#as long as we have them and joe all we need is a mid defense

[cementcornfield]

going to bed manifesting a tee deal in the next 72 hours ✨

[functionbydesign]

Arrested Again part 35

(with apologies to cuffedstories deactivated 202211)

I spent the weekend preparing in my mind for the upcoming Parole Authority hearing. I realized there were three negatives that they would throw at me, and for which I needed to be prepared. The first was that the last time I was on parole I had committed, and was convicted of, three criminal offenses. The second was the occasion at County Jail where I assaulted a student who had been provoking me. The third, of course, was where I had killed a man in self defense. I had to convince them that I was not inherently violent, and that this time I would not commit a parole offence. I knew the Warden at County would give me a good character reference on the violence issues, and his offer of a paying job would be a counter argument to me committing further crime.

Scott had also offered to provide me with a character reference. When I asked him if that came with any strings attached, he smiled and said a repeat of my most recent performance would be sufficient. He promised not to mention any “extra-curricular” activities involving Joe or himself. I also promised to return the balance of my prison account, being the $2,000 he had sent me at State, less what I had spent so far.

 He also disclosed to me he had recently broken up with his wife. She had recently discovered gay pornographic material which he had hidden in the basement of their house, which had triggered the split. He advised that he was now renting an apartment and could do with the money should I get parole. Clearly I could not transfer him the money if he was a CO in the prison in which I was being held.

 

Monday came all too soon. It was mid morning when I was called to the special room where parole applications were heard. It consisted of a long table where three Parole Authority staff sat, and a chair where the inmate sat. The inmate was brought in wearing leg irons which were locked to a bar at the base of the chair. The CO  who escorted me to the room explained to me that this measure was required as some inmates became quite emotional during such hearings, and it was for the protection of the Probation Authority staff.The chairperson for the meeting was a hard faced lady, who would have been well in her 60s. On either side of her were two male staff.

“Inmate Beck” she commenced. “my name is Eliza Jackson. On my left is assistant Michael Jobson, and on my right is assistant Fredrico Boccelli. We are here today to assess your application for parole. Prior to this meeting we spoke with both the Warden, and one of the corrections officers, Mr. Scott Cunningham, both of who spoke very highly of you. We also discussed your case with the Warden at state prison, who advised that apart from your propensity to attract violence, you had conducted yourself appropriately in the short time that you were there. All three of these individuals were impressed with the success you have had in improving the literacy of other inmates through the classes which you conduct.

I must say that I find you somewhat of an enigma. Despite you glowing references from prison staff, you have initiated, or been the recipient of violent attacks. You have also caused the death of another inmate, however we must accept the decision of the court but this was due to reasonable self defence. In view of this history of violence, how can you assure this panel that you will not be involved in violence if you are released on parole?”

“M’am, the violence I have committed here was in both cases provoked by the inmates involved, and it is on record that this was the case in both instances. As for the violence which was committed against me, in both cases it was the result of testimony that I was required to give in two separate criminal cases. There was no way that I could have avoided that. The only potential violence that I may be subjected to Is from the Allen family, whose son was fatally injured in the County Jail incident. Whether I am released on parole now, or at the end of my sentence in a year’s time, that risk will exist. I would like to seek a reconciliation with the Allen family, however I realise that that will not be possible until there are no longer any legal impediments to doing so”.

 “OK,” she continued. We have noted your comments on that issue.     I would like to now address the other issue concerning us . On the previous occasion that you were on parole you violated parole by committing 3 felony offences. how can this panel have any confidence that you will not do so again?”    

“M’am following my last release on parole I experienced extreme difficulty finding employment due to my criminal history. As a result the only work I could find was selling marijuana for Mr. Allen. On this occasion the Warden of this jail is kindly offering me paid employment to continue my teaching work here. This will provide me with an income, so I do not expect that I will need to resort to illegal activities to survive. I have now spent a long period in jail, during which I’ve also obtained a whole of life injury, which would be best managed outside a prison environment. I now believe that I’m far more mature in my approach to life, and will not be acting in the rash manner I did six years ago”.

“Thankyou Inmate Beck.” She replied. “Do any of the other panel members have any questions?”.

Mr Bocelli piped up “Inmate Beck, reviewing the incident which brought about your initial murder conviction, you do seem very capable of being violent when you want to be. That does cause me concern that we can’t believe your assurances”.

Whle I felt very tempted to inflict violence on him for that remark, I could see that he was testing whether I would easily become angry. I had to bite my lip and remain calm.

“With all due respect, Sir” I commenced, emphasizing the ‘Sir’, “I don’t believe that until you have been threatened by someone bearing a sharp object, and seeking to do you harm, that you can appreciate the need to become violent to protect yourself. You do not have the luxury of calmly seeking an alternative course of action. And I think the jury in my retrial appreciated that, when the evidence of the sharp object was able to be presented”.

Mr Bocelli wasn’t to be fobbed off easily. “You have prior convictions for driving while intoxicated and illegal possession of a prohibited drug.How can we be certain that you won’t resume these irresponsible behaviors?”

Scott had advised me to answer any aggressive questions by starting any reply with the phrase ‘With all due respect’. He said it was a very polite way of telling someone they were an idiot, but not in a manner they could complain about.

“With all due respect” I began. “I received a brain injury, which could easily have been fatal, while I was in State Prison. I have been told by the medical practitioners who handled my case that I should severely limit alcohol consumption when I was eventually released, and under no circumstances use illicit drugs. I would be a total idiot to do otherwise”.

“No further questions” said Mr Boccelli.

 “Any questions Mr Jobson?” asked Ms Jackson.

“No questions” replied Mr jobson.

 “OK inmate Beck. The panel will discuss your case over the next hour or so. We will call you back when we have made our determination.

“Yes m’am. Thankyou” I replied.

The CO move forward and asked me to stand. After I did so he cuffed my hands behind my back and unlocked the leg irons from the chair. He then lead me from the room.

“She’s a hard nosed number” said the CO when we were out of earshot.

“I had to hold my tongue with that Boccelli guy” I replied.

“That’s his regular tactic. He tries to get you to lose your temper, so he can claim you’re  naturally violent. You handled him well” replied the CO.

“I promised myself I would not lose my temper in there. After all, they hold all the cards” I said.

By this stage we had reached my cell, and he removed all my restraints. I now had a nervous wait while the three of them mulled over my fate for the next year. I could not be sure how it had gone. I could not escape the fact that I had previously violated parole, and this was not lost on them. Scott dropped by the cell to see how I’d gone. I could only say that I was quite hopeful the result would be favourable.

After an hour and a half the CO returned and advised me the panel were ready. He reapplied the cuffs and leg irons, the lead me back to the room where the panel were waiting. He relocked the leg irons to the chair and removed the cuffs.

“Inmate Beck” Ms Jackson commenced. “We have considered your case based on the facts before us, and are unanimous in our findings. We do not believe that you are basically a violent person, nor inclined to tempestuous behavior to the extent that you would be a violent threat to society. However, we cannot ignore your history of drink driving, drug trafficking and drug possession, particularly when this was a breach of a previous parole order”.

“We were therefore at a difficult point deciding whether or not to grant bail. We also had to take into account your medical condition, which commenced as a result of the assault on you in State Prison. Our decision was facilitated by the employment offer from the Warden of this Jail, as it provides a unique means for you to be monitored”.

“We are therefore granting you bail for the remaining term of your sentence. However, this will be subject to the following strict conditions:

-          You will wear an electronic ankle bracelet at all times which will be monitored.

-          You will observe a 6pm to 6am curfew at your place of residence

-          You will not consume alcohol and submit to random breathalyzer tests by your parole officer

-          You will not attend any premises where alcohol is served

-          You may leave your place of residence only to travel to work, shop for essentials, seek medical attention, or visit your parole officer. Such travel will be by the shortest route possible. Any other travel needs to be approved in advance by your parole officer.

-          You are not to go near the Allen family, nor contact them in any way.

-          You are not to consume, or be in possession of, non medically prescribed drugs.

-          You will not leave the County, nor apply for a passport. It is noted that your previous passport has expired while you have been in jail

-          Your parole officer will contact you before your release. You are to observe all his instructions.

Do you understand all this?”

“Yes ma’am” I replied. With all those conditions I wondered whether parole would be worth it.

[adhd-disaster-willie]

you’re the one that brings the sun; chapter 5/6

chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

warnings: swearing

word count: 2,757

notes: okay so this update took a while because I’ve been busy with school and writers block has been kicking my ass, but I think it’s worth it :)))

---

It was established in August that at least once a month, Alex will receive a phone call informing him to be at Julie’s house in ten minutes for a mandatory slumber party. It’s endearing sure, but he would like some sort of warning other than Luke calling him and saying that if he doesn’t show up as soon as possible, he’ll paint his drumsticks neon green. So that’s how Alex ends up sitting cross legged on Julie’s bed, putting Reggie’s hair into a bunch of tiny braids and watching The Princess Diaries for what’s probably the hundredth time. 

“Lilly is definitely a lesbian,” Flynn says through a mouthful of popcorn. 

Alex hums in agreement and Julie nods. “If only this movie weren’t made in 2001,” Julie says mournfully.

“Y’know I always thought that Joe was gay,” Alex admits. “Up until he dances with the queen.”

Reggie attempts to look up at Alex, earning an offended squeak from the latter. “Really?”

“Yes, now will you please stay still, I only have one more left.”

“Ok but there is no way Mia’s mom is straight!” Flynn says.

Julie seems to mull it over for a bit. “She does live in an old fire station. And artists are never straight.”

“Yea, like Willie!” Luke pipes up, sitting up from his position hanging halfway off the bed. “Willie’s not straight.”

“We should start a betting pool on how long it takes for Luke to bring up Willie,” Alex mumbles, his cheeks flushing pink. He ties off Reggie’s final braid and pats his head approvingly. “You look like a real princess.”

“Do I?” Reggie grins up at him with a bit of a twinkle in his eye and Alex chuckles. 

“No subject changing,” Luke protests. “How’s Willie doing?”

“Still a pining idiot,” Flynn answers with a cheeky smile. 

“I’m trying to watch the movie.” Alex shoves at Luke’s face and slides down off the bed to sit on the floor beside Reggie. 

“You’ve seen this movie a million times,” Luke points out. He leans down so his head is hanging off the edge of the bed and smirks mischievously at Alex, who is pointedly refusing to look at him. “Aleeeex,” Luke whines. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

“Alice, please,” Flynn says. Alex shoots her a look seeping with betrayal and Flynn raises their hands defensively. “I haven’t seen Carrie in a few days!” They protest. “I need drama.”

“Drama?” Alex asks. “Or blackmail material?”

Flynn shrugs, which only serves to cement what Alex was thinking. “Yea, nope. It’s not like anything has even happened since-” He cuts himself off, realizing his mistake and preparing for the onslaught of questions. 

“Since!?” Luke cries. “Since what?!” He grabs Alex’s face roughly and looks at him with wide eyes. “Since what, Alex?”

“Nothing!” Alex squeaks, wrenching himself from Luke’s grasp. “Nothing! It was- let go of my fanny pack! Julie stop filming!!!” Alex swats at Luke’s hands and attempts to leap forward to grab Julie’s phone, but ultimately fails. 

“I’ll let go if you tell me,” Luke teases in a sing song voice, his grin only growing the more Alex fights. 

“Fine! If you just- sorry Reg the puppy-dog eyes only work on Luke and Bobby.” Reggie sighs in disappointment and Alex finally manages to get Luke off of him, huffing angrily and brushing nonexistent dust from his hoodie. “You’re a barbarian,” he mutters.

“Well?” 

Alex responds to Julie’s prompting with a long-suffering sigh. “You have to promise not to make fun of me,” he says. They don’t promise. The movie is long forgotten as Alex’s friends gather around him, looking all too fascinated by his latest embarrassment. “He well… don’t laugh, ok. He wore a crop top last week and I tripped on my own feet and scraped up my knees.”

Flynn raises an eyebrow. “Nuh uh, there’s more, spill.”

Alex groans, burying his face in his hands. “They got all worried and started putting bandaids on my knees and I almost fainted. Then- please don’t make me say this,” Alex pleads, looking to Julie as if she’s his last hope. She shakes her head. “When they finished lecturing me I just looked at him and said ‘nice shirt’ and ran off. Nice shirt??? What is wrong with me?”

“Wait a minute,” Julie says, gesturing for Alex to pause. “You just… ran off? Where?”

Alex doesn’t say anything. 

“I’ll paint your drumsticks if you don’t tell us,” Luke threatens. The difficulty is that Alex doesn’t doubt him one bit, and knows that Julie has a healthy supply of paint in a drawer just a few feet away from Luke. 

Alex mumbles something under his breath and Reggie pokes him. 

“Sorry what was that? Speak up.”

“Orange, I’ll paint them the ugliest shade of orange ever.”

“I went and hid in my closet!” Alex blurts. “For like an hour. I am never going to live that down.”

“That’s… incredibly ironic,” Julie laughs. 

“I’m telling that story at your wedding.”

“Reginald, don’t even think about it!” Alex kicks Reggie lightly and raises his hand to flip off the other three, who are all dying of laughter. “I hate all of you. I need new friends.”

“Good luck with that.” Flynn pats Alex’s head; he can practically hear their stupid smirk. 

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

---

Alex wakes up with his foot in Luke’s face, one arm thrown over Julie, his face in Reggie’s neck, and a very giggly Flynn perched on the end of the bed taking pictures. He sits up and murmurs sleepily, squinting in the oddly hazy room.

It’s gray and gloomy outside, quite fitting for mid-November, but far from Alex’s ideal weather. He’s always been partial to spring, when it’s not too hot and not too cold and not always cloudy and sad. 

Flynn hops off the bed and onto Julie’s chair, where she spins a couple times before turning her phone to show Alex. “This is gonna be my new lockscreen,” they giggle. Alex stares at the photo, baffled as to how his arm was bent like that. 

Breakfast is heaps of pancakes and fresh coffee (bless you, Ray) that for a moment, Alex considers just dumping over his head. Julie is curled around Luke for warmth throughout the whole morning and Flynn makes a point to gag at least once every 5 minutes. Alex knows she’s happy for them though, they finally got their act together a little over a week ago and at least this is better than the pining. Alex doesn’t say that though, because it will only get him a lecture on how he is not one to talk about pining. 

Alex almost thanks a god he doesn’t believe in anymore when the rain outside doesn’t seem to make any moves into thunderstorm territory. Willie hates thunderstorms. He stays cocooned in a blanket until noon, but eventually Tía Victoria shoos them all out, claiming that Julie will never finish her homework with them all glued to her. 

Alex is sopping wet when he finally arrives at his dorm, sadly no car can go right up to the entrance of the dorms. The first thing Alex notices when he walks in is the candles, and the second thing is the haphazardly thrown together fort in the middle of the room, which he narrowly avoids tripping over. “Willie?” He asks, lifting what he assumes to be the entrance and raising an eyebrow at Willie, who is grinning at him and shining a flashlight in his face.

“Ok, get that out of my eyes.” Alex clamps a hand over the light and Willie sticks his tongue out. “Did the power go out?” Alex asks, worry etching over his face. He can’t have all their food being ruined, with Alex living off his coffee shop job and Willie off of the occasional commission and odd check from his eccentric uncle. 

Willie shakes their head. “Nope.”

“So why the… candles?”

“It’s fun!” Willie pulls Alex into the fort, stumbling back and just barely evading them toppling over each other into a quite compromising position. Willie presses his back against the couch and pats the space next to him. “It’s like you’re a little kid again.”

“Luke used to love making forts,” Alex admits. “We would move all the furniture in his living room and make the absolute worst blanket forts you can imagine. Like seriously, it’s no wonder none of us went into architecture.”

“Really? I can totally see you as an architect”

“That’s…”

“I’m joking, hotdog,” Willie giggles, bumping their shoulder together. He has a tendency to raise his eyebrows when he’s amused; Alex finds it all too endearing. Accompanied with the way their eyes crinkle when the laugh and the soft candlelight leaking through the thin blankets and draping over his features, Alex thinks he’s having trouble breathing. 

��I was drawing you, y’know,” Willie says softly after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“The day we went stargazing, I was drawing you. You’re- you’re a good muse.”

“Oh.” Alex’s stomach flutters. “I uh… thank you.” He gives Willie a hesitant smile before turning to focus on the flickering light. His breath feels weighted, like every exhale means something, but he can’t quite pinpoint what. There’s a light breeze whistling through the crack in the door and Alex closes his eyes for a moment, pretending that it’s wrapping around him and holding him close. Alex didn’t get much affection as a child; his parents had always been very stiff. Sure, they loved him, but they weren’t that good at showing it aside from a rough shoulder squeeze and tight smiles so full of expectations. When he came out, even the snippets of affection faded; no more of his mother fixing his hair or giving him a quick kiss on the forehead when he was sick. Two months after his coming out, they just… kicked him out. He came home to find his belongings shoved carelessly into a trash bag or two and that was that. Luke more than made up for the lack of physical affection, but Alex knows that there will always be something missing. 

Wide awake, Alex lets his head fall onto Willie’s shoulder. This time with care and attention, hesitancy. He hears Willie suck in a sharp breath but then the tension melts from their shoulders and fizzles into nothingness. For a moment, there is nothing but them and the pattering of rain against the windows. 

“Lets go for a drive.”

Alex looks up expecting Willie’s usual carefree and impish grin, but he’s taken aback by his wistful expression and something bursts in Alex’s chest. Something that may be instinct and may be just an overwhelming surge of emotion.

“Okay.” His voice is barely a whisper, a single wisp of smoke snaking from a blown out candle.

The air is damp and the rain is coming down hard; Alex reaches a cautious hand out beyond the awning and winces at the downpour. But Willie is wiggling his stupid eyebrows in the way that makes Alex’s face heat and he can’t say no as Willie drags him through the wet grass, shrieking with laughter and going slower than necessary to relish in the water pouring down from the sky in torrents. They’re soaked to the bone and breathless, overflowing with mirth, by the time they reach Alex’s car and clamber into the seats. Right after a brief argument about who’s driving of course. (“You will not be touching my steering wheel with your grimy paint hands, William.” “Says you.”) So Alex is driving. 

