into before being traditionally wood fired, the planks of which are emblazoned on the insoles of the shoes. As a bonus exclusive to the Canadian market, the sneakers are packaged in a special Montreal Bagel Dunk box featuring the artwork of Montreal-based artist Chien Champion. I got hungrier just reading about it.

Nike’s official release date for the shoe in North America is January 17, 2023. It was a pre-release on January 13th that kicked off the odyssey. Off the Hook, a Montreal-based sneaker retailer, in partnership with Nike, were offering early access to the shoes through an old school physical store launch. Doors would open at 11 am that day, and if you wanted a pair, you had to line up. I was psyched to try my luck notwithstanding my hesitation of undertaking anything of importance on a Friday the 13th. Bad omen aside, the strategy was to make my way downtown at an early hour and queue up for the shoes. That morning Montrealers woke up to about 15 cm of snow on the ground and blistery winter conditions. The plan to get to the store before sunrise was already delayed by an hour of driveway shoveling.  No problem, if I’m delayed, everyone else would be. Slightly tired, but still motivated, I was downtown by 8:00 am. There I was greeted by a queue of about 250 people in a line that wrapped around the city block. While disappointed with my prospects of getting my hands on a pair of Bagel Dunks and the sad reality of being out hustled by so many, I was impressed with the commitment and passion of all the sneakerheads and shoe aficionados that braved the conditions.  Reportedly, some had been there since 10 pm the previous night. As one might expect, these were predominantly Gen Zers with some Millennials and the odd Gen Xer.

Not much went on in anticipation of the store opening. The occasional snow plough passing and watching cars navigate wintery conditions was as exciting as it got. Meanwhile, snow kept falling which didn’t seem to faze people, some of whom had set up lawn chairs to wait it out. Thankfully the temperature remained around minus 3 degrees Celsius, but after hours of standing in the same place, even that felt much colder.

By the time 11 am rolled around, people began taking down camp with the hope of quickly moving forward. Regrettably, things just inched along. The news filtered down the queue that 5 to 10 people at a time were being let in the store. I resisted doing the math and remained optimistic that the pace would pick up. At noon, I was just rounding the bend and had the OTH awning in sight, but there were still a lot of people ahead of me. At 1 pm, the good news/bad news was delivered. Sizes 8.5 through 11, and 12 were sold out, but some of those sizes would be restocked during the day or over the next few days. Basically, a raincheck was being offered. It was all bad news in my opinion. Firstly, there was no great exodus of people leaving the line, and secondly, the shortage in supply would jeopardize my ability to land a pair of size 13s as those desperate to get their hands on shoes of any size were now more likely to scoop up whatever was left. Anyways, too late to abandon ship now, even though I was frozen and very hungry. Some bagels and coffee were making their way up and down the queue, but it always seemed that supplies ran out before reaching me or started being served to the people in the long line behind me.

The big push for the door happened at 2 pm, a full six hours after getting there. The final effort was up two flights of stairs to the service counter. Once arrived, the excitement of summiting was quickly defused by the news that there were no longer any 13s available and that they would not be restocked. I was offered the opportunity to get on a waitlist for a shoe size that would be restocked, which I did (opting for a size 12). “We’ll call you.” And with those words, I was ushered out empty handed and made my way back home to a couple more hours of shoveling.

Later that afternoon, I reached out to my nephew and chided him about not seeing him in line for the drop. Sensing my disappointment, he directed me to the websites of a couple of sneaker retailers that were having online launches the next day at 10 am. I decided half-heartedly to try my luck online, but realistically had no real hope of being successful. I mean, how do you compete in an online drop? I have this notion of an algorithm scooping up all available shoes in a nanosecond. And, that’s what it felt like. Two of us at home and a daughter in Toronto were each monitoring two sites simultaneously when 10 am rolled around, and then, before you could hit the refresh button, everything was sold. More desperate attempts were made and foiled by frozen screens and 404 Page Not Found messages.

By this time, it was about 10:15 am, when my daughter offered to walk by the actual store of one of the online retailers which was having their Toronto launch at 11 am. It wasn’t far, and so I didn’t discourage her, fully expecting that she would meet up with the same crowds I had experienced the previous day in Montreal. She got to there around 10:30 am and was second in line. The store opened on time, and she walked out with a pair of size 13s shortly thereafter. It’s amazing that none of the national and local press coverage around the sneaker launch and the mayhem of the Montreal prelaunch didn’t spill over to Toronto, and even more remarkable that the big expat Montreal community didn’t rally around the homage to their former home. Well, no complaints here. While it felt totally silly to have waited in line for over six hours the previous day, perhaps it was the karma of the 24-hour effort that led to the favourable turn of events.

Now, what to do with the sneakers – wear them, store them, or sell them? Definitely not the latter. The last time I engaged with wearable art was in 2015 (https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2015/05/18/fashion/The-Mens-Medium-Is-Fashion-at-Frieze-New-York.html). I have not since taken Pia Camil’s poncho out of the closet. Maybe the right compromise is to display them. We’ll see.

 Meanwhile, there was no positive karma left for the Dinos. After putting together three wins in a row (I know, two against the Hornets), the Raptors couldn’t extend their streak against the Atlanta Hawks who find themselves just ahead of the Dinos in Eastern Conference standings and battling for a play-in spot. Perhaps it’s all for the best as the euphoria of another win against one of the league’s lesser opponents might have given a false sense of hope to a squad that’s disappointing on so many levels. Upper management, coaches and players, all have their feet to the fire as the trade deadline approaches and pressure mounts to get results or change course. Wholesale changes are a real possibility with only Crazy Eyes being immune. Like with the sneakers, we’ll see.

 For more information on the Nike Bagel Dunk Low PRM and availability in local markets, or the fate of the Dinos and any pending changes, “Just Google It”.

 There you have it sportsfans,

 MC Giggers

(www.mcgiggers.tumblr.com)

 PS. Special thanks to Daniel, Cynthia and Ally for their help!

Reporter’s Certification

I, MC Giggers, hereby certify that the views expressed in this report accurately reflect my personal views and that no part of my compensation was or will be, directly or indirectly, related to the specific views expressed herein.

I also certify that I may or may not own, directly or indirectly, works of artists mentioned in this report and that I may or may not have a strong bias for such artists and, more generally, for “Pictures of Nothing”.

[fardell24b]

The Youngest Barksdale - Part 4

Daria arrived at Lawndale High the second time to find Scarlett waiting for her. “Scarlett?”

 “I thought I’d meet you out here,” Scarlett responded.

 “Sure,” Daria said with a smile.

 “Today will be good.”

 “Huh?”

 “Wait and see,” Scarlett responded.

 ‘Something’s certainly happening,’ Daria thought.

  They entered the school and saw that most of the students were wearing the school colors, yellow and blue. “So, what’s happening?” Daria asked.

 “Someone won a contest that they were entered into by Mr. O’Neill,” Scarlett answered.

 “I see,” Daria said. “But that’s not all, is it?”

 “No. They were entered into the contest without consent, and now they have to play host to a vapid magazine editor visiting the school,” Scarlett explained. She looked around. “Here they come now.”

 Daria saw the magazine editor immediately. She was wearing clothing entirely inappropriate for her age and had dyed blonde hair. That was in contrast to the student she was accompanying, who was wearing dark clothing and Eye of Horus makeup and looked quite annoyed.

 The student ran up to Scarlett and Daria, the magazine editor powerwalking behind. “Scarlett!” she said.

 “Andrea,” Scarlett said. “This is Daria, she started here yesterday.”

 “Hi, Daria, I saw you in class, but I was preparing for Val’s visit,” she said in apology as she indicated the magazine editor who had caught up with them.

 “Hey, Drey, introduce me to your friends, would you,” the magazine editor, Val, requested.

 “This is Scarlett, and that’s Daria.”

 Val put out her hand to take Scarlett’s. “Hi! I’m Val! As in Val!”

 ‘Great! She named the magazine after herself,’ Daria thought. “Hi.”

 “Are you Drey’s friend?” Val asked.

 “No. I just started here yesterday,” Daria answered.

 “I see,” Val responded. “Do you like it so far?”

 “It seems rather like a cookie-cutter suburban town, typical of this region of America.”

 “I see,” Val said. She turned to Scarlett. “You’re Drey’s friend, right?”

 “Yes,” Scarlett answered.

 “Jiggy!” Val exclaimed.

 Andrea groaned at that.

 “So, I think our strategy should be we basically just hang, and I'll come up with some ear candy, and you'll write about your day with me, Val, and I'll write about Val's day with you, and we'll really get at the hidden heart of high school. Are you with?”

 “Certainly!” Andrea said in a sarcastic tone.

 “Question, why are most people wearing blue and yellow?” Val asked.

 “It’s school colors day,” Andrea said. “A random event brought up by the Principal to inspire school spirit. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with your visit.”

 “You should have told me! I want to fit in while I'm here,” Val exclaimed as she took out her phone.

 “Just one difference between us!” Andrea murmured.

 “George, I'm going to need a wardrobe change. Pull something yellow and blue and jiggy. I don't know -- call a courier or ask the concierge.” She then hung up. “I hope no one acts differently around me, but you'll let me know, right, Andrea?”

 Andrea sighed.

  Daria saw Brittany approaching, dragging a boy behind her. Unlike the day before, she wasn’t dressed in blue and yellow.

 “Oh no!” Andrea said quietly, with an annoyed expression on her face.

 ‘Huh?’’ Daria wondered. There was something about Andrea’s expression.

 “Oh! There’s Andrea. Let’s say hi to our buddy Andrea!”

 “Andrea? Our buddy?” the boyfriend asked with confusion.

 “Kevin, we love Andrea,” Brittany responded with slight sarcasm. “Hi, you! Andrea. It’s me, your friend, Brittany.”

 “Really, Brittany?” Andrea asked with an edge in her voice.

 ‘There’s something there,’ Daria thought.

 “Um… Hi,” Brittany said to Val.