Willie has their hands pressed to the window, breath fogging up the glass and sending them into a fit of giggles every time. Alex switches on the radio and there’s a song playing that he recognizes but couldn’t sing along to; something soft and low, like lilting waves. Willie knows it though. And they’re singing. Oh. They’re singing. Alex almost has to pull the car to a stop and put his head in his hands because Willie never told him he could sing.

Willie’s voice is low and slightly raspy, but not in a bad way. Alex knows he’s heard this song before, but he’s 100% certain that this is his first time really hearing it. And it’s beautiful. Or maybe it’s just Willie. It’s probably just Willie. 

Alex brings the car to a slow stop in the parking lot of an odd gas station that always seems to be closed. He doesn’t turn it off though, because he would rather die than have Willie stop singing. He leans his head back and breathes, certain he’s inhaling Willie’s voice. Willie’s voice which is like sparks on his skin, like smoke that crowds his lungs and opens his soul for the very first time. He feels a sense of mourning when the song stops and something else comes on, something peppier and sickeningly sweet. He switches the radio off. 

“I didn’t know you could sing.” Alex isn’t even looking at them; he’s fiddling nervously with the strap of his fanny pack.

Willie smirks proudly. “You learn something new every day.”

“Yea.”

Willie traces a heart in the fog on the window and lets it sit there. Then he unbuckles his seat belt and pokes Alex’s shoulder. “Hey ‘Lex, come on.”

“No.” Alex shakes his head vigorously. “No. We’re already soaking wet and-”

“Hot dog.”

And damn it, the nickname may be so incredibly stupid but Alex has such a weird soft spot for it. He groans dramatically, making a point to wring out his hair, which is already mostly dry at this point. “You’re the worst. What if it starts thundering?” 

Willie shrugs. “I have my noise cancelling headphones. And you can-” they cut themself off. 

“I can what?”

“Nothing,” Willie squeaks. “Please. Please.”

So Alex climbs reluctantly from the car and stands in the parking lot looking far from amused. “You owe me.”

Willie laughs loudly, grabbing both of Alex’s hands and spinning him in an aimless circle, pulling them both into a dance  to music that’s only in his head. They twirl Alex around several times, and Alex is certain that he’s going to actually fall over and faint. Willie raises his face to the sky and squints, letting the rain soak him without care. Alex is in awe and how open and free Willie is, like nothing can ever go wrong and if it does they’ll always be flying. He doesn’t realized they’ve stopped dancing until Willie turns to him with a curious expression. Their eyes rake over his face and Alex realizes he’s staring. But for once, he doesn’t look away. And for the first time, he sees the corner of Willie’s mouth quirk up and their eyes flick to his lips and even linger there for a brief second. 

The rain doesn’t seem to have plans to stop anytime soon, and they’re both shivering and wet and Willie’s hair is dangling in front of his face. Alex reaches out and tucks it behind his ear, both of them holding a breath, waiting. It’s right there, right in front of him, and Alex is inches from just grasping it and clutching it to his chest. Willie takes a step forward so their faces are just inches from each other and Alex can feel their breath against his cheeks. He exhales shakily and raises one hand to cup Willie’s cheek, his touch feather light and afraid. Willie leans into the contact and grins upwards, their nose wrinkling fondly. He gives a silent nod and for the first time in years, Alex takes the plunge. 

Their first kiss is soft and slow and Willie tastes like rain and green tea. Alex smiles against their lips, a breathy laugh escaping his own. He’d think this is a dream, but no section of his imagination could conjure something even a fragment as magical as this. They’re in the middle of a parking lot, cold and wet, and yet Alex feels the warmest he ever has. Alex is hesitant to pull away, but he does, just barely. Their foreheads stay resting against each other, like breaking apart would break them. Then it comes crashing into him. Alex just kissed Willie. He just kissed Willie. And Willie kissed him back! Holy shit!

“Wowza.” Wowza? What the fuck Alex? 

Willie breaks into joyous laughter, throwing his head back and clutching Alex’s shoulders. And Alex laughs with him; he buries his face in the crook of Willie’s neck, his heart full to bursting. Wowza indeed.

---

notes: ...I did say I was thinking about a Willex rain kiss. I actually wrote like half of chapter 6 a while ago so I might be able to post it tomorrow. 

chapter 6

taglist:  @thatsanewflavor @spookiest-sapphic @dovesgrangers @julie-n-phantoms @frostknyte @thegaylink @nervousmiracletrash @crummycassidy @fairygclds @reallyintrospectivepeople @madsmax-37 @swamp-acad @kat-maybe-not @sunsetcurve123 @lookingthroughmirrors @queer-fandom-enby @over-under-through1 @willex-n-waffles @caliibee @stars-soph @herequeerandcantdrinkbeer @nickalicious @andwhenwepart @maizsnex @fanofthepod @heademptynothoughts @thunderstorm-symphony @julieandthephantomsandme @i-spit-on-fire

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 19, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

This morning, on the Fox News Channel’s Fox & Friends, personality Steve Doocy told viewers to get the coronavirus vaccine because it would “save your life” and noted that 99% of the people now dying from Covid-19 are unvaccinated. Brian Kilmeade answered that not getting the vaccine is a personal choice and that the government has no role in protecting the population. “That’s not their job. It’s not their job to protect anybody,” he said.

It is, of course, literally the job of the government to protect us. The preamble to the Constitution reads: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

But Kilmeade’s extraordinary comment cuts to the heart of the long history from the New Deal to the present.

In the 1930s, to combat the Great Depression, Democrats under President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had offered a “new deal for the American people.” That New Deal meant that the government would no longer work simply to promote business, but would regulate business, provide a basic social safety net, and promote infrastructure. World War II accelerated the construction of that active government, and by the time it was over, Americans quite liked the new system.

After the war, Republican Dwight Eisenhower rejected the position of 1920s Republicans and embraced the active government. He explained that in the modern world, the government must protect people from disasters created by forces outside their control, and it must provide social services that would protect people from unemployment, old age, illness, accidents, unsafe food and drugs, homelessness, and disease.

He called his version of the New Deal “a middle way between untrammeled freedom of the individual and the demands of the welfare of the whole Nation.” One of his supporters explained that, “If a job has to be done to meet the needs of the people, and no one else can do it, then it is the proper function of the federal government.”

In this, Eisenhower and his team were echoing Abraham Lincoln, who thought about government at a time when elite southern enslavers insisted that government had no role to play in the country except in protecting property.

As a young man, Lincoln had watched his town of New Salem, Illinois, die because the settlers—hard workers, eager to make the town succeed—could not dredge the Sangamon River to promote trade by themselves. Lincoln later mused, “The legitimate object of government is ‘to do for the people what needs to be done, but which they can not, by individual effort, do at all, or do so well, for themselves.’…Making and maintaining roads, bridges, and the like; providing for the helpless young and afflicted; common schools; and disposing of deceased men's property, are instances.”

So Eisenhower and his fellow Republicans were in line with traditional Republican values when they declared their support for an active government. But those who objected to what became known as the post–World War II liberal consensus rejected the idea that the government had any role to play in the economy or in social welfare.

In 1954, William F. Buckley, Jr., and his brother-in-law L. Brent Bozell, Jr., made no distinction between the liberal consensus and international communism when they defended Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy for his attacks on “communists” in the U.S. government. They insisted that the country was made up of “Liberals,” who were guiding the nation toward socialism, and “Conservatives,” like themselves, who were standing alone against the Democrats and Republicans who made up a majority of the country and liked the new business regulations, safety net, and infrastructure.

That reactionary mindset came to dominate the Republican Party after 1980, and now, forty years later, a television personality is taking the stand that the government has no role in protecting Americans against a worldwide pandemic that has killed more than 600,000 of us.

And yet, the idea that the government has a role to play in the economy remains popular, and this is creating a problem for Republicans. As soon as they took office, President Joe Biden and congressional Democrats passed the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan without any Republican votes. About 60% of Americans liked the plan, and it is likely to be more popular still now that checks from the Child Tax Credit extended in it began hitting parents’ bank accounts on July 15. Even before that, at least 26 Republicans were touting the benefits of the measure to their constituents while neglecting to mention they voted against it.

Now, Congress is negotiating a two-part infrastructure plan. Biden and the Democrats have worked hard for three months to get at least 10 Republican senators to agree to a $579 billion measure that would provide hard infrastructure like roads, bridges, and broadband. Negotiators are still hammering out that agreement and Democrats are making concessions; yesterday, Ohio Senator Rob Portman, a Republican, told CNN that a provision to pay for the package in part by enforcing tax laws against those ignoring them bothered Republicans enough that negotiators cut it.

And yet tonight, leading Republicans said they would not vote to advance the bill on Wednesday, citing the fact it is not fully written. Since both parties regularly move their measures forward under such circumstances, many Democrats simply see this as a delaying tactic to try to kill the measure before Congress starts a month-long break on August 6. Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) has said for weeks that he would bring the bill up in mid-July.

If the bipartisan bill fails, the Democrats can simply fold the provisions in it into their larger infrastructure bill that they intend to pass through budget reconciliation, which cannot be blocked by a filibuster. This larger, $3.5 trillion measure includes funding for human infrastructure, such as childcare, and for addressing climate change. It also will move corporate taxation from the 21% established by the 2017 tax cut up to about 28%. (It was 35% before the 2017 tax cut.)

The Democrats need to get these measures through because they are facing serious financial deadlines. The Bipartisan Budget Act of 2019 suspended the debt ceiling—the amount the country can borrow—only until July 31 of this year. And the budget needs to be hammered out by September 30. If it isn’t, government funding can be extended by a continuing resolution, but in the past, Republicans have sometimes chosen to shut down the government instead.

All of this will take place while the House select committee to investigate the January 6 insurrection will be holding hearings. Today, House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) made it clear he intends to disrupt those hearings: three of the five people he named to the committee—Jim Banks (R-IN), Jim Jordan (R-OH), and Troy Nehls (R-TX)—voted to challenge the election results in Pennsylvania and Arizona, thus helping to legitimize the Big Lie that led to the insurrection.

McCarthy made Banks the ranking member, suggesting that he expects House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) to reject Jordan, but there is already outcry at the idea of any of these three investigating events in which they participated. Already, Banks has indicated that he is not really interested in studying the events of January 6, saying tonight that Speaker Pelosi “created this committee solely to malign conservatives and to justify the Left’s authoritarian agenda.”

McCarthy’s other two appointments are Kelly Armstrong (R-ND), and Rodney Davis (R-IL).

In today’s struggle over the nature of government, the Democrats are at a disadvantage. They want to use the government to establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty, just as Lincoln and FDR and Eisenhower advocated. To drive their individualist vision, though, all the Republicans have to do is stop the Democrats.

—-

Notes:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/brian-kilmeade-says-its-not-governments-job-to-protect-anybody-from-covid

https://www.mediamatters.org/coronavirus-covid-19/defending-people-who-dont-want-get-vaccinated-brian-kilmeade-argues-its-not

https://news.yahoo.com/senator-bipartisan-infrastructure-bill-loses-171317546.html

https://capaction.medium.com/25-and-counting-republicans-who-voted-no-but-took-the-dough-68fbf11df957

https://www.crfb.org/blogs/upcoming-congressional-fiscal-policy-deadlines

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/07/19/gop-infrastructure-deal-500166

​​https://www.opensecrets.org/news/2021/07/senate-democrats-unveil-reconciliation-progressive-aim-at-moderates/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/jim-jordan-four-other-republicans-chosen-by-house-minority-leader-kevin-mccarthy-to-serve-on-panel-investigating-jan-6-riots/2021/07/19/85c6b534-e8df-11eb-8950-d73b3e93ff7f_story.html

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[emmettspeakz]

Promppt: Reki and Langa wear skirts and dresses and skateboard cuz they're cute

Hi so I loved the idea of them messing around while wearing skirts and skateboarding so I just did skirts. I hope that’s okay. I had to think of a reason they’d wear the skirts, so this took me a bit. It was definitely cherry’s idea for them to wear them.

I haven’t written a fanfic in a while and this was my first attempt at writing for Langa and Reki, so it might be a bit off/ooc, so I’m sorry about that but I did my best. And of course it had to be gay cuz I mean c’mon. Hope you enjoy <3

“So what are we doing again?” Reki asked as Cherry passed him an article of clothing.

“It’s a form of therapy really,” Cherry said, ignoring the look that Reki gave the skirt, eyeing the piece of clothing in the pink-haired man’s hand like it were a bag of dog poop.

“What, you don’t put on a skirt to feel good about yourself?” Cherry inquired, tossing his hair back.

Reki flashed him an indignant look.

“No, in fact, no I don’t.”

Langa wrapped an arm around Reki’s neck.

“Oh c’mon, it’s a festival thing.” He said, giving Reki a smile.

Reki lowered his head to hide his blush. Since when did Langa look so cute when he smiled? Uncool.

“I’ll even put mine on first,” langa continued, popping into a dressing room.

“It too girly for you or something?” Joe teased Reki, who crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

“No, I mean—“

Cherry gave Reki a stern look.

“Real men wear skirts, kid.” He said, without missing a beat. “Are you gonna support me here or not?”

Reki frowned but snatched the skirt from Cherry’s hand all the same.

“Fine,” He told Cherry. “For my friends.”

The skirt in his hands was long and flowy and almost outrageously bright yellow that matched the sweatshirt Reki was wearing in a way that complimented it, despite the intense brightness of the outfit ensemble.

Langa emerged from the dressing room first, his skirt a soft lavender color that complimented his hair color in such an adoring way that Cherry practically had heart eyes looking at him, as Reki stepped out to admire his friend’s outfit.

“That skirt really makes your eyes pop,” Cherry gushed, leaning over to feel the fabric. “I can’t believe I made it.”

“Looks good, doesn’t it Reki?” Langa asked, his hands on his hips. There Langa went, always asking for his approval. As if he needed to ask. Langa looked good in anything, but of course Reki wasn’t going to point that out to Cherry, especially since Cherry made such an effort to make the outfits for them. Though Reki couldn’t help but blush at Langa, his eyes staring at the flowy skirt.

“Y-yeah,” He stammered. “You look great.”

He turned to Cherry, hoping no one would acknowledge his red face.

“How are we going to skate in a skirt?” He asked. “Any sort of breeze is gonna—“

“Skirts make movements easier,” Cherry explained, placing his feet one by one on Carla. “You have more mobility than you would wearing jeans.” Cherry pointed out, smiling at Reki as he frowned back at him.

“Nice hula skirt Joe!” Langa remarked. “Matches your hair!”

“Matches the jungle you came from, gorilla,” Cherry muttered under his breath.

“I can hear you four eyes!” Joe retorted, getting in Cherry’s face. Cherry glared at Joe as he turned to the two younger boys.

“Let’s go try test them out.” He said, sliding his skateboard out of the back room of clothing store. Joe followed suit, both feet already on his own board.

“Wait for us!” Langa said, grabbing his own skateboard in one hand and dragging Reki along by his arm with the other.

“I don’t care how we do it, I just wanna skate!” Reki agreed, following after Cherry, Joe, and Langa.

The four of them rode along the neighborhood, along bridges and railways, the wind wizzing passed their skirts at angles that showed off Cherry’s lanky legs. Joe would hide his shameful blush with a cool, complicated trick or two, but it was obvious to anyone who paid any attention to him at all that he was smitten. Reki, still somewhat injured from his beef with Adam, was content with watching the other three do more complicated tricks, especially being a bit self-conscious with his body under the skirt. Langa did an impressive leap that rivaled the one at his first beef with Miya, and all Reki could do was gape at him, his skirt billowing out behind him like a sundress. He looked radiant. The other two kept showing off, Cherry playing with his skirt while he did a loop-de-loop with ease, and Joe sped up, his arms out behind him as he went full speed, his skirt flying behind him like a green cape.

The festival started around mid-afternoon and continued well into late evening, the crisp, cool air flowing up their skirts eventually freezing them enough to drive them back to a place where they could change back into pants.

“You warm enough Langa?” Reki asked him, trying to offer the blue-haired boy his sweatshirt as they stood outside of Joe’s restaurant, breathing in the cold, damp night air.

“I’m from Canada remember?” Langa laughed, draping the sweatshirt over reki’s shoulders politely. “I’m used to the cold.” Reki’s face flushed as he put his sweatshirt back on, glad his face was hidden for once. A silly mistake. Of course he knew Langa was from Canada and was used to the cold, but sometimes it felt like Langa had always been here in Japan, had always hung out with him, so sometimes it felt like the snowboarder Langa had been, existed in another life.

“Right...” Reki said, hand on the back of his neck. Langa smiled and held his hand out towards Reki.

“Want me to walk you home?” Langa asked. Reki felt his heart beat fast inside his chest. He smiled at Langa and intertwined his fingers with his. A bold move on his part with two grown men watching them, but neither of them let go.

“Aww, how cute!” Joe teased them before Cherry smacked him over the head with a rolled up magazine.

“They were having a moment, dummy!” Cherry said. Then he turned to the younger boys and said, “Thanks for coming out you two—I mean, shit! You know what I meant! You two have a good rest of your night.”

Dragging Joe along with him as he sheepishly intertwined his pinky finger with Joe’s, The two older men rode off towards their homes.

“We will! It was fun!” Langa said, waving after them with his free hand.

“So, shall we?” Langa inquired. Reki squeezed his hand tentatively then more confidently as he looked down at their connected hands.

“Yes,” He replied, looking up at Langa and smiling. “Take me home.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Could you do an Indruck (or OT4 because you got me into the whole pairing :) ) NSFW ghost prompt? Go nuts, I just love your writing and I trust your creative vision.

Here you go! I went with the OT4. And I’m so glad you like that pairing!

The kitchen box is half-unpacked when there’s a knock on the door. Duck figures it’s the take-out he ordered, so he’s surprised to see a tall guy in nice jeans and short-sleeved dress shirt decorated with Jackalopes. Unless the Thai place uses male supermodels as delivery boys, this isn’t his Pad Thai. 

“Uh, hey, what can I do for you?”

“I’m your downstairs neighbor, so I wanted to come up and introduce myself. I hope I’m not interrupting dinner.”

“Nope, still waitin on it. Nice to meet you, name’s Duck.” He holds out his hand and Mr. Gorgeous shakes it. 

“Joseph. Oh, um, here” he produces a small greeting card with a sea monster on it, “welcome to the neighborhood.” His pocket rings, and so he excuses himself, hurrying down the stairs with his phone to his ear. The card contains a gift certificate to the coffee shop on the corner. 

They don’t cross paths again right away. It’s more that Duck will move Joe’s packages into the main hall rather than leave them on a rainy porch, and Joe delivers Pinecone the cat back to him after she slips out the door and down the stairs while Duck wrestles his keys. 

As it warms up, they use the pool around the same time each day (which is how Duck learns Joe’s had top surgery, same as him), and start talking more in the lobby when they see each other. He learns Joseph works for the FBI in the UP, the agreement being he can make X-files jokes as long as Joe gets to make Smokey the Bear references in return. The way Joseph laughs, water streaming down his honest-to-god defined abs as he pulls himself onto the edge of the pool, makes Duck glad he’s never seen a boyfriend coming or going from the other mans apartment. 

Tonight, he’s done helping Joe get all his groceries up the stairs in one go, and decides to go for it. 

“Hey, uh, Joe? You doin’ anythin tomorrow night?”

“No.” He studies Duck’s body language and gives an encouraging smile. 

“In that case; wanna get dinner?”

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

“I think this building is haunted.”

Duck, head still resting on Joe’s chest after jacking him off as thanks for an excellent blowjob, laughs, “That’s some interestin pillow talk you got there.”

“Are you that surprised?”

“No, you fuckin nerd.” He nips his collarbone, shifting so they’re each on their sides, facing one another, “for real though, why do you think we got ghosts runnin’ around?”

“At first I thought I was imagining it, or that I felt like I was being watched because the cases studies I was reading put the suggestion in my head. Then things started moving around the apartment, and now and then I swear I hear people whispering. I tracked the sound one day and it was coming from the wall that looks out onto the street. No one was down there, and if it were the result of an echo or strange acoustics, I’d notice it more.”

“Huh.” Duck pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Still, I’m not ready to say for certain that it’s haunted. That kind of thing requires concrete evidence that I just don’t have. Sorry, shouldn’t talk shop when I have a, um, guest.” He wiggles back into Duck’s space, kissing him gently, and Duck forgets what they were talking about.

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

He knows Ouija Boards are a dodgy investigation tool at the best of times, but today he came home to find all his laundry folded when he had, much to his chagrin, had to leave it in the bag in a rush to get to work. 

No one has a key to his place. Which means whoever did that had another way in. 

He clears his throat, “If there is a ghost or other supernatural entity in the apartment with me, I wanted to say thank you for putting my clothes away.”

Nothing but his own creeping humiliation, then a slight chill across his face. The planchette moves

U.R. W.E.L.C.O.M.E

“HAH!” He whoops, “I was right! My apartment is haunted. Okay, um, spirit, do you have a name?”

B.A.R.C.L.A.Y

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Barclay. You’ve been spending a lot of time around me.”

Y.E.A.H S.O.R.R.Y

“You don’t need to apologize, I don’t mind it. You’re not malevolent, and if this was your apartment when you died, I can’t very well get mad at you for hanging around. Are you able to become visible?”

YES

“Is there, um, a reason you’ve never materialized around me?”

D.I.D.N.T W.A.N.T T.O S.C.A.R.E Y.O.U

“You won’t, I’m a professional. And I’m curious about the person I’m sharing my home with.”

The planchette trembles, unsure of it’s direction at first. 

S.H.Y

That explanation never occurred to him. 

“That’s alright. If you ever change your mind, know you don’t have to hide on my behalf.”

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

“Barclay, even I can tell that was an invitation to interact with him. What more are you waiting for?” Indrid cocks his head. 

“Maybe he’s just trying to appease me because he’s scared of ghosts?”

“Those ‘paranormal romances’ on his shelf suggest otherwise.” Indrid touches Barclay’s cheek. They’re in the wall, their shared nature meaning they can see, hear, and touch each other without trying, “dearest, you’re clearly fond of him, and he’s eager to meet you.”

Barclay’s beard scratches his palm, “Yeah, I know. I’m just...I like to take things slow and, uh, I guess this is no exception.”

Indrid chuckles, dryly adds “Yes, I recall how long after propositioning you it took for you to practically bang down my door.”

“Okay, hot little art punk who literally asked me if I wanted to see what his tongue piercing felt like on my dick is the exception.” He kisses Indrid’s cheek before drifting away. 

Indrid floats up into his former apartment, now occupied by Duck Newton. He spends most of his days on the couch while Duck is off at work, watching T.V or reading or, increasingly, playing with Pinecone, the only being he’s materialized for in some time. He’s been content to never alert Duck to his existence, but yesterday he overheard him remaining skeptical at the idea of the building being haunted, much to Joseph’s disgruntlement. Indrid’s as well; Barclay isn’t the only one who finds Joseph attractive and charming. 

So he thinks Duck deserves some low-stakes haunting of his own. 

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

Duck’s having a hell of a week. The hinges on his cabinets must be going, because they keep falling open, his router keeps getting unplugged (probably by Pinecone), and no matter how he insulates, there’s a chill in the living room. 

Worst off all, when he pulled the fridge away from the wall to see if it was to blame for the cold spot, it revealed a hole into the wall that is just big enough for Pinecone to get into. Which she did, last night, and will not come out no matter what he tries. 

When he walks into the living room after work, his brain stalls out. The good news is, Pinecone is no longer in the wall. 

The bad news is she’s floating at a fixed point four feet about the floor. 

His cat notices him, mrrps, and lands on the floor. All Joe’s talk of ghosts suddenly feels very real and points at one conclusion.

“Holy shit” he picks up the black and brown ball of fluff, “my cat’s fuckin’ possessed.”

“Not quite” the voice in his ear is quiet, lilting.

“JESUSFUCK.” He spins to face an invisible interloper, Pinecone firmly in his arms. 

A smile, and only a smile, appears a fear inches above his eyeline, “Do you still doubt the building is haunted?”

“Wh--motherfucker, you’re Joe’s ghost and you decided to talk to me? To what, make a point?”

“Yes and no. Yes in that I wanted you to stop doubting my existence. No in that Barclay is the former resident of Josephs’ dwelling. I am a former resident of this one.”

The implications of there being a ghost dedicated to his apartment hit him like a train, “Have you just been hangin around me since I moved in, watchin my every move?”

The smile wavers, “Nono, nothing so alarming. I usually come here when you’re at work, or spend time with Barclay in the spaces between walls and worlds. That’s, ah, not to say I haven’t been in the armchair while you were watching T.V on the couch, but in my defense you have very interesting taste in documentaries.” The ghost notices Duck’s alarm, and the smile fades from view, “I apologize. It was rude of me to be in your space without permission. Space is a much more malleable thing when you’re a ghost, but that is no excuse.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s fuckin creepy.”

Pinecone jumps from his grasp, winds herself in a circle around what must be ghostly legs. 

“But uh, my cat likes you. And she can be skittish. I, uh, worry about her gettin lonely on days when I work late. So you can hang around when I’m out. But other’n that we gotta play by vampire rules; you don’t come into my space unless invited. Deal?”

The smile flickers back into view, “Deal.”

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

Joseph, all too aware of his own perfectionist nature, tries to avoid jealousy. It only ever serves to poison him against others and his own fragile inner being. 

But lord almighty is he jealous that Duck got a verbal, physical visit from his specter, Indrid, while Barclay doesn’t so much as whisper in Joseph’s vicinity.  It had been hard to be envious in the moment, because he was too excited by the news, to the point that he climbed into Ducks lap and started kissing him because all his adrenaline needed an outlet. 

Then Duck had frozen, asking if he thought the ghosts would watch them hook-up. Joseph pointed out that Indrid had promised to only visit when invited and Barclay was polite, so odds were good they were truly alone. He kept the fact that Duck’s suggestion made him instantly hard to himself.

(Duck picked up on it anyway, if the jokes about Ghost and the supremely satisfying make-out session were anything to go by).

He’s making fried rice for dinner, is mid-way through chopping green onions when his phone buzzes. A glance over his shoulder reveals it’s not a work call or an emergency. Suddenly, something cold and strong grips his right hand and there is, without a doubt, a human frame pressed to his back. He can’t move his hand, follows the line of his knife and sees the next chop would have caught his finger.  

“Barclay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I, uh, just didn’t want you cutting a finger off.” The hold on him disappears as that baritone drips down his spine. 

Joseph turns just as Barclay comes into view; he’s taller than Joseph, a rare thing given he’s six-foot, with shaggy brown hair and a short, coppery beard. Full lips and brown eyes round out the face that is straight from Joseph’s fantasies.

“Wow. Um, I mean, thank you for saving me a trip to the emergency room.”

“No problem.”

Drawing on years of training, he tries to keep the other man talking, “Were you just passing through?”

“Kinda. This is gonna sound weird but, uh, I loved cooking when I was alive. Sometimes I like to be close by when you’re cooking so I can get some of the sensations again.”

Joseph steps to the side, gesturing to the cutting board, “Do you...want to help me make dinner? If you can interact with my body, you should be able to prepare veggies no problem.”

Barclay hesitantly steps to the counter, shakes his head when Joseph offers the knife, “I have to dematerialize first. Being visible and being solid take so much energy that I can only do one or the other.”

“Fascinating. Just, um, I hope I get to see your face again.”

Barclay disappears, and a half-second later an invisible hand squeezes his arm, “Think I can manage that.”

Barclay joins him for dinner regularly after that. Duck recovers fairly quickly to Joseph’s spectral assistant, especially when Barclay makes him french onion soup. Joseph suspects Duck is also getting used to ghosts in general, since more than once he’s knocked on the door and walked in to find the ranger conversing with Indrid (though Indrid insists on remaining dematerialized). 

Tonight it’s just him and Barclay, and Joseph is busy sticking his foot in his mouth.

“I’m sorry, that’s a rude question-”

Barclay chuckles, “Not really, it’s kinda the first thing everyone wants to know about ghosts, right? Why we’re here? Short answer is, uh” he sighs, “I had a heart condition but not the time or money to get it checked out. Fucking thing failed me one Sunday morning at that was it. Poor Indrid found me. We had a casual thing going and he had a key to my place. Came to check on me when he heard me hit the ground.”

“Oh Barclay, that sounds awful for you both.”

“Yeah, death isn’t my fave.” Barclay lays down, disappearing so his head can rest properly in Joseph’s lap. The agent feels around until he finds soft hair, petting it as Barclay continues his story.

“At first I thought my unfinished business might have to do with Indrid. But when he died pretty soon after, I kinda figured it was more that when I died, the direction I went was the ‘become a ghost’ one and not, like, the ‘rest in peace’ one.”

“Do you wish you could move on? Because I have access to a lot of classified occult information.”

The head under his hand turns, the direction of the motion suggesting Barclay is looking up at him, “Gotta be honest, lately being a ghost has gotten way more interesting.”

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

It takes two drawers before Duck finds where he put the AAA batteries. The package is already open, and when he gets to the living room his Carbon Monoxide detector is floating, back removed as fresh batteries click into place.

“Damn, ‘Drid, the thing just started beepin about it’s low battery.”

“Such things cannot be delayed. Trust me.”

“....Oh fuck, is that what got you?”

The detector slips back onto it’s wall mount, “Yes. I, I was always so careful, trying to prepare for every possible disaster. When Barclay died I, ah, I found it harder to do daily tasks. One of those was replacing the batteries in this” a plastic tap, “the low-power beep kept bothering me, so I detached it, planning to fix it in the morning. Then the next morning, and the next, and so on. Well, I put it off one too many times. A mundane, pointless death if there ever was one.”

Duck sets the battery package on the table, opening his arms. Cold fingers cling to the back of his shirt as Indrid hugs him. Duck does his best to soothe the ghost, rocking them subtly in a way that works wonders on his living friends. 

“Thank you” spectral eyelashes flutter against his neck as Indrid burrows against him. They say nothing else, staying in the embrace until Pinecone pads over and demands dinner.

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

Duck just means to drop off the books he borrowed from Joe, finds the door unlocked and figures the other man is home, probably cooking or yelling at a bigfoot hunting show.  When he doesn’t see him in the living room, he pokes his head down the hall. 

It takes a moment for his brain to process what he’s seeing. By the time it does, he’s already backing out the door. 

Okay, he just walked in on his sorta-boyfriend getting railed by a ghost, face buried against the bed, moaning while a cock he couldn’t see spread his ass open over and over again. That’s fine, that’s completely fine and not hot at all, he’s just taking his pants off in his living room for unrelated reasons. 

“Ah, Duck?” 

“Fuck!” He looks around, trying to work out where Indrid is and how much he can see.

The couch cushions shift, “I apologize, I thought you were out running errands.”

“S’okay” He pulls his hand out of his boxers, “I, uh, I was just, uh, tryin to, uh…”

The ghost waits patiently for him to come to the truth.

Duck sighs, slumps down on what he’s pretty sure is a free spot, “Walked in on Joe and Barclay.”

“I see. Does it bother you?”

“No. I, uh, kinda got the sense they were into each other, and we ain’t exclusive.”

The smile appears next to him, invisible fingers tracing up his arm “Does it do something else to you?” 

“Indrid, please I already got the weirdest fuckin boner right now.”

“And I am offering to help. I know I often joke about sharing Barclay’s taste in men but…” a light, chilly kiss on his cheek, “I share Joseph’s as well. I would very much like the chance to show you what I mean.” The fingers and lips teasing his skin cease their touches; space to refuse that Duck appreciates. 

“You know what? Fuck it” Duck works his pants the rest of the way off, throws his boxers after them, “get on your knees, sugar, and show me what you mean.”

“Ooh, I get a pet name!” Indrid claps, excited, rests his hands on Duck’s knees after he spreads them. Duck tracks his position by his smile, is unprepared for how strange it feels when it dives between his thighs. He’s used to Joe, all hot breath and enthusiastic precision. This is like the time an ex tried using an ice cube but way, way better, the chill heightening the sensations rather than numbing them. 

It’s also teasing, and he grunts, tipping his hips up, “‘Drid, please.”

“Patience, sweetheart, I haven’t done anything like this in years, I intend to take my time.”  A playful tongue drags up his dick. 

“Sugar, I’ll let you do this every day for a week, figure out how to give a ghost a fuckin hand job, anythin, but if I don’t cum soon I’m gonna combust. So get that cute little mouth where it belongs and suck my dick.”

The smile sharpens, “Make me.”

He threads his fingers into Indrid’s hair, shoving him forward. The ghost moans, tongue working across his folds in rapid swipes. Curious, he tugs on the soft strands and a messy purr vibrates up his dick.

“Someone like it rough?”

He feels the responding nod. Tightens his grip, “Then fuckin suck it like I told you too, sugar.”

Cold lips envelope his dick, Indrid moaning as he sucks. One hand rubs what his mouth can’t attend to, but the other leaves Duck’s knee right before Indrid’s whimpers grow shorter.

“That’s it, get off while I fuck your face, fuck, Joe’s really onto somethin with this paranormal shit, you’re so good sugar, fuckme that’s good. C’mon” he jerks his hips, orgasm building mercifully fast, “make me cum, like that, right fuckin there ohfuck.” He cums, feet scuffing on the rug. Indrid’s moan turns to a gasp as he pulls away, cum making a damp spot on the ground. 

Duck pets his hair, “Sure showed me.”

Indrid snickers, turns to press his face to kiss his palm.

“‘Drid? You, uh, you don’t have to, but could I see you? All of you?”

His hands cradle air as a man forms before him; lanky and bony, hair dyed silver with black roots showing, pierced ears and lip, tattoos coating the arms that stick out from a white tank-top. He bites his lip, awaiting judgement as Duck sinks off the couch to sit with him. 

“Not gonna lie, sugar, mighty peeved you kept usin my pens and didn’t even let me see this face everyday as payment.”

Indrid blinks, then laughs, loud and relieved, “I’m glad you approve; I am not everyone’s type.”

“Sure as hell are mine.” Duck puts his hand through his knee, frowns, “wish I could hold you and see you at the same time. Be that as it may, know you’re always runnin cold. You, uh, wanna join me for a little afternoon nap?”

“Of course” he fades away, and takes Ducks’ hand.

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

Duck’s never seen Joe this excited which, given that they went to a “Cryptids in Film” exhibit last weekend, is saying something. 

“Ready?” His boyfriend tightens the strap-on harness, sporting Duck’s favorite of his dicks. 

“You know it, darlin.”

Joe climbs onto the bed, makes a suave roll onto his back and pats his thighs, “Then come here. I want to see as much of you as possible while I fuck you.”

“You’re the boss, handsome.” He sinks down with a groan, slowly rocking his hips to get warmed up. 

Joe gropes his ass, growling, “Lord, look at this. Your ass is incredible, Duck, just like the rest of you.”

He dips down to kiss him in reply, messing up that dark hair and leaving a hickey on his collarbone. A chill runs up his spine and he shudders; two days ago, after the two ghosts and two humans hashed out who was dating who and what that meant, Joe admitted to a fantasy in which he and Duck were rudely interrupted by two horny paranormal entities. 

Duck kisses the corner of his mouth, grinds down with a whine, “c’mon Joe, know you can go harder than that.”

“The angle isn’t to my advantage.”

“Well then” purrs a voice from their right, “let’s remedy that.”

Duck’s pulled sideways, the momentum enough to reverse their positions and pop the toy loose.

“Now, pet, you are going to start fucking him again, and I’m going to fuck you to insure the pace is the perfect one for my dear Duck.”

The strap-on slides back in, Duck arching when it does. Joe’s hips snap forward, propelled by something other than the strength of his muscles. 

“AHlord, Indrid, yes. Is, is that good?” His blue eyes focus on Duck, who pulls him down into a kiss, panting as Indrid uses Joe to fuck him hard and fast. Then Joe’s head whips up and sideways, an invisible cock forcing it’s way into his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Fuck, that’s it babe, get me hard so I can fuck you when Indrid’s had his fill.”

“That may take some time. Never fear, I have other plans for my pet.” 

Joe squeaks, and Duck watches the muscles of his ass flex in new ways as black silicone appears and retreats from view over and over. From under him, Duck has a singularly good view of his lips stretching to accommodate Barclay, who’s busy demanding he look him in the eye when he takes his cock. He runs a loving hand up Joe’s chest, strokes the cheek not bulging with the head of a thick cock. 

“Fuck that’s hot.” His body agrees, but in spite of his boyfriends’ joint efforts and the obscene view making him wetter by the second, his orgasm eludes him. 

“J-joe, ‘Drid, please I, I’m real fuckin close but I need more pressure or, fuck, or friction or somethingfuck, hell fuckin yeah that’s it.” He pumps his hips, Barclay having freed Joe to bury his face in Ducks’ neck and put strip of the harness holding the toy where Duck can rub off on it. 

“That’s it, like that Joe, ‘Drid, fuckfuckfuckfuck” He gasps, eyes rolling back in his head as the orgasm shoots through him. It’s perfect, made more so by the knowledge that Indrid will let him bask in the aftershocks. 

Joe, however, is in for something very different. Duck is still getting his vision back when the harness takes an unceremonious flight off the bed. As he sits up, the plug takes the same journey, and he knows Joe will insist on cleaning it even more thoroughly than usual now that it’s been on the rug. 

His boyfriend is on his knees, lowering with incremental bursts of effort and jerks of his hips. When he stops with a moan, it looks as though his ass is hovering in mid-air. Phantom indentations press into his hips. 

“Very good pet” Indrid’s voice is turning breathy, “no, lean back so Barclay can fuck you raw while I make short work of this tight” Joe jolts up as Indrid bucks his hips, “little” another jolt, “ass” a final jolt before Joe tips backwards, opening his legs. 

Duck watches, mesmerized, as Joe is spread open, feet lifting off the blanket as more indents appear beneath his knees. The agent, usually so articulate, does nothing but moan at the invisible intrusion. 

“Fuckin-A, I’ll never get tired of this babe, you’re fucking dripping for me and it’s so fucking hot, how much of a fucking needy, dirty guy you are.”

Joe reaches one hand forward, trying to run his fingers up Barclay’s chest. The other extends towards Duck, and the ranger crawls so he can take it, kissing it as the indents of Indrid’s arms wrap around Joe’s lower belly. 

“I’d hold tight, dearest.”

“Why-”

Duck’s answer comes in the form of a yelp from Joe. To anyone else, it would look like the agent is trying and failing to wrestle the air. His back arches, making every sinful line of his body tense, while his hands claw at the bed and Duck’s arm and his legs bounce uselessly in the air. 

Duck peers around, careful not to bonk his head into Barclay. From here Joe is on full display, both holes stretching and twitching to take what they’re given. He wishes it was easier for him to get hard again; all he can think about is sitting on Joe’s face while the others fuck him like this, catch this sobbing moans in his skin while he’s reduced to nothing but a plaything for the paranormal. 

“Damn, darlin, you’re takin it like a champ. Maybe next time I’ll film it for ya, so you can see how fuckin hot you look getting fucked to pieces on some ghost dick.”

A louder sob of pleasure, and as he goes to soothe him with kisses Barclay grunts, “Don’t you fucking pull away, don’t care if you just came you’re fucking taking it all.”

“Do hurry up with him, Barclay. Ah, perfect, thank you.” With that, the forces bouncing Joe in the air come only from beneath him, Indrid pumping mercilessly into his ass and punching little “ah, aah, ahnns” out of him. He’s so blissed out that Duck can’t help himself, steadies his face in his hands so he can kiss him while Indrid cums with a high cry. 

There’s an “oof” as Indrid rolls Joe’s head into Duck’s lap. A hand turns Duck by his chin so he can get a kiss before Indrid becomes visible. Barclay appears at Joe’s feet, does his best to lay parallel to him and then disappears.

“You always did like to spoon immediately after.” Indrid says fondly, drifting to sit beside Duck. 

“Mhmmm” comes the rumbly reply.

“You okay, darlin?” Duck brushes the hair from Joe’s face as blue eyes flutter open. 

“Never better. Oh!” He sits up abruptly, Duck is more used to his boyfriend’s post-orgasm bursts of inspiration than the other two and thus doesn’t jump in surprise, “I found a potentially useful book at work the other day…”

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

“So, uh, how long do we have?” Barclay brushes lint from his shirt, stepping outside the chalk pattern on the floor somewhat hesitantly. 

“As long as the candle burns. Which is why I bought one that can stay lit for at least ten hours.” He offers his hand and his fully visible, touchable boyfriend takes it. Indrid, having more trust in occult processes, practically leapt over the chalk a moment ago to kiss him and Duck. Joseph draws Barclay into his arms, “which is all to say: we have plenty of time for date night.”

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch.29 - Apologies

This is the last of the 'PSA' arc and the last chapter to discuss underage drinking

Varian awoke with his head pounding, his stomach rolling, and a bad taste in his mouth. He brought his hand to his eyes to try and rub the soreness away and to block out the sunlight peeking through his bedroom window. No doubt Hiro and Baymax had brought him home last night, not that he could remember it.

Varian had only experienced a hangover once before in his life. At thirteen, he had wanted to prove himself a man and so had tried to join in with older men of the village during the harvest festival while they made toasts to celebrate the end of a long hard season. His father had been too busy to notice. It had been a fruitless exercise that only brought him shame and sicknesses. As he had laid in bed the next morning, Quirin just gave a weary sigh and said,"I hope you've learned your lesson, son." and then turned away to attend to his duties.

If only he had. What was wrong with him? Oh, why didn't he ever learn?

Varian groaned and dragged himself out of bed, swallowing hard to keep his stomach down. There was no sense hiding away in his room; the sooner he got this over with the better.

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

Hiro made his way down the stairs as Baymax hobbled along behind him. He entered the kitchen and then stopped in his tracks. Varian sat at the end of the table nursing his head in his hands as he brooded over a cup of coffee.

Hiro didn't know what to say or do. He didn't want to start another argument and he really didn't want Varian to run off again. So he just ignored the other teen as he went about fixing himself some breakfast.

Hiro felt like he was walking on eggshells as he scurried about. He kept casting wary glances back at the other boy as he poured himself a bowl of cereal, but Varian didn't move nor acknowledge that Hiro was even there.

"You are suffering from dehydration due to the consumption of alcohol." Baymax interrupted the silence. "This is sometimes known as a hangover."

Hiro's eyes widened as he feared another outburst from Varian, but the time displaced teen only gave Baymax annoyed glare but said nothing. So the robot continued, "A glass of water would be more helpful than coffee. Caffeine can increase blood pressure and worsen your headache."  

Still the gloomy teen said nothing nor did he make any moves to replace his cup of joe with the more beneficial water. In fact the only indication that Varian had even heard Baymax, was that he looked the robot dead in the eye as he lifted the steaming cup to his lips and took a sip.

Hiro gave an exasperated sigh, sat his bowl of milk and cheerios down, and went to fill a glass of water himself; forcefully setting it down next to Varian, who raised an eyebrow, but still remained silent. Then Hiro recovered his morning meal and sat at the other end of the table to eat.

Several minutes passed while neither boy said anything, and Hiro began to wonder what was even the point in trying. Varian seemed determined to self destruct. No matter how often they tried to help, no matter how seemingly well things got for awhile, no matter how many times Varian would apologize for screwing up, it all came right back around to yet another mishap, another poor decision, another fight.

Hiro tried not to judge too harshly, honest he did, he was no saint himself after all, but the whole thing was becoming tiresome. Then there were the times where Varian wasn't even sorry.

The incident with Momasake's knife sprung to his mind unbidden, along with the ninja's warning words. "People like that don't ever change."  

No. Hiro refused to believe that. He himself had changed for the better, so could other people, so too could Varian. He just needed someone to be there for him.

"You were right." Varian's voice broke through his thoughts, startling him.

Hiro looked at the other teen in surprise as Varian pressed on.

"I thought that I could handle things, but turns out I'm just a mess no matter what I do." Varian gave a pout and kept his eyes downcast.  

Hiro didn't know what to say to that. He felt like he should give some sort of encouragement, some reassurance that Varian wasn't a mess, but that somehow felt hollow and Varian would know it.

Baymax however did have something to say. "Many adolescents struggle with low self-esteem. Positive reinforcement can help combat this. Try replacing negative thoughts about yourself with compliments instead."

Varian eyed the robot skeptically and even Hiro had to admit he couldn't see that helping all that much in this situation.

"Like what kind of compliments?" Varian asked.

"Recognise your strengths. Varian, you are very smart. You are talented. You are courageous and kind. You have many friends and loved ones who care about you and wish to see you get better."

"Friends?" Varian shot back bitterly and then with tears in his eyes, added, "Not after last night, I'm sure."

"No." Hiro firmly rebutted, "We're still your friends. It's just like Baymax said, we only want for you to get better. Alcohol's just not the right way to cope with what's happened to you."

Varian searched the other teen's eyes, debating on whether or not to believe Hiro's words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Aunt Cass walked into the kitchen ending the discussion.

She gave the boys a wide smile and kissed Hiro on top of his head. "Good morning! Excited for today?"

Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the counter and poured herself a cup of the coffee Varian had made. "I thought we could close up shop early today after the morning rush. That way we'd have more time for our family outing. We could go to the park and go bike riding before the movie." She took a sip and walked over to Varian and tenderly ran her fingers through his hair. "How does that sound?" She asked them.

The boys exchanged looks and Varian came to a decision. He swallowed hard, "Aunt Cass… I have something to tell you…about last night."

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

Varian finished recounting the events of the past two days to Aunt Cass. Though he conveniently left out some details involving his arguments with Hiro and the rest of their friends; mainly anything to do with superheroing.

He knew Hiro would appreciate this. The other teen had been sent out of the room by Aunt Cass earlier, but they both knew he was most likely sitting at the bottom of the stairwell listening in anyways.

That didn't seem to matter so much in light of his confession though. Aunt Cass looked on shocked and horrified while Varian told her of the club and the drinking games, only interrupting to ask a clarifying question now and then. Once done with his tale, they sat in uncomfortable silence as Aunt Cass tried to process what was happening.

Suddenly she shouted; "Oh God, I'm an idiot!" startling Varian, as she got up to pace.

"Of course it was a college party! What was I thinking? "Painting party" Pff… And not just any college party, noooo, but a frat party. You were in college once, you know what those are like. And it never once occurred to you that your sixteen year old might want to crash one of those? Of course he would! You would! At sixteen you snuck into a rave!"

She paused in her rant to look out into the middle distance as she contemplated what she had just said.

"How did I wind up being the parent again!?" She yelled to no one in particular before slumping back down in her seat and cradling her head in her hands.

Varian was simply confused by this outburst. He didn't know what a 'rave' was, nor why Aunt Cass would be ashamed of going to one. Also it was his fault for lying and getting drunk, not hers.

Aunt Cass inhaled deeply and moved her hands to cup her mouth and then exhaled slowly as she folded them into fists to rest her chin upon.

"You said Baymax checked you over?" She asked. Varian nodded. "You're not hurt then?" He shook his head.

"Good," she said shakely, "That's good…. Then just what the heck were you thinking!?" She rounded on him.

He recoiled under her glare. Varian still hadn't gotten used to Aunt Cass's stressful mood swings anymore than her lectures. His lip quivered and fresh tears threatened to spill from his eyes but he couldn't formulate the words he needed to. He couldn't explain to her what it was like being the odd man out, a stranger in another world, an outcast from society with a shameful past; to never truly fit in no matter what you did.

"Don't you know you could have gotten hurt!?" She continued,"Didn't you stop to think even just a little that maybe sneaking into a nightclub and downing six shots of tequila might be dangerous?"

"I..I didn't know how strong tequila was." He protested in his defense. "I can normally down a couple beers no problem."

"Wait…This isn't your first time drinking?"

"Well no. Everyone drinks in Corona, it's just not a big deal there. It's like drinking a can of soda."

Aunt Cass eyes darted back and forth in confusion as she realized once again she had taken in a child from another country, another culture, and he wasn't just like Hiro or Tadashi. But she wasn't yet ready to concede the argument. She didn't want Varian thinking it was okay to do this a second time.

"And did you sneak into clubs there too!?" She asked incredulously.

"We don't have those." Varian exasperated. He was starting to become irritated once more. He got up from where he sat and leaned over the table at her. "Look, I get it! I screwed up! Just like always! I promise I won't do it again and I don't need you to remind me that I'm a failure, okay!?"

Varian paused mid-rant as he realized what he had just said. Both he and Aunt Cass exchanged surprised looks before he snapped his jaw shut and fell back into his seat, hugging himself as he was no longer able to hold back the tears.

"Varian…" Aunt Cass softly said as she reached her hand out to him, but he jerked away.

"I know.. that I'm...I'm all messed up." He heavied through sobs. "Okay? I know . And I know you're just trying to help. But..but I just … I just wanted to fit in for once, and not be the freak, or the villian, or the poor little orphan that nobody really wants…" He sniffled and wiped his runny nose. He no doubt looked every bit the mess that he felt he was, but at this point he no longer cared. "I'm the person that everyone either pitys, or hates... or even fears. I'm never allowed to be just normal, and no matter what I do, I just keep getting reminded over and over again that I don't belong! Not anywhere! Not here, not Corona, not with the Saporians...I...I…I just want my dad. That's all I want." he broke down crying again.

Aunt Cass was crying too.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

Varian blinked at her in confusion. Why was she sorry? What had she done wrong? He was the one who was broken, not her.

"I was so sure that things were getting better..." she went on,"No. I wanted things to be better, that I didn't pay enough attention to the warning signs. I should have known what kind of party you were going to, and I should have realized sooner that you weren't happy here. I let you down, and I'm sorry." She sighed, shook her head, and flung open her arms wide in a shrug. "I...I don't know what I'm doing any more than you do. Parenting is just playing things by ear and winging it half the time. Especially since, well, every child is different, and what worked for Hiro and Tadashi might not work for you. But I don't think you're a failure, or a mess; I think you're just a teenager, and you're not the only teenager in the world to crash a party and get drunk, believe me. Look, I don't care if you made a mistake, I care about you being safe and that you know not to do it again." She reached out to him again and cupped his face, and this time he didn't pull away as she wiped his tears. "Varian, I know it's difficult having your life uprooted and that you miss your dad, but I want you to know you are wanted. Okay? We all care about you. I care about you. You're my child and I'm never giving up on you, not ever ."

She was inches from his face as she said this. Her hazel eyes search his own, looking for a sign that she had gotten through to him. He screwed his eyes shut as he tried to hold back the fresh tears that came for a now completely different reason. He sobbed, leaned forward, and pressed his forehead against hers. She wrapped him in a tight hug.

"Aunt Cass?" Varian asked over her shoulder, once he felt he could talk again. "I'm sorry. I mean it. I won't drink again. I promise."

She broke their hug only to give him a smile. "I know."

"You..you do?"

"Varian, you're a good kid, and you care about people. I know you don't want to scare anybody and that you didn't mean any harm...and I don't want to make you feel like you ever have to hide that you're upset about something. Come and tell me if something's wrong, or if something is bothering you. I'll listen. I promise."

"P..promise?" He looked at her questionly, hesitant to trust another adult again.

"Promise."

"Then..then can I not get any more lectures?" He blurted out. "I know when I did something wrong, I don't need to hear it repeated back to me."

Aunt Cass frowned and tilted her head, "Then... what do you suggest?" She asked slowly.

"I...I don't know." He hung his head. "I just feel like I'm being put on trial all over again. That was the worst." He added under his breath.

Aunt Cass blinked as it dawned on her what the real problem was. "Oookaay… I'll try and keep that in mind in the future. How about for now… you're grounded for a week. How's that?"

"Grounded? That's when you don't leave the house, right?"

"Sort of, you'll still go to school, but no more parties. I would also add extra chores, but you tend to do those anyways without me even asking."

Varian smiled for the first time that day. "Does that mean no family outing?" He teased.

Aunt Cass laughed, "Yeah, you're not getting out that easily. You're a part of this family now, and don't ever forget it." She kissed his forehead and stood up."Now go shower and get ready for the day, and let Hiro know we'll be leaving soon. I think a day off will do everybody some good."

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

Varian trudged up the steps of the sorority house. He made it to the front door and then cast a concerned glance back towards the car.

He had told Aunt Cass that he wanted to come clean to Carol about last night. His aunt agreed that that would be best and so had driven him out to the SFAI campus.

However that didn't stop his stomach from tying itself up in knots. The pretty girl probably wouldn't want anything to do with him once she knew the truth. Yet he took a deep breath and rang the doorbell anyways.

He heard footsteps barreling through the house and a familiar voice yelling "I'll get it!". The door flung open wide and there stood Carol, out of breath but with a huge grin on her face. She was clearly glad to see him, though for how long Varian didn't know.

"Oh hey, Varian! I didn't expect to see you today." She subconsciously patted the side of her head. She had her usual curls wrapped up in a scarf, and had been in the middle of some sort of hair care treatment that she dropped once he had arrived. "You..you wanna come in?" She offered.

"I'm afraid I can't." He declined. "I'm with my aunt right now and we're about to go on that 'family outing' I told you about." He pointed back to the car, and Carol's smile only became wider as she waved to its occupants.

"Is the other kid your little brother or cousin?" She asked in her usual friendly manner.

"Uuuuh… sort...of..." Varian didn't have an answer on hand that didn't require a long explanation, so he hurried onto the reason why he was here. "It's a long story, but that's not why I'm here. " He took another steading breath and looked her firmly in the eye. "Carol, I haven't been honest with you, and I'm sorry."

Her smile promptly fell away from her face. "You mean you lied to me? About what?"

"I shouldn't have been at that club. I'm only sixteen."

Carol blinked in confusion. "You mean you're still in high school?"

"Well no; I really am in college and I did just move here from Europe. That's all true, it's just, I got admitted into SFIT early."

Carol made a face as if disgusted by the truth. "You mean I've been hitting on a sixteen year old this whole time?"

Now it was Varian's turn to be confused. "You never struck me?"

"No, 'hitting on', it means flirting."

Varian's spirit picked up, "You mean you were flirting with me?"

"Well now I'm not." She said incredulously and Varian's face fell as his hopes were dashed.

"That..that's fair." He nodded his head and started to walk away. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't think it was a big deal at first, and by the time that it was, well, I just …. I'm sorry."

"Wait." Carol called out. He stopped and watched her as she struggled to find the words she was looking for. "Look...I can't get too mad at you. You ain't the only person that snuck in that club last night."

Varian began to regain hope and walked back over to her as she continued. "Mind you, I just turned nineteen so that's a bit different than being the same age as an eleventh grader, but it's... still not on the up and up. Also if I've gotten a chance at your age to crash a college party I would have, no questions asked, hands down."

She gave him a small sheepish smile and he returned it. Then he rubbed the back of his head as he steeled his courage to ask her another question.

"I.. I won't be able to go clubbing or attend another frat party again anytime soon, and I know you probably don't want to date after what just happened, but...would you still like to be friends?"

Carol tilted her head and studied him a moment thoughtfully. "Friends? You mean like the kind that you can call on for help or just to talk to sometimes?" She asked, recalling their conversation from last night.

"Yeah, and maybe hang out once in a while; just no alcohol this time. I made a promise to Aunt Cass." He gave an awkward laugh and Carol couldn't suppress her smile.

"Yeah, friends sound nice." She agreed and they shook hands before parting.

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

Monday morning rolled around and Varian stood outside the communal lab waiting. His palms were sweaty and he couldn't stop himself from shaking nervously.

Hiro had gathered everyone together to hear Varian's apology, but Varian feared it wouldn't be enough. The sight of everyone walking away from him replayed in his mind over and over again. Why should they forgive him? He had made an ass out of himself once again and worse he had hurt Gogo. He hadn't meant to, but that didn't change the fact that he did. They had given him so many chances already and there was no reason for them to keep on giving him more.

He gulped as Hiro opened the door to let him in. The rest of the gang sat in a semi-circle waiting to hear what Varian had to say. Only he didn't have any words. He opened his mouth to say, 'I'm sorry,' but nothing came out. So he clamped his jaw shut and fought back his tears as he cast his eyes down to the ground.

"Hiro says you told Aunt Cass what happened." Wasabi said. His arms were crossed and his voice was serious but he didn't launch into an angry rant at least.

Varian nodded his head yes.

"And did you promise her not to go out drinking again?" Wasabi pressed.

Varian nodded again.

"Good." Came his reply and he walked over to Varian and pointed his finger in his face. "Cause if I catch my best friend doing something so stupid again, I'm going to have to have a nervous breakdown and your going to have to be the one to hold the paper bag that breath into, okay." He then flashed Varian a grin to show that he was only half way joking.

Varian gave him a half smile, half pout. "I'm sorry," he sobbed as Wasabi laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey we're just glad you're safe." Fred said as he made his way over to give Varian a hug.

Honey Lemon got up and did the same. "Promise us you won't do something so dangerous again."

If she had asked for the moon with such pleading eyes, Varian would have started building a rocket right then and there. Yet, he knew that he would never be able to keep such an oath; given what a disaster he was. He swallowed hard and tried to come up with an easier promise. "I promise; no more dance clubs, no more drinking, and no more lying about my age."

This seemed to placate her and everyone else in the room, save for Gogo. While everyone was gathered around he looked over their shoulders to see her still glaring at him. He gently pushed past Honey Lemon and stepped towards the other girl.

"Gogo..I'm…" He made to say sorry, but she interrupted him by holding her hand up. Gogo then stood up, gave him a shake of her head and another disapproving look, before walking out the door.

Varian felt his heart shatter on the floor as the door firmly slammed shut.

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

Varian felt riddled with anxiety all day. He barely was able to concentrate on his calculus quiz and his class in applied computer science was a blur. He couldn't focus on his portal either. Guilt pricked his mind and he knew he wouldn't be able to get anything done until he tried to mend things with Gogo once more.

He found her in the welding workshop. She was busy soldering the joints of a bicycle together. He walked up to her, careful not to get in the way of sparks flying off the blow torch, and patiently waited for her to finish or come to a stopping point.

However, Gogo only seemed determined to ignore him. Once done with her welding, she flung up the flap of protective visor, turned on her heel, and deliberately walked over to the tool station to find another piece of equipment. She then made a show of her search, refusing to spare Varian even a glance.

Varian didn't blame her for being angry, nor did he believe she would forgive him at this point, but she deserved to hear a full apology from him and he was determined to give it.

"Gogo?" Failing to get her attention he pressed on anyways. "Gogo, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, and I'm sorry that I broke my promise; but most of all I'm sorry that I hurt you. I didn't mean to. It was an accident, but I still did it and I.. I'll understand if sorry isn't enough...I just wanted to let you know that I am."

Gogo paused and in what she was doing but she still wouldn't turn around or look at him. He waited a few moments more for a response before tearing himself away. However he stopped at the door at the sound of Gogo's voice.

"You think that's why I'm mad?" She asked quietly.

"Well, isn't?" Varian was confused. He thought he had covered all that he did wrong in his apology. What had he missed?

Gogo tore off the visor she wore and threw on the table. She then gave a long frustrated sigh as she ran both her hands through her hair before cradling the nape of her neck in her hands and giving an exasperated look towards the ceiling. Then she dropped her arms and finally turned around to face him.

"First, there was the flood in the communal lab. Then you got arrested for 'bot fighting and ran away. Not to mention that you decided to just walk into the middle of the desert with no thought as to how that might not end well. Oh and let's talk about how you tried to fight a highly trained assassin with nothing but a frying pan!"

"B-baking pan." Varian nervously corrected and then he joked, "A frying pan may have stood a better change of workin-…."

The enraged look on Gogo's face put an end to his attempts at levity. He then cringed as she started in on him again.

"And there you were sneaking into a nightclub with a bunch of strangers and making yourself sick with alcohol. It's like you don't stop to think. You're so damn sure of yourself all the time that you never consider how things can go wrong, how you could get hurt." She blinked back tears. "I already lost someone once because they wouldn't stop. I.. I don't want to lose anybody else."

Varian's breath stilled as he realized who Gogo was really talking about. She hugged herself as the tears came unbidden.

"You..you don't know what it's like to get left behind, do you?" She asked. "It hurts to see someone you care about rush head first into something dangerous, okay, and you have people who care about you now. This isn't Corona, you're not alone any more, but that also means you need to think about them too before you go off and do something stupid!"

She sobbed and slumped to the ground to cry.

It was disconcerting to see the normally composed Gogo break down into tears. It was even more upsetting to know that he was the cause of them. Well, not just him, but him and Tadashi rather, and not for the first time Varian felt as if he was living under the deceased teen's shadow.

He sighed and walked over to the girl and sat down beside her. He didn't know what to say or do to make things better so he just remained by her side as she cried.

After a time she choked back her tears and said, "You're not ever going to stop, are you." It was a statement not a question.

"I don't know how to stop." He despaired.

She hugged herself once more and refused to look him in the eyes.

"Look you're right, I don't think about what may happen to me when I do things." He confessed, "But it's not because I don't care about everyone else; it's just… I guess… I'm just not used to having people looking out for me, and I don't know how to handle that sometimes. I was always either the one fighting on my own or the one looking out for others, and half the time I'm afraid everyone is going to figure out what a disaster I am and leave." It was now his turn to choke back sobs. "Leave me all alone just like before, just like everyone else has done.. I..."

Gogo finally looked at him and pouted. Then she sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Well, good thing we knew you were a disaster the moment you tried to smoke bomb the cops then." She gently teased.

Varian couldn't help but snicker while blinking back his tears and he too leaned his head against her own.

"Soooo...are we...are we still friends then?" He asked.

"Of course we are, you idiot." She replied in exasperation and snuggled closer. "And don't you ever forget it, cause next time you do something dumb like that I'm kicking your butt."

Varian nodded his head, "Yeah, sounds fair." And they both broke down laughing.

[writing-the-end]

Feral Friendship- Part 3

Previous Post

Masterpost

Haha I really love putting these right when the angst is at it’s peak- makes us all have to wait a little longer to see the resolution, and a break from all the sadness. I really do love Feral Friendship, and this is one of my favorite parts. 

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland​

The remaining infiltrators scuffle their heels against the jungle wood in Cub’s base. False holds the red banner out, but it feels like a hollow victory. Not even a victory- they just evened out the score. Cub looks at the bruised and rattled hermits before him. They’re covered in sand and leaves, looking like they’ve been camping for weeks. The sun is just starting to set on the first day of the game. “Where’s TFC’s entire team? And Scar?” 

Xisuma shrugs. “We just know they haven’t returned.” 

“Who knows? Maybe they have the second flag and are just being cautious, Sheshwammy.” Keralis offers, but the others seem less optimistic. 

“And Scar?” Cub raises an eyebrow, taking the banner that False holds out. The wool fabric feels so good on his fingers. Such a hard fought item, finally in the hermits’ hands. He hands it off for Cleo to hang for scoring above the base. 

“Unfortunately, reports indicate that he was captured after hiding that flag. Etho saw Avon flying back to their side with him. Though he didn’t seem that concerned.” Doc reports, scratching his chin with his reattached arm. 

“As aggressive as they have been in their tactics, they’re still our friends. I don’t think they’ll harm Scar.” Joe adds. 

“We aren’t going to let Scar’s sacrifice go to waste. We need to strike while the iron’s hot. I want everyone to rush for Ecto’s flag.” Cub clenches his fist as he swipes up the red scrap that symbolized Avon’s flag on the map. “Everyone that isn’t Cleo, Joe, or me should go in and fight through the minefield. If we just throw all we have at them, they can’t stop all of us.” 

“Ah, the good old french revolution tactic.” Cleo hums.

Joe shrugs. “I mean, it worked in that case. At least our bastille doesn’t have muskets. Just cacti.” 

Cub hushes them, and points towards the door. “You guys go, get to the border and storm for the flag. Us three will stay behind and keep watch for Avon.”

Stress flags down the patrols behind the headquarters, waving for the three pairs to follow the remaining infiltration teams. Together, they march to the border between lands. The defense team seems surprised by the new order, though all just as excited about getting to charge into the mysterious land beyond the cactus wall. Night has fallen over the land, and monsters creep and crawl in the desert. They can outrun the husks and spiders, and most are well armored against the creepers and skeletons. It’s the other team that they have to worry about. 

It’s been a long time since Grian has seen a united hermit front, almost everyone here to tackle the wanderers. He admits it feels badass, like some superhero movie to have the crew lined up. Some of them have wings to fly over, others will run through and tackle what is on the ground. “For Scar! For the Dig team!” 

The hermits charge into unknown territory, breaking down more of Ecto’s cactus wall and running across the desert like calvary on horses. In fact, some of them are on horses. Jevin and Beef speed ahead, weapons drawn and cutting a path through the monsters ahead of them. 

But a horse can only take them so far. Jevin’s horse rears as he snaps the reins back, nearly falling into a sandpit that has opened up beneath them. The sand cascades into the cavern, followed by a single arrow shuttling after the blocks it disturbed. Ren spots Ecto, standing upright on a cactus tower about at the height he’s flying. She has a bow and a quiver full of arrows, snickering as the hermits on foot are forced into her minefield. They’re trapped in her land, of shifting sands and sharp spines. 

Ren charges to knock her off, but the air is empty by the time he reaches her. Ecto has jumped, falling to the ground below in an elegant flip. And as her rotation turns her upward, a coy grin appears on her face towards Ren, and she salutes to her hermit friend. Ecto tucks up a moment later, rolling across the sand and taking off after the other hermits.  

Ren’s about to dive after her, but it pulled back into the sky by Grian. He hadn’t seen Grian since they crossed into the desert, and his friend looks like he’s been running a marathon. Or at least flying one. “Avon’s over the border. She’s going after our flag.” 

Ren turns to look back at the jungle, then to his fellow hermits below. “Go after her. You’re the best flyer on this whole server. If anyone has a chance to beat Avon in an air, it’s you my dude.” 

“What about the others?” Grian looks at the desert, watching Mumbo squeeze through the cacti that Ecto has grown everywhere. Only to fall into a pit of sand. Ecto must’ve somehow built all those, but how is completely beyond Grian. 

“I’ll round them up and tell them to get back and try to stop her.” Ren let’s go of his aloft ally, and the two part. While Ren relays the news to the others, Grian returns to chase after Avon. Cub had seen her flying in, and tried to take a few shots to keep her at bay, but none of the strategists are equipped for fighting. They shouldn’t have left their base so defenseless. Lucky for Grian, he can see Avon circling the canopy as he nears. It doesn’t look like she’s found any of the other flags.

Until she does. Like a phantom diving towards it’s weary prey, it’s an elegant dive. At least it is before she hits the tree while landing. A branch smacks her right in the face, knocking the angelic descent into a demonic crash. Even Grian winces at the hit, spiraling down to see the damage. 

Avon’s on her feet before Grian lands, shaking the dizziness from her mind and sprinting towards the blue flag fluttering. It’s tucked in the leaves of an oak tree, where even the wind struggles to find it. By the time Grian has landed, she’s ripped it from it’s stake. “We’re playing this again, huh? Let’s see how good a flyer you really are.” 

Grian sighs as Avon launches back into the air, daring for him to follow her. He’s not going to let her score again. This time, he plans to fight her midair as well. While she’s still rising above the treetops vertically, Grian takes off at an angle into the sky. Trying to intercept her midair, he pulls out his sword and spins it. The sign of a fight catches Avon’s attention. She pauses, wings opening wide to halt her ascent. For just a moment, She’s floating in the air, wings fully extended. She’s shadowed from behind by the full moon in the night, but Grian can clearly see purple irises sparkle with challenge, and a crooked grin like the chesire cat. “You aren’t going anywhere with that flag.” 

Avon watches the moonlight glint off Grian’s diamond enchanted sword. It’s freeing to have her flag already captured, allowing her to focus on nabbing theirs. Toying with them. Ecto and Avon have been having a blast watching the hermits struggle against surviving in the wild. Surviving in their natural habitat. And they still haven’t seen the worst. She ties the banner to her belt and retrieves her trident. 

And she dives. Closing her wings to drop beneath Grian, she opens again when she’s under him. Turning on her back, Avon throws her trident. Grian rockets away before it can hit him, and goes into chase after Avon and the flag. She flies low, weaving through the tallest trees of the jungle. He needs to gain on her, slow her down. She’s faster, more agile. But he’s clever. 

Avon turns sharp around a tree, but Grian stays straight, shooting through a tiny gap between neighboring trees. Catching up with her. He lights off rockets, the wind whipping his blonde hair against his face. Grian gets close enough to strike, and doesn’t waste a moment. 

The trident and the sword clash, a midair dogfight between the two commencing. It’s one thing to have a battle on land, but the sky is a whole different world. Head to head, metal clangs against crystal, sparks flaring in the night sky. Stars in their own right, pinpricks of light alive for an infinitesimal second before fading away.

Avon takes a pass at Grian, getting around him and gunning for the border. He grabs her foot before she can get away. She kicks her feet up, sending Grian flying into the air. He closes his elytra wings, and lets gravity drop him back down. Straight down towards Avon. Towards the flag tied to her waist. On his way down, his fingers wind into the blue banner and tears it free of her belt. Avon’s stunned as he reopens his wings and takes off back to the jungle. He only grins, sticking his tongue out and winking. “Pesky bird.”

Grian straps the flag to the halter of his elytra, freeing his hands for the attack he knows is coming. Avon won’t give up that easy. He’s seen her pass out before giving up. He was right, because when he looks over his shoulder she’s hot on his rockets. He lights off more, but it only takes a couple more strokes of Avon’s wings to catch up to him. Grian turns over, blocking her reach with his sword. 

Avon just pushes the flat of his blade, vaulting herself over him. Suddenly he’s chasing her again, seemingly for no reason. Except that the jungle is this direction. “What are you even doing?” 

“A surprise.” Avon chuckles, before vaulting into the sky. She stalls at the peak of her backflip, beginning to fall as he flies beneath her. Feet to the sky and arms reaching for him. 

And retrieving the flag from his back. She snatches it mid backflip, creasing off and back to her teams side. Grian can’t even turn around fast enough to catch her. She’s beyond his vision before they reach the border. “Oh, Cub is not going to be happy about that.” 

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

Cleo glances over at Joe at her side, then back to Cub. He’s shifting around the iron nuggets at a feverish pace, mumbling to himself. Is this the loss of Scar, his fellow convex, finally taking a toll on him? Or is it because they’re losing again. “Cub, love, are you doing okay?”

“I don’t understand their tactics. It’s almost like they have none. But they’re winning.” Cub grips at what is left of his hair, moving the three golden nuggets around. Avon scored their second flag. He has two patrols watching the last flag. If it so much as moves, he wants to know. Ren and Grian are patrolling the skies, and the defense is back watching for Ecto or Avon. This entire time, it’s just been those two. Red must be their strategist. But that makes no sense. Red is a lot of things, but she definitely isn’t a strategist. She hardly thinks about her next move before doing it.

Cleo is tired of standing here, trapped in this dark room pouring over her maps and listening to mistakes. She needs to take matters into her own hands, and she knows exactly who else is itching to get into the fight again. Cleo grabs her rapier, busting through the door of the headquarters. Joe can at least calm Cub. Maybe a good poem will keep Cub from having a meltdown. 

Meanwhile, Cleo saunters through the forest to find the other girls. Stress and False are patching up their wounds from the rush for the desert flag. Brush burns, bruises, and bandages all over them. “I think we all know what needs to be done.” 

False grins as she sees Cleo rest her sword on her shoulder, green sutured skin chill against the metal blade. “Finally, we’re doing things the right way.” 

“These guys have no clue what they’re messin’ with.” Stress hums, tugging on her bowstring to test it’s load. 

“They see a loss. I see a challenge.” Cleo adds. “We’re going to get that flag, bring it back and even the odds for us. It’ll really raise spirits as well.” 

“We know you’ve got a plan, so what is it?” False stands, stretching her arms with a relaxed smile. A bandage crinkles at her cheek, but she’s hardly bothered. 

“We’re going to take TFC’s tunnel. They got the closest, even though it’s obvious now they’ve been trapped. If we continue to use it we can get right under Ecto’s flag. Us three have faster reflexes than them. We just need to be cautious.” Cleo starts off through the forest, tapping her blade against the trees as the other two girls follow. The moon is beginning to set, but there’s still more night ahead of them. Won’t matter much when they’re underground. 

“If Stress stays back while we continue to dig, she can fish us out of any sand traps.” Stress picks through the potions that she’s been brewing while they waiting for the next attack. This is much more manageable than rushing the other side. She feels she can do so much more with just False and Cleo. Less ducks to keep in a row. 

The three descend down the ladder, deep into the mines that the dig team left behind. False picks a torch off the wall, holding it up to see further. Firelight glistens off her goggles and cascades down her blonde hair. The three follow the straight mine. “This is definitely a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be.” 

“I was sure we were gonna finish before noon, in all honesty. Those wanderers really can hold their own.” Stress chuckles. 

Cleo giggles alongside her friends, before thoughts infiltrate. Back to the battle. “We’ve seen Avon and Ecto...has anyone mentioned Red?” 

The other two both shake their heads. “No one’s seen him since the game started.” 

“Let’s think about this.” Cleo states, continuing to walk through the tunnel. “We found Avon’s flag in the sky, and Ecto’s flag among the desert. So let’s put on our critical thinking caps on and deduce where Red likely is.” 

“The ocean.” Stress whispers. It makes sense now. They were playing to their advantages. Using what they knew best. 

“How will we get to the ocean when we can hardly even get across this desert?” False questions. It’s not even a big desert, more just a glorified beach with cacti. 

“None of us are right fit for the sea either. Not like Red is, that’s for sure.” Stress looks through the potions she has. She may need to go fishing with this new information. 

“It can’t be that bad. Red isn’t a fighter like Avon and Ecto. They probably put her at the back so we’d have to go through them first.” False points out.

“I don’t know...you see the way she got at the meeting? Even I was a little scared.” Doc must really have no fear, or didn’t notice the way Red’s entire body language shifted. If anything, the lack of sightings with Red is more terrifying. Like knowing a phantom is hovering over you, but not being able to see where it’s coming from. 

False holds her arm out, stopping the other two before any can fall into the chasm. It’s not deep, and is mostly filled with sand that fell from above. A pit trap, just like what they saw in their invasion. Ecto’s signature, apart from cacti. “Not even BDubs would be stupid enough to get stuck in this.” 

“But maybe they would get stuck in that.” Stress points over False’s shoulder, across the stone bridge and a bit deeper in the mine. Another hole. The girls creep across, holding their breath at the precarious sand stacked around them. “Iskall?” 

“Stress? Is that you? Oh thank goodness someone finally found us.” Iskall jumps to try and see out of the cactus hole he’s trapped in. Even if he could climb out, there was nowhere for any of them to run, except into more cacti. 

“Is this where you idiots have been?” Cleo snorts. 

“Hey, hey, hey! We were trapped! Duped! Deceived!” BDubs clambers up a cacti, just enough to see the new team before releasing. And back to pulling needles from his arm. 

“Why didn’t you guys dig out?” False tilts her head.

“No can do. It’s empty beneath this layer of sand. If any one of us dug through, we’d all go fallin’ even further.” TFC kicks sand in his little corner, watching it drizzle down the cacti roots like an hourglass. “We’ve been right trapped.” 

“Are you guys here to save us?” BDubs croons. Stress bites her lip, looking at the supplies she brought. Definitely no rescue supplies. 

“After we get the flag, we’ll come back to help. I promise boys. We’re losin’ something fierce, we really need to get this flag.” Stress looks to Cleo, who begins to build a path across the cactus pitfall. 

“We’re actually losing? How?” Iskall questions, but none of the free hermits answer. They build past them, resuming the mining that they left. “You guys should be right under it soon. Be careful of cacti.”

Stress takes a step back, allowing False to dig a narrow staircase up. Cleo’s face lights up as a scrap of red becomes visible over the other hermit’s shoulder. They’ve done it.

[asphalt-cocktail]

Sour- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: You’re a Right Bitch

Summary: Signing onto EMI records in the mid 80′s should have been a dream come true for Reader and her punk band, but she finds herself bubbling over with rage every time she interacts with the drummer from the successful rock band that records down the hall.

A/N: Hey lil cuties, I hope you enjoyed the teaser, it got a lot of good recognition which I’m happy about. Maybe i’ll actually do a tag list if anyone is interested (P.S. send ask if you are) and depending on how many people ask I’ll make but ONLY for this fic. If any of you have ideas for a name for reader’s band let me know because I’m writing the next chapter right now and I can’t think of what to call it, I was thinking maybe Sex Kitten, but let me know you’re opinion is always appreciated! This can be read as Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor and your feedback, likes, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated. 

Pairing: 80s!Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, hate fucking, degrading, alcohol, cigarettes, dom!Roger, swearing, fighting, unprotected sex, no foreplay, throwing up (from intoxication), age difference(maybe like 10 years, reader is probably mid- late 20s and Roger is close to 40), rog being kind of a c*nt, but reader also is, not proof read, grammar.

Word Count: 5.8k whoops

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Asks

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

<<<< Teaser

Signing onto EMI should have seemed like a dream come true, but it wasn’t. Not because you and your band had issues with the contract or the long hours spent in the recording studio, no, it was because of a certain drummer of a certain internationally known rock band that had been the absolute bane of your existence. You honestly had no idea how the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot, maybe it was how loud your hot-headed drummer, Benny got when he was pissed off, or how Haz liked to play his guitar outside of the sound dampened recording studio or how your singer Joe sand loudly in the halls as the four of you left to go home, or maybe it was the fact that you told him you expected him to be much shorter from slouching behind his set. Come to think of it, it probably was the latter of the complaints you’ve gotten from the neighboring band.

The first time you met Roger Taylor was also your first day in the recording studio as an officially signed and contracted band. The group of you were leaving well past midnight, alcohol and cigarettes seemed to be the only way you four could make it through recording this late. As the group of you stumbled through the hallway, your laughter accompanied by Joe’s bass heavy vocals echoed loudly through the halls. Your troupe had just barely made your way to the first door before a head of messy blond hair and furrowed brows poked his head out from the neighboring recording room, “Would you shut your bloody traps, some of us are trying to record.” He snapped before loudly slamming the door behind him.

You and your bandmates froze, unsure of what to do or say. It wasn’t until Haz spoke up and shoved Joe “Yeah shut up, Joe.” He mocked while laughing. You couldn’t help but think of how familiar his face looked.

Just the thought of Roger Taylor was enough to make your mood sour for at least the next three hours. You frowned pushing the heavy doors to the outside open, inhaling the cool winter air. You needed to get out of that damn recording studio, it got so stuffy after having four people in there breathing the same air for hours at a time. You brought a cigarette to your lips and lit it, leaning against the brick building with your hands in your jacket pocket, the door next to you opened revealing your nemesis, Roger Taylor, much to your dismay. “Fuck now my cigarette is ruined.” You said blowing smoke out towards the air.

Roger rolled his eyes, “Piss off.” He retorted before walking past you and to his car to grab a few sets of spare sticks.

“Aw, not out here to join me for a smoke?” you joked.

Roger frowned and his face twisted into one of disgust “I’d rather eat a fist full of glass.” He spat at you bitterly.

You hummed taking a drag from your cigarette and blew the smoke directly in his face as he walked past you “Shame, we really could have bonded.”

Roger waved the smoke away from his face “Don’t you have to be a bitch somewhere else?”

Your face twisted as you stubbed your cigarette out with your boot “Don’t you have to bang on some pots and pans?” you retorted.

Roger rolled his eyes and pushed past you, throwing the door open and stomping down the hall. You waited a beat for him to make his way to Queen’s recording room before you followed suit. Seeing Roger Taylor in person was enough to sour your mood for a few days. You and your bad attitude made your way back to the studio, you loudly shut the door behind you which caught the attention of your bandmates. “What’s got you in a pissy mood?” Haz asked.

Benny smirked knowingly “You ran into roger while out on your smoke break, didn’t you?”  

You huffed “I swear to god I’m going to fight his arrogant ass one of these days.” You said while pacing, too worked up to sit down.

Joe walked out of the booth “Well if you’re done brooding, get in and record your bass line for the song. We’ve been wasting time waiting for you to get back in.” He sounded almost as frustrated as you were.

You nodded, picking up your bass and walking into the booth, you put the headphones on and allowed for the music your bandmates had recorded previously to fill your eardrums as you added your bass line onto their unapologetically loud post-punk beats.

The music stopped and you looked up from your bass, “You sound like shit.” Benny said, “Not like good shit, but like actual shit.” He added.

Your jaw dropped, “Excuse me?” you sounded shocked, “What?” You really couldn’t wrap your head around what Benny had just told you.

Joe nodded his head and gave you a sympathetic smile along with a thumbs down, “You should make it… make it more slappy I guess?”

You scoffed “Slappy? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Benny clicked on the speaking button again “It means, make it sound slappy. Like this,” He said singing a bass like.

You nodded your head “Got it.” You said and waved your hand signaling them to roll the tape. You chewed on your lip and listened for a minute to think of something to play before you let your fingers fly down your frets and strings. When you finished you looked back up to the window “Slappy enough for you?”

“Fucking brilliant, per usual.” Haz complemented into the mic.

Movement in the background caught your attention though, you walked closer to the window and squinted your eyes trying to see into the poorly lit sound booth to the door. Where some tall figures stood “What’s going on back there?” You asked.

Haz shifted nervously in his seat “Don’t worry about it, we have other songs to do.” You could see him swallow thickly behind the glass that separated the two of you.

You were suspicious but he was right, “Fine, roll the bloody tape.” You were frustrated, frustrated with your shit takes, frustrated with Roger, frustrated with the fact you didn’t know what was going on from the outside of this stupid little box. Through the middle of your little recording session you saw your bandmates recongregate in front of the soundboard. They whispered and talked amongst themselves while the producer sat next to them obviously eavesdropping, you abruptly stopped “Are you going to tell me who was at the door? Or should I just keep playing and not having you pay attention.” You said bitterly.

Benny rolled his eyes and paused the recording, “If you really need to know, Freddie Mercury invited us to a gathering at his house later this evening.” He said waving an envelope in front of the window.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You said, letting go of your bass and allowing it to drop and hand loosely from the strap around your shoulder.

“Honest,” He said raising his hands defensively.

You took your headphones off and switched off the mic before screaming “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” From behind the soundproof booth, that did it. You rage had finally bubbled over, you shoved over the table holding your water, extra pics, and notes before breathing deeply and regathering yourself. “Let’s roll the fucking tape so we can get ready, yeah?” You said, as your bandmates looked at you with shocked expressions behind the glass. “You lot catching flies, or are we going to fucking record, let’s go.”

As you recorded your bandmates sat in an uncomfortable silence before one of them finally spoke “I’ve never seen [Y/N] that mad at anything in my life.” Haz started, leaning back in his chair.

Joe nodded his head, still listening intently but joining in on the conversation, “Yeah, but I bet it’s because she hasn’t gotten a proper lay in ages.”

Benny cracked open his beer and took a big gulp before grunting in agreement “You think she fancies Taylor?” he questioned.

“Yeah, but she can’t deal with her feelings, you know that. She’ll destroy this whole damn studio before she admits that.” Haz pointed out.

Benny nodded his head “Right, well I guarantee she is going to be piss drunk tonight, so I’ll keep an eye on her.”

---

After your litter outburst in the studio the boys decided to call it a day after your last take to allow for you all to go home and get ready for Freddie’s party, Ben would be making arounds later to pick everyone up but that wouldn’t be an issue considering he was also your roommate. You rifled through your closet, struggling to figure out what to wear. Your typical style didn’t seem grand enough for a Freddie Mercury party, but you made do with what you had and opted for comfort instead of sex appeal.

“Try not to fight anyone tonight.” Benny said as the two of you got into his small car.

You obviously knew what he was referencing but preferred to ignore it “I won’t, it’ll be fine, I’ve never been in a better mood.” You said and flashed him a fake cheesy smile.

Benny rolled his eyes knowing he would have his hands full tonight.

The drive to Freddie’s lavish home was surprisingly short, which you were grateful for seeing as sitting in the car was making you stir crazy. A pit of butterflies had formed in your stomach, but you had no idea why you had this sudden onset of nerves. You got along wonderfully with all of the other members of the famous rock and roll band and often times would ring up John Deacon for advice on your playing. You didn’t mind his bluntly honest critiques or his back handed complements that would make any other person run and cry. You were not any other person in the sense that you and John were very similar in that sense. Being the bassists in your respective bands meant you had to stand up for yourself otherwise you would get pushed to the background and often forgotten about by fans. It was your mutual understanding for the struggles of being bassists and strong drinkers that caused your professional friendship to form.

The group of you made your way to Freddie’s front door and were let in by nicely dressed doormen, and the scene before you was unlike anything you could have imagined. You knew his parties were the stuff of legends, but a party of this stature could rival even the great Jay Gatsby. You quickly lit a cigarette and took a glass of expensive white wine from one of the waitstaffs’ trays, promptly downing the small glass and handing it back to them, “Shall we?” You asked nodding your head into the large crowd of people before you.

Before you knew it, your bandmates had been swallowed by the crowd, causing you to lose sight of them and anyone else you may have recognized as a matter of fact. You meandered through the crowd towards the bar where you saw a familiar head of iconic curly hair, “Brian!” You said, greeting him with a friendly embrace which he returned. “It’s so nice to see you outside of the recording studio.” You jokingly said.

He laughed and nodded his head, “Yeah same to you.” He took a sip from his drink, “I heard you and Roger got into another little spat.” He could see the remanence of frustration behind your cheerful expression.

Your smile quickly dropped and was replaced by rolling eyes and deep sigh, “Did he tell you that?” You asked, you could feel your frustration boiling over.

“You know he’s sensitive about his drumming.” Brian chimed in with a smirk, oh did he love stirring the pot between the two of you.

“Well I’m sensitive about being called a bitch.” You said quickly swallowing the mixed drink your ordered, hoping the alcohol would ease your frustration.

Brian’s lips quirked into a sympathetic smile, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”  That was a lie and both of you knew it.

You nodded, already nursing your next drink, these bartenders really did work at inhuman speeds “Right,” You said not believing his lie, “Where’s Fred and John?” You quipped.

“What, not curious about where the fourth member is?” Brian pressed, your silence caused him to put his hands up defensively “Only taking the piss.” He said, still smiling “Freddie is out back, and John is God knows where.”

You nodded your head before ordering another drink, back up if you will, and bidding Brian farewell before you pushed your way through the crowd to greet the host. Freddie was having a good time, per usual. You waved hello to him from the crowd of people, he yelled something you couldn’t hear over the music and reached for your hand pulling you into a warm friendly hug which you awkwardly returned given your hands were full. You handed Freddie your empty drink glass “What should I do with this?” You asked, he responded by taking the glass from your hand and throwing it out into the crowd of people, causing you to laugh while nursing your next drink.

You and Freddie laughed in your mutual drunken states “You know, darling, when Roger came back into the studio and mentioned how you said something about him banging on pots and pans I nearly died from laughter.” He said remembering the flushed and angry expression on his drummer’s face. “You know what I think?” He asked leaning into talk to you, you sipped your drink, looking up at Freddie wide eyed and pressing him to continue speaking “I think the two of you should fuck.”

You choked on your drink, coughing it all over the front of your shirt and wiping the dribble from your chin “What!” You asked in a shrill voice.

Freddie let out a bellowing laugh, “It would be brilliant, the two of you need a good fuck anyways.” He said trailing off at the end and taking a large sip from his highball glass.

“I can’t believe you would even suggest I sleep with that arrogant asshole.” You were honestly kind of offended that Freddie would group you with one of Roger’s lowly groupies.

“Hear me out, love.” He said, his stance wavering from the alcohol “Roger has had such a stick up his ass after quitting smoking and the divorce. I don’t think he’s gotten any decent pussy since we toured in the 80s and you? I don’t ever see you going home with any sort of eye candy.”

You rolled your eyes before you finished off your drink and set your glass on a table, “I don’t get any I’m the only female in a mostly male punk band, Fred.” You pointed out, using your now empty hands to light a cigarette, “I’m not even a lead, I just play bass.” You said blowing smoke out into the night sky.

“Oh rubbish, you’re a damn good bassist or John wouldn’t even give you the time of say.” What Freddie said was true. While John was harsh in his critiques, you knew it was only because he saw the raw talent you had.

You nodded your head only half listening to Freddie, your mind still caught up on trying to imagine how sex with Roger Taylor would be. A bitter frown crossed your lips, you would never fuck Roger Taylor, “I need a refill.” You huffed before promising Fred you would come back immediately after your drink. You pushed your way through the crowd, your arm raised as to not burn anyone with your lit cigarette. You tried desperately to find your bandmates, but alas due to the large crowd it was no use.

Either way, you needed another drink.

You quickly made you way to the bar back inside the house and ordered a shot of whiskey and chased it with a full beer before you ordered another mixed drink. The copious amounts of alcohol you had consumed were finally catching up to you, your face felt hot and flushed and your skin tingled delightfully. You hummed, sipping your drink and making your way to the bathroom to finally break the seal. After checking several of the first-floor bathrooms, only to find their handles locked you frowned in frustration and made your way up the stairs to the second level of Freddie’s mansion before you finally found an unlocked bathroom. You promptly went in and relieved yourself as you exited you ran into a surprisingly firm body, sloshing your drink and theirs on each other’s respective shirts “Who invited you here?” The voice sent a chill of frustration up your spine and to your alcohol flushed face.

You looked up, locking eyes with an equally intoxicated Roger Taylor, you huffed moving to push past him “Freddie did, the other members of your group actually seem to enjoy my company.” You said, once again moving to squeeze past him. Your efforts were to no avail, as he had firmly planted both hands on either side of the door, trapping you in the bathroom. “Get out of my way.” You said impatiently, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’re always a right cunt you know that?” he said in a matter of fact tone.

You grit your teeth and clenched your drink harder “You’re the one that’s the cunt, maybe it’s all that groupie pussy that’s ruined your respect for women.”

Roger scoffed, here he was, nearly forty years old and throwing insults at some newbie punk rocker. “I don’t know if I’d call you a woman, maybe a failed guitarist sure, but a woman or lady not so much.” He said crossing his arms over his chest giving you a smug look.

“I think your sticks are too far up your ass, Taylor,” You spoke as you pushed past him. Before you had time to react you felt hands on your shoulders pushing you hard against with wall causing you drop the glass in your hands, allowing it to shatter on the ground and the breath to escape from your lungs, you groaned but didn’t know if it was from the pain of your back colliding with the wall behind you or from the adrenaline you felt rising in your veins and stomach.

Roger’s strong hands held you firmly against the wall and his calloused fingertips brushed against the skin on your collar causing a light shutter to run through your body “I have half a mind to shut you up right here.” He threatened, his usually bright blue eyes now clouding over with something much darker.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the pressure of having his knee right between your legs, but you felt a sudden boldness “Do it,” You pressed, articulating your words and hoping to get a rise out of him.

With that, he pressed his lips against you with force, causing your teeth to clank together and your head to fall back, knocking against the wall. His roughness causing a sultry moan to slip from your lips, “You’re pathetic.” He hissed pulling your hair and tilting your head to expose your neck and leaving hot opened mouth kisses along your jawline to your neck where he harshly bit down causing you to shove him back.

Roger gripped tightly to your hips causing the two of you to stumble backwards from the force of your push “Take me to a bedroom and fuck me already.” You said impatiently. Freddie wouldn’t mind if the two of you had a quick romp in the sheets in one of his many bedrooms, after all he was the one that instigated the whole thing.

The two of you stumbled, a mess of tangled and drunken limbs as you fell back into the first open bedroom you could find. Roger flipped on the light switch, not breaking the kiss and revealing a large well decorated room with an equally large bed in the middle. He shut the door behind him with one arm and shoved you back onto the bed with the other. Your eyes caught your reflection in the side mirror, your hair was a mess accompanied by smeared make up and eyes clouded with lust.

You quickly slipped your boots off and lifted your hips to help Roger take your pants off. Quickly, he flipped you over and pushed you forward. You adjusted yourself, ass in the air and legs spread showing off your already wet pussy. Roger groaned looking at it and ran a finger through your slick folds “You truly are pathetic, you know that, [Y/N]? I’ve barely touched you and here you go making a mess all over Freddie’s sheets.” He inserted two fingers into you agonizingly slow and licked his lips feeling the tightness of you engulf him, “A shit bassist, shit song writer, shit musician, shit person…” He emphasized each of his words with the slow lazy thrusting of his fingers. You let out a choked sob, desperate for him to give you more, “What was that?” He asked smugly, “If you want to get fucked, you’re going to have to be louder for me.” He said before pulling his fingers out leaving you feeling empty.

You pushed back against hand, “No-” you said sharply. You spread your legs further and arched your back “Please,��� you hated how he had complete control over the situation, but at the same time loved it.

“Please what?” He asked swiping the head of his cock between your damp folds, intently watching as your juices coated him.

“Fuck me.” You said softly, clenching the bedsheets.

He raised his hand and placed a sharp smack on your ass causing you to jolt “Ah, fuck. Just stick it in already Roger.” You hissed.

Without warning the blond lined up to your entrance and pushed in, not giving you time to adjust. He let out a choking groan, not expecting you to be as tight as you were, “Fucking Christ.” He hissed snapping his hips against yours with purpose.

You gripped the bedsheets and cried out, feeling him stretch your walls unapologetically. There was no foreplay and no care in how either of you handled each other, just wanton need mixed with the mutual resentment you had for each other.

Roger propped one of his legs up to angle deeper into you and leaned over, pushing the side of your face into the mattress as he relentlessly pounded into you, years upon years of frustration he couldn’t hold back. He fucked his failed marriage, arguments with the band, cigarette cravings, and the comments you made about how shitty you thought his drumming was into you as he drove you into the mattress. Your legs shook and eyes rolled into the back of your head from the pleasure you received from the new angle and you let out a string of garbled words neither of you could understand. “This whole party can probably hear how much of a slut you are.” He said slipping his thumb into your mouth to which you greedily sucked on, “I didn’t expect you to have such a tight pussy” He huffed and groaned feeling your walls flutter against him, “’Cos you seemed like such an easy lay.” He let out a breathless laugh, knowing how right he was.

Your arms had given out and were sprawled out in front of you and drool had started to dribble down your chin from Roger’s thumb pressing down on your tongue forcing your mouth open to hear your sinful cries, you knew your legs weren’t going to hold you up much longer and Roger knew that as well.

He quickly pulled out and flipped you over onto your back in a less than graceful manor before he hitched your legs over his hips and pushed himself back in, continuing his relentless pace. You reached your hand into his hair and tugged roughly on his while your other hand raked its nails down his back causing him to arch into your touch and his movement to faulter.

You were surprised to feel a hand slip between your legs and begin rubbing rough circles around your clit, guess chivalry wasn’t dead after all, you squirmed against his touch the stimulation almost becoming too much for you to handle. Your walls twitched, clamping down around Roger, earning a shuttering moan from him.

You were both close.

“R-Rog…” You let out a stuttering moan feeling your climax building in your gut.

“Come on, you can’t be that daft, use your words.” He huffed, gripping your chin to make you face him, “I want this whole party to know who’s fucked you by the time I’m done.” He said through gritted teeth.

You opened your eyes and your mouth hung ajar, breathing heavily as you made eye contact with the mess of a man before you. Roger’s shirt had ridden up, and his pants were half pulled down and accompanied by sweaty and matted hair, you hated how the look in his eyes caused your walls to clamp down hard on his cock, squeezing him as you reached your climax, yelling his name with a hoarse and cracked voice for the whole party downstairs to hear, and the face he made as clenched your thighs and hip and reached his own, releasing hot spurts of come into you. He hunched over you, letting out shaky breaths as he worked you through your orgasm. He hated you but wasn’t a monster.

Roger stopped and swallowed thickly while trying to catch his breath, you glanced over at the mirror seeing red scratched zig zagging on his back and sat in silence, wondering which one of you would cave first and break it. The drummer pulled out of you and tried to hide the whimper that escaped him at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his sensitive cock but failed, before he tucked himself back into his pants, “Still think you’re a bitch.” He said tucking his shirt back into his pants and tightening his belt.

“You’re a shit lay.” You tried to insult as you got up, steps wavering and some of the evidence of your prior actions leaking down the inside of your thigh.

Roger bit his lip at the sight and watched you pull your pants up, “Right and the whole crowd downstairs couldn’t hear your pathetic voice five minutes ago.” He said before turning to leave, giving you a short wave “Ta,” he said and left, walking downstairs with no shame.

Your hips ached as you walked to the bathroom to clean yourself up, you hated how that was your first penetrative orgasm, and you hated the ache between your legs, and you hated the smug look on Roger’s face after he left because the both of you knew he was probably the best lay you’ve had. But you couldn’t find it in you to be angry, not while in your post orgasm haze. You walked down the steps, taking it easy, and made your way to the bar and ordered a mixed drink to quench your thirst, desperately hoping that the stares you received weren’t because these strangers knew you just had been fucked so hard you could still feel the muscles in your legs twitching or that you could still feel the remains of your and Roger’s essence leaking out of you even after you cleaned yourself off.

You ordered a shot and a beer, quickly down the shot and moved to drink the beer before it was taken from your hands. You turned to see Freddie nursing what used to be your beer with a knowing smirk on his face, “[Y/N],” He said in a sing song voice.

“I didn’t fuck Roger” You said defensively.

Freddie grinned and handed you back your beer which you promptly drank out of “I didn’t say that, but you just confirmed.” He nudged your side, “Was it good? You know I caught Roger walking down the steps and he flashed me this grin.” He paused to order a drink, “And you know what I said to myself? I said, oh no Roger only makes that face after he fucked a good cunt. Then what do you know” He shrugged in an animated fashion “I see none other than you, darling, walking down the stairs, stiff as a board.” Freddie was about to continue rambling before you cut him off.

“I hate him.” You said placing a cigarette between your lips and lighting it, inhaling deeply.

Freddie practically ignored your comment, “But it was good wasn’t it?” Your silence was all he needed to answer “See!” He pointed out.

As the night continued so did your consumption of alcohol, you felt your drink being taken out of your hands and a blurry figure and closed on eye to focus your vision. It was a very pissed off Benny, “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you since we got here.” He said, drinking your drink.

You whined and leaned onto Benny’s chest “Hey, I was drinking that.” Your words slurred together.

“You look like a mess.” He said wrapping an arm around you to help steady your poor balance, your make up was smeared, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled. But thankfully your drunken state covered for your earlier romp in the sheets. “We have to go home,” He said pulling you along, “Come on.”

Your steps wavered as you began walking out “Wait,” You said abruptly stopping, “I have to say bye to Fred.”

Benny rolled his eyes “You’ve been with Fred all night, I’m sure he’ll understand that we need to leave.” You let out a whiney protest, “It’s 4am, [Y/N]” he said as if pointing out the early hour in the morning was going to make you want to leave more.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and firmly stood your ground, “Fine, for god’s sake Joe go find Freddie.” Benny said running a frustrated hand through his hair.

To you what seemed like hours but was truly minutes passed and Freddie was before you, and equally as drunk mess as you were, hanging off Jim’s shoulder. The two of you held each other in a drunken embrace and Freddie kissed your cheek goodbye before Benny pulled you off.

As Benny and Joe practically pushed you into the car you caught sight of a familiar blonde who was also about to leave, you rolled your window down “Hey!” You shouted, catching Taylor’s attention “You’re a bitch!” You shouted, to which he flipped you the finger and yelled ‘fuck off’ as you and your bandmates drove away.

After dropping off your two other bandmates at home Benny draped your arm across his back and held you at the waist, as you struggled to stand. “’M gonna puke.” You said feeling your stomach doing flips and a sudden cold chill crawl up your spine and settle where your ears and jaw connected. You moved to kneel on the soft grass on the side of your parking area and your hair fell around your face as you retched, trying to use your arms to hold yourself up, they were so tired and your elbows jerked, threatening to give out.

Benny pulled your hair back, seeing a large and deep mark of varying shades of red and purple on your neck, “What the fuck is this?” He asked poking the side of your neck when you finished puking and started to regain your breath. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and mumbled some incoherent words, “What?” He asked again.

“I fucked Roger!” You said loudly, sitting back on the concrete.

“Ssshhh,” He said putting a hand over your mouth “You’re going to wake the whole bloody neighborhood.”

You swayed in your seated position and fell into Benny’s chest, “I fucked Roger,” You said in a loud whisper.

“Yeah, I got that much.” Benny said, hooking his arms under your shoulders and pulling you up with him, the two of you made the long arduous walk to up to your apartment building. Benny laid you in your bed and unlaced your boots, you let out a huff still frustrated with yourself, “Was it good at least?” your roommate asked while handing you a glass of water.

You sat up in your bed and gulped it down “Yes,” you said in a defeated voice “But it doesn’t change anything, I still can’t stand the bloody prick.”

Benny hummed “Right,” He said nodding his head and taking the glass from your hands, “We can talk more about this in a few hours, the birds are chirping.”

---

When you awoke a few hours later you groaned, clutching your head feeling the insistent pounding of a hangover rattling through you and an ache between your legs, “Shit,” You said out loud remembering your actions from the night before. You got out of bed seeing you were still in last night clothes and slipped into an oversized tee shirt and put on some sunglasses to help shield your eyes from the bright light of day before you shuffled out of your bedroom and into the bathroom to find something to curb your headache.

You grabbed the pill bottle of over the counter pain killer and made your way to the kitchen for a glass of water and were greeted by your bandmates all in your living room. You opened your mouth to issue an apology for being a drunken mess last night but before you could get words out Joe interrupted you “Don’t worry, Haz puked all over the nice tile near Freddie’s pool right before we left so you weren’t the worst off.” Haz hid his face bashfully and nodded at you feeling your pain.

You grabbed a glass of water and made yourself comfortable in your usual spot in the living room, not caring that you weren’t wearing pants. You were comfortable enough with your bandmates and paid half the rent here so you really should be able to do whatever you damn well pleased in the place you called home. Much to your dismay you were already thrown a heap of questions “So I heard you fucked Roger last night.” Joe said bluntly.

You paused bringing your glass of water to your mouth to drink and were thankful your sunglasses hid your expression, “Yeah we fucked. What of it?” You asked defensively.

Joe made a face and put his hands up, “I was only making conversation.” He muttered bringing up his cup of tea before drinking it.

You were not going to hear the end of it.

Chapter 2: We Can Hate Each Other in the Morning >>>

[lastsonlost]

Women’s groups and prominent feminist figures have remained almost universally silent over a former staffer’s accusation of sexual misconduct against former Vice President Joe Biden—including those individuals and groups who came to express regret for how the Democratic Party handled similar accusations made against President Bill Clinton in the 1990s.

The collective non-response from mostly Democrat-aligned groups comes as potential female running mates struggle themselves in responding to the Biden allegation, which has the potential to upend his campaign against President Donald Trump, who has been accused of sexual misconduct by dozens of women in alleged incidents spanning decades. And it echoes the division among progressives when the #MeToo movement revived scrutiny of Clinton’s own alleged sexual misconduct.

The Daily Beast contacted 10 top national pro-women organizations for this story, including Emily’s List, Planned Parenthood Action Fund, NARAL Pro-Choice America, and the National Organization for Women. Most organizations did not respond to a detailed request for comment about the allegation by Tara Reade, a former staff assistant in Biden’s Senate office who has accused the former vice president of forcibly penetrating her with his fingers in the early 1990s. Others replied and did not provide a statement. 

One prominent women’s political group cited a scheduling conflict and asked to be kept “in mind for other opportunities!” When pressed if the following day would work better, an associate said it would not, citing another scheduling conflict. 

The near-total lack of acknowledgement from nearly a dozen leading pro-women organizations comes as new corroboration has emerged with respect to the allegation, which the Biden campaign has categorically denied. Neither the Biden campaign nor Reade responded to requests from The Daily Beast for comment Tuesday. 

It also is taking place as prominent elected women in the Democratic Party rally to Biden’s side. On Tuesday, Hillary Clinton became the latest to offer her endorsement of Biden’s candidacy—a symbolic passing of the torch from one presidential candidate to another, but a moment that also served as a reminder of moments in recent party history when accusers were almost uniformly dismissed.

In 2017, attorney Patricia Ireland, who served as president of the National Organization for Women for the entirety of the Clinton administration, told The Washington Post that she wished she had “done more to be supportive” of Paula Jones, the former Arkansas state employee who alleges that Bill Clinton sexually harassed her during his time as governor.

“For Paula Jones, there were nice distinctions that people made: She didn’t work for him, he didn’t have the power to hire or fire her,” Ireland said at the time. “But that ignores the reality that he was a very powerful man.”

During the same period, feminist icon Gloria Steinem told The Guardian that she regretted some parts of her aggressive defense of Clinton during the Monica Lewinsky scandal, including a New York Times op-ed in which she dismissed accusations of sexual misconduct against the president. “Even if the allegations are true,” Steinem wrote in the 1998 op-ed, “the president is not guilty of sexual harassment. He is accused of having made a gross, dumb and reckless pass. President Clinton took ‘no’ for an answer.”

Steinem told the Guardian that “I wouldn’t write the same thing now because there’s probably more known about other women now. I’m not sure… What you write in one decade you don’t necessarily write in the next.”

But neither Ireland nor Steinem responded to a request for comment about Reade’s accusations against Biden. Bill Clinton has long denied Jones’ claims, settling a lawsuit she filed in 1998 for $850,000 with no apology or admission of wrongdoing.

Speaking to Fox News on Tuesday, Reade accused Hillary Clinton of “enabling a sexual predator.”

“Hillary Clinton has a history of enabling powerful men to cover up their sexual predatory behaviors and their inappropriate sexual misconduct,” Reade said in response to Clinton’s endorsement. “We don’t need that for this country. We don’t need that for our new generation coming up that wants institutional rape culture to change.”

Reade first accused Biden of digitally penetrating her in a podcast interview with journalist Katie Halper in March. Two other people, including Reade’s brother and a friend who has remained anonymous, told various outlets that Reade had told them about certain aspects of the alleged assault and her subsequent dismissal from Biden’s office over the years.

On Monday, Business Insider quoted a former neighbor of Reade’s recounting that the ex-staffer had disclosed details of the alleged assault when she lived next door to her in the mid-1990s. “This happened, and I know it did because I remember talking about it,” Lynda LaCasse, Reade’s former neighbor, told the outlet.

On April 24, Reade told The Intercept that her mother called into Larry King’s cable-news program to discuss “problems” her daughter experienced with a prominent lawmaker in 1993. In the episode, a caller from San Luis Obispo, California—where property records indicate Reade’s mother lived at the time—asked the host “what a staffer might do besides go to the press in Washington.”

“My daughter has just left there after working for a prominent senator and could not get through with her problems at all,” the caller said. “The only thing she could have done was go to the press, and she chose not to do it out of respect for him.” 

Reade said on Twitter that it was her mother’s voice. “This is my mom. I miss her so much and her brave support of me.”

Biden’s defenders have argued that Reade’s story has changed over time—she previously had said only that she felt Biden had inappropriately touched her and made her feel uncomfortable. But sexual-assault victims’ advocates have noted that its common for victims to hold back on details as they recount their traumatic experiences. 

Various aides to Biden have said they have no recollection of any assault incident happening. And Biden’s deputy campaign manager Kate Bedingfield said in a statement this month that “this absolutely did not happen,” and that “Vice President Biden has dedicated his public life to changing the culture and the laws around violence against women.” Bedingfield added: “He firmly believes that women have a right to be heard—and heard respectfully. Such claims should also be diligently reviewed by an independent press. What is clear about this claim: It is untrue.”

Over the past several days, the Biden campaign has signaled that it is paying additional attention to issues that disproportionately affect women. On Monday, Sen. Kamala Harris (D-CA), one of the contenders thought to be on Biden’s shortlist of potential running mates, was a guest on a virtual town hall with black leaders on coronavirus’ impact on women of color. Sen. Amy Klobuchar (D-MN), another possible running mate and former Biden rival, was also featured in a virtual forum addressing similar women’s focused issues late last week. 

On Tuesday, in introducing Clinton during a virtual town hall, Biden declared she is “the woman who should be president of the United States right now.”

“I want to add my voice to the many who have endorsed you,” Clinton said during the event to discuss the impact of COVID-19 on women. “This is a moment where we need a leader, a president, like Joe Biden.” Biden, she said, has been “preparing for this moment his entire life.” The former vice president reciprocated by saying it was a “wonderful personal endorsement.” 

On Monday, in offering her own backing, House Majority Leader Nancy Pelosi called him a “partner for progress in the White House.” 

Four years ago, women’s groups threw their weight behind Clinton’s historic campaign as the Democratic Party’s first female nominee. But they remained largely out of the primary in 2020, when an unprecedented number of women campaigned with that similar goal in mind. Still, some groups haven’t been shy about criticizing parts of Biden’s past record relating to women.

In the early stages of Biden’s campaign, Planned Parenthood Action Fund took issue with a position he previously held around support for the Hyde Amendment, a provision that sought to restrict the use of federal money for abortion. In June 2019, the group’s executive director specifically called out Biden by name, reminding him that “the Democratic Party platform is crystal-clear” around repealing Hyde. Biden later denounced his support of the amendment. 

Now, as Biden faces a sexual-assault allegation as the presumptive nominee, his past record and prominent female defenders are facing a new round of scrutiny. In particular, the decision to select a female running mate delighted many party activists and women’s rights advocates when Biden announced it in March, but is taking on a new form as the Reade allegation receives additional corroboration. 

Already, potential nominees are having to answer questions about the allegation. The Daily Beast recently contacted the most prominent figures thought to be considered as possible contenders about Reade’s claim, including Harris, Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-MA), and former Georgia House Minority Leader Stacey Abrams.

Among the seven Democratic women’s offices reached, only Abrams commented, telling The Daily Beast that “women have the right to be heard” and adding, in part, that “nothing in the Times review suggests anything other than what I already knew: That Joe Biden is a man of highest integrity who will make all women proud as our next president.”

[firstagent]

Review: Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 10: The Steel-Solid Super Evolution

In this episode, Taichi and Greymon earn their evolution the old fashioned way… throwing themselves into an unwinnable fight and hoping the opponent can’t hit a target.

When you think about the contents of a standard new evolution episode, there’s a common formula, putting the spotlight and extra pressure on one kid and expecting them to dig deep and come through with the magic. Whether the episode succeeds or not hinges on the problem that kid faces and the hidden source of energy providing their miracle. The debut of MetalGreymon goes through all the motions you’d expect it to have, so it’s structurally complete and looks just fine. But while it technically includes the two key elements of problem and solution, it does seem to forget they exist.

The centerpiece of the episode is a massive fight between Greymon and MetalTyranomon. It’s loud, well-drawn, and everything you’ve come to expect from the action set pieces this series. As a scrappy underdog fight trying to buy time until the others escape and then find a sneaky retreat (or the others bother to help out instead), this would be gold. But no, the premise here is that Greymon’s actually supposed to beat this thing. The longer it goes, the less appetizing the foregone conclusion becomes.

Start with the problem: MetalTyranomon is gigantic, has limited vulnerabilities, and enough destructive power to level a fortress. Greymon’s tactics against it are simple but don’t show of the sort of exemplary evasion, resilience, and timing needed to stay in this fight long enough for new evolution to enter the equation. He just doesn’t seem to get hit much at all, and when he does gets up unfazed. The action does more to undersell MetalTyranomon’s power than prop up Greymon. We know he’s tough, and we’ve seen him beaten up worse, so this isn’t all that impressive.

As for the hidden energy, it’s both achingly straightforward and more complicated than the show wants to acknowledge. While the mechanics haven’t been covered yet, it’s clear that each kid’s crest attribute powers those little mid-battle boosters and this new evolution. So if Taichi needs to show some courage to make Greymon evolve… yes, of course this qualifies. It also amounts to the old cliche of staying in the fight and refusing to give up until fortune smiles on you, which in its rawest form is incredibly dull, especially against an opponent becoming less and less scary. That bit endures because of the twists and nuances added to it, which are totally absent here. The real complexities, meanwhile, are left unspoken: the difference between blindly rushing at a stronger opponent out of arrogance or brazenness versus bravely occupying the enemy while the rest of the team escapes. We know this is the sort of behavior that earns higher evolutions. The show fails to distinguish why.

One source of comfort (other than looking and sounding so damn good) is the first act teasing us with some real tension in the group. Everyone believed Ogremon’s dying act of pointing them in the right direction was sincere because come on, did you see the guy? In comes Yamato who wants to exercise a little caution before believing an enemy captain would really try to help them out of the blue like that. As far as classic Taichi-Yamato spats go, this one’s pretty tame: a simple reality check that just because they’re in a shounen anime doesn’t mean Taichi should entrust their lives to its tropes. Nobody’s out of line here, but the mere whiff of dissent against Taichi raises the temperature in that cave. Joe, Mimi, and especially Sora’s reactions are all worth noting, and it’s almost a shame Koshiro comes through with hard data giving Ogremon’s lead just enough credibility to pursue.

This isn’t the first time someone hit their second evolution this early. Kouji found his Beast Spirit in episode 10 of Frontier and Daisuke got his second digimental in episode 11 of Zero Two. But those came with challenges deeper than the enemy in front of them. Those are the kinds of challenges we’re still waiting for Taichi to experience. The hope has always been that the higher evolutions would have to be earned in ways more involved than a simple need to overcome in a battle. So although the situation allows Taichi to earn MetalGreymon based on that need, the fact that there isn’t more to it, and the fact that several other characters are lined up to get their Ultimate forms in the next few episodes, makes for a troubling loophole that stands to be exploited further.

My Grade: B

Loose Data:

Koshiro getting a batch of Digimon data from the fortress, combined with asides from Piyomon and Agumon in previous episodes, suggests that we’ll actually have a source for the Digimon scouting reports this time around instead of a disembodied voice chiming in or a handy digivice having all the information. Yay for keeping it in-world.

Sora preventing Joe and Mimi from interrupting the Taichi-Yamato staredown might be the most interesting thing she’s done so far. We’ve gotten little bits about her character here and there, but not jumping to Taichi’s defense and letting Yamato air his disagreement is a good surprise.

While Koshiro discovering a base in the general direction Ogremon pointed lends credence to his information, it doesn’t disprove Yamato’s point about a possible trap. The trap may just be in a base.

That lake filled with poison and darkness is spooky enough to buy that flying over it wouldn’t be a viable option somehow, but they really needed to address that in show. As it stands we’re having unwelcome flashbacks to the whirlpool dilemma in Frontier.

Look at Yamato being Mr. Negative, suggesting that splitting up won’t help if neither path yields a solution, and then agreeing to it because it means the other half would survive if the other got wiped in battle. I hope he ends up with Joe.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

[cassatine]

In the spirit of avoiding behemoth threads, finishing with Chapter Two of Queen’s Shadow in a new post. Things got long. 

Starting with a mea culpa, because I done fucked up when I said “It’s also not specified whether she intends to free the slaves she’d buy”, it is in fact there! I even quoted it (”I can use the assets I have to free what people I can”) so very much my bad. I felt a bit bad over my ungenerous reading, but it kinda balances out because I was also too generous in assuming Padmé’s personal crusade was against Slavery, The Institution, rather than slavery on Tatooine, specifically.

It’s one of the bits that made me go ‘why oh why,’ not because I think it doesn’t fit with Padmé’s character, but because to me it reads like... in TPM she was surprised to find there were slaves on Tatooine: "I can't believe there's still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic's anti-slavery laws -”. And it is a bit weird: as a politician and then a head of state she’s supposed to have a decent grasp on the actual state of the galaxy at that point, not to be naive enough to be surprised by the state of the Outer Rim or to to think slavery doesn’t exist at all in the galaxy. Irony of irony, the Nemoidians are actually listed on the wookiee as practicing it around TPM, deliberately stunting the growth of some of their young to make them into labour drones the Trade Federation... brings into the Senate.

(Seems there’s another slavery-in-civilized-space example with Czerka Arms in Master & Apprentice, which I haven’t read, but as far as I’m concerned two examples are enough to point to the fact that slavery was far from being a Tatooine or even Outer Rim only issue before Padmé was elected.) 

In Queen’s Shadow we’re four years later after she first witnessed slavery does exist (even if only by happenstance; if there’d been no forced landing on Tatooine who knows when she’d have realized) and she’s still at ‘slavery’s only a problem on Tatooine’. 

It’s not just that, though. It’s that it’s four years after her planet was invaded and the Senate proved to be useless (at one point in TPM she straight up says the Republic is broken) and she still believes it is - “I know how the Senate works”. Not that she doesn’t have reasons to believe it; there was the invasion itself, and as we learn it’s Republic courts that handle Nute Gunray’s trials. Trials plural, we lean from Palpatine: the third, he says, just “ended in a hung jury. Not the best outcome, obviously, but not the worst, either, given the strength of the Trade Federation’s legal team. The Republic lawyers must regroup, but they are already planning their next moves.”

We are all extremely surprised! This kind of thing is why Padmé doesn’t trust the Senate with the question of Tatooine slavery in the first place, after all. And I’m not saying it’s not an accurate assessment, because it is, but her plan boils down to 'hey democratic institutions are fucked but I’m rich so trickle-down economics it is. let’s do us some charity baby.’

Okay that was a little mean. The point is Padmé has reasons to see the Senate as useless, and she does. And we, the audience, know any push for reform would be useless too - we know how it all ends already, we know that the Senate is paralyzed by bureaucratic inertia, full of corruption, and we know Palpatine’s there to stack the deck against any meaningful internal attempt at reform. 

Padmé doesn’t! Well, she knows about the bureaucratic inertia and the corruption. She’s supposed to be an idealist, and she’s a politician; fixing the actual institutions should be the first thing she looks to. Sure, even without Padmé knowing how much the deck is stacked against that fix happening, it would probably look like an impossible task, but I’m pretty sure Padmé’s never been afraid of impossible tasks. And the Republic she believes in is the one she invokes when she says it stands against slavery; the one that’s supposed to mediate between members to avoid things like invasions. TPM showed her wrong on both counts, and instead of choosing to fix it the Idealist Politician Way (doomed crusade) she went with private intervention for slavery on Tatooine and slapped some cannons on Naboo.

Yeah that happened, I haven’t gotten to it yet but I looked up a few EKJ interviews and at some point before the book starts Padmé had planetary defenses installed, and apparently that was part of the platform her successor ran on too. So much for Naboo’s pacifism - an easier position to maintain when the Republic can actually be trusted to make sure invasion and the like are prevented, I suppose. 

One thing I keep coming back to wrt Tatooine is "I can’t bring official political change, given the state of most Outer Rim planets”. Because if she knows the state these planets are in, shouldn’t she have an idea of why. One of the major factors is Republic politics?? Quoting the wookie again, on Tarkin deets this time, for an example:

Several years before the Clone Wars, those in the Outer Rim eventually came to believe themselves victims of economic and social injustices, as Judicials were often withheld in intervening in Outer Rim affairs after many far-flung worlds refused to provide the Core with profitable deals. (x)

(Softly, but with feeling:) That’s corruption. It’s part of the context that allows slavery to flourish, and that’s the kind of things that’s, huh, hard to change without some politicking. It’s not a Hutt problem, or a backward planet problem. It’s a Republic problem. (Then again, if Padmé doesn’t think of slavery outside the bounds of one planet, then she doesn’t have to consider it in terms of a systemic issue at the galactic scale.)

All in all, we’re four years after TPM and Padmé’s trust in the Republic’s institutions’ ability to function is somewhere close to zero; it makes sense that she never considered leaving it despite that. What reasons does Naboo have to stay, if the Republic doesn’t work? That they don’t like the Separatists? That one of their own is Chancellor? That even with that one invasion they still have it better with the Republic than without? Padmé still calls to the Republic’s ideals because she believes in them, and I do think that’s part of why its decay is hard for her to face, but if she could put how much she cares for the slaves on Tatooine on the side for four years because of her Naboo’s needs first policy, maybe that policy played a role in Naboo’s NoLeave position too. 

I’m not saying Naboo should have left, or that Padmé’s in an easy position, watching the Republic fall apart with little power to change things - sure she has more influence than some Joe Random but even as Queen of Naboo it’s not like she can snap her fingers and fix the Republic, or slavery, or economic exploitation of the Outer Rim. She was a local ruler, not exactly Queen of the galaxy, and moreover those are systemic issues, they don’t have quick, easy fixes. 

It’s still weird that Padmé just... only looks to Naboo. I know I just said she’s a local ruler, so looking to Naboo is her job, and her planet did have to recover from an invasion. But once she realizes the Republic is broken, it’s also part of her job to think of the consequences for Naboo if the Republic stays broken, which should motivate her to try all she can not to let that happen (the consequences are not good). And realize that in the long-term, slapping canons on her planet while doing shit-all to fix the actual underlying systemic issues makes her part of the problem. In-universe, the invasion of Naboo isn’t a small event: if corporate entities like the Trade Federation can go after Mid Rim planets instead of stopping at exploiting the Outer Rim like everyone else, and still keep the seats they shouldn’t even have in the Republic and make their trials for invasion drag on for years (and it’s Nute Gunray’s trial, not the Trade Federation’s), it’s bad news for a lot of planets. And if every rich, ~civilized~ Republic member does it like Naboo, and no one does jack shit to fucking reform the Republic, then they’re basically saying it’s every planet for themselves and letting free run to predatory corporations like the Trade Federation, and it all goes even downer from there, because why wouldn’t some use the opportunity to finally get their hands on that moon or that asteroid or whatever else. Etc. Padmé doesn’t know there’s an Empire just waiting, so if she thinks the Republic is broken she should be worrying about the breakdown of its institutions

(Also, the fact that Padmé slapped cannons on Naboo and then went on to campaign against the creation of a Republic army is kind of ironic, because one of the selling points for that army probably was protecting those planets that can’t do it like Naboo.)

For all the ranting - everything checks out with how I see Padmé; it’s not that she doesn’t mean well, but Naboo’s privilege planet without even accounting with the Naboo fuckery and Palpatine mentored her. She has blind spots and she’s very good at not looking at what she doesn’t want to see. 

What it doesn’t check out with is the framing. I’m supposed to think Padmé’s brilliant. I checked!!

E.K. Johnston: I think a lot of what Padmé does in the movies goes on inside her head. So her brilliance and her political acumen, you don’t necessarily see it play out in the movies. Because she’s so smart, she doesn’t explain what she’s doing. Getting to kind of get inside her head a little bit, and write from the perspective of inside her head, you sort of see how smart and how talented and how deeply compassionate she is. In a dress that weighs 80 billion pounds or in a suit for sneaking around or whatever, she has it covered because she knows herself and she knows her friends so well. (x) 

Look if you want me to buy political acumen and brilliance and whatever, then maybe that’s what you should portray. I’m not even done grumbling, because the next (and last) noteworthy bit is between Padmé and Sabé - who didn’t know about the scheme, Padmé didn’t share it with anyone before Palpatine asked.

“I don’t have enough capital to free them all,” Padmé said, still avoiding the word buy.

“Then we’ll find out what they want on Tatooine and sell it to them in trade,” Sabé said.

“‘We’?” Padmé said, her heart in her mouth.

“Of course we,” Sabé said. “You haven’t tied your own shoelaces in four years. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Just as well that Sabé decides to help out, because I peeked ahead and Padmé’s going to be too busy Senatoring, and just like Queen, Senator is a post that’s completely incompatible with any kind of action on Tatooine apparently, so ofc she’ll drop the matter altogether but in the meantime, she’ll put Sabé on it. 

(If I didn’t already know Padmé was going to drop it, I’d probably have been nicer. But between that and having seen EKJ explain Padmé’s lack of reaction at the AOTC Tusken slaughter and lack of intervention re: the slavery situation... no.)

Anyway! EKJ’s angle is girl power and friendship (and role models), but I’m disappointed there isn’t more on the plan, because it’s not exactly the worst moment to show Padmé’s done her research - and she should have, since she’s supposed to care and to be smart - and that she actually has at least the beginning of an idea of “what they want on Tatooine”. Or that she’s aware that “they” covers a range of people from Jabba, ie local Hutt lords that probably profit from the slave trade in the first place, and I guess would be interested in money, bling (ie status symbols) or ugly deals thanks to her influence and contacts; to the Wattos and moisture farmers who have slaves for their labour - what they’d want is to replace that labour force and come up with a profit since they’re at it, or enough dough (local currency, Watto doesn’t take Republic credits) not to need it in the first place and live better than they do with that labour; to the actual slave traders who’ll mostly be interested in keeping their business going, so again, it’s mostly money they’d want.

And for the other options, discounting political deals with the Hutts because I very much doubt Padmé would go there... I am not particularly good at The Economics, but it does seem likely there are chances that trading “what they want” with Tatooine locals for slaves still involves an exchange of money at some point, so what Sabé’s really offering comes down to adding an intermediary step to the exchange of goods and in no way does that solve the capital issue. Really - what’s Padmé going to offer the Wattos of Tatooine, who don’t even take Republic credits? Not political favours, that’s for sure. Her wardrobe? Tried that one. A week at Lake Cuomo - experience the wonders of civilization, one-time offer?

Water would be an option - worth a lot on Tatooine, so maybe she can drain the lake at her family’s home in the Lake Country, although after that unless the next Queen gives her free reign over the rest of Naboo’s waters we’re back to money. Also that’d fuck over every moisture farmer on the planet, so maybe it’s not the best idea ever. She could use droids to solve the labour issue, maybe she can even get a price if she places a big order - I’m sure the Geonosians would love to help out, I hear they’re good at mass-producing cheap droids. Clones? I don’t remember that she was very vocal about their rights. Most likely it’ll come down to counting coppers - there’s probably plenty of places in the galaxy where a new vaporator is cheaper than on Tatooine. 

But if that kind of maths sounds ugly, it still doesn’t solve the finite capital problem - and if the one thing steeped in practicality Padmé has to say about her plan is ��I don’t have the money for everyone’ then maybe that’s another reason to reconsider other options.

I’m also gonna point out that Padmé plans to have a massive impact on Tatooine’s labour force without apparently having considered the vacuum that’d create on a planet she knows