 “Only Brittany is acting differently,” Andrea groused, more to herself and Scarlett, than to Val.

 “How come you aren’t wearing yellow and blue?” Scarlett asked Brittany.

 “It's School Colors Day, Scarlett!” Brittany responded.

 “Yeah. We're not colorful enough for you?” the cheerleader’s boyfriend, Kevin, responded.

 ‘I get the feeling that they’re not the brightest,’ Daria thought.

 “So, Andrea. You’re going to introduce your visitor?” Brittany asked.

 “Um, she’s an acquaintance…” Andrea said, uncertainly.

 “Oh, Andrea, we might as well give it up. I'm just too recognizable. Okay, it's me, Val. Yes, the Val, as in Val.”

 “You're kidding! I love Val!” Brittany exclaimed.

 ‘Of course!’ Daria thought.

 “You know each other?” Kevin asked in confusion.

 “How about doing a cheer for America's coolest young women, my readers?” Val asked.

 “Um, okay.” Brittany said. “Give me a "V"! Give me an "A"! Give me an "L"... gosh, that's short”

 “Maybe I should write about cheerleading as the new yoga. Last year I did yoga as the new cheerleading, but I'm ready for a different spin. Pretty good for a 28-year-old, huh?”

 Daria knew she was lying. “Twenty-eight?” she looked at Andrea and could tell she was about to ask the same thing. Brittany and Scarlett looked slightly shocked too. ‘More like forty-eight.’

 “I know, I know. People still think I'm, like, 16. When Drew and I go out clubbing I'm always the one who gets carded.”

 ‘More like ‘Drew’ would be the one who gets carded,’ Daria thought.

 “Are these clubs very dark?” Andrea asked.

 “Oh, it's so cool to be back in school!”

 The Homeroom bell then rang.

[mitchpell]

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Fandoms: Hawkeye (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Cooper Barton & Laura Barton & Lila Barton & Nathaniel Pietro Barton Characters: Clint Barton, Lila Barton, Cooper Barton, Nathaniel Pietro Barton, Laura Barton Additional Tags: Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pre-Episode: s01e01 Never Meet Your Heroes (Hawkeye), Christmas Vacation, Deaf Clint Barton, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Drama, Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter #11: Grand Central Station

“You really don’t think putting the shield on the Statue of Liberty is about Steve Rogers?” Lila scoffed from where she sat in the backseat of the cab with Nate sandwiched between her and Clint.

She and Cooper had been weighing the pros and cons of the new Statue for the majority of the cab ride, bickering back and forth goodnaturedly as to which version was better.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t about Steve Rogers,” Coop shot back, twisting around in the front seat so he could better argue with his sister. “I said it wasn’t only about Steve Rogers.”

“What else could it be about?” she demanded, her tone taking on a superior quality. It was the one she got whenever she thought she knew better than someone else. The one that clearly indicated she thought her brother was an idiot, and, consequently, never failed to grate on Clint’s nerves.

“Lila,” Clint warned, shooting her a look that had her frowning and slouching down in her seat in a pout.

“It’s a symbol,” Coop continued, taking a rare stance and actually defending his position.

In a lot of ways, he took after Clint in that regard. Loud and insisting when it came to things with which he was confident. Quiet and a little self-deprecating when that confidence was lacking. Academics was one of those later areas. He didn’t do poorly in school, but it didn’t come easy to him like it did Lila. When he struggled, he tended to shut down, refusing to ask for help for fear of embarrassment. It was an issue that had only compounded since the Snap.

“Yeah,” Lila mocked, drawing Clint back their argument, “of Captain America.”

“It’s more than that,” Coop insisted. “The new Statue isn’t meant to be a monument to him, but what he stood for. It–it represents his resiliency, his determination. His willingness to stand up and protect the innocent.”

“What about what the old Statue stood for?” she countered. “Does that just get erased?”

“Do you even know what the original Statue stood for?” he asked snidely.

“Yes,” Lila replied quickly, though there was a waver of uncertainty in her voice.

“Thought not,” Coop snickered. “It’s supposed to represent freedom. The torch in particular is a beacon, welcoming immigrants and lighting the path to liberty. Hence the name,” he told her, patronizingly, “Statue of Liberty.”

“Coop,” Clint cautioned, enjoying the debate, but not necessarily the tone they were conducting it in.

“So—what? It just doesn’t stand for that anymore?”

“It does,” Coop insisted. “It’s still the goddess Libertas, so it still stands for liberty, and the poem about the huddled masses is still there for the immigrants. So, if anything, adding Captain America’s shield gave it more meaning, not less.

“Whatever,” Lila muttered, clearly put-out. “It’s a stupid argument either way.”

“You only think that because you didn’t come up with it,” Coop retorted, causing Clint to bite down on a snicker.

“What? You expect me to believe that you did?”

Cooper shrugged. “We debated it in my Current Events class. It was interesting.”

Lila rolled her eyes. “Which means you probably just sat there like an idiot.”

“Alright,” Clint broke in yet again, as their cab pulled up to the curb in front of Grand Central Station. “Enough. Both of you.”

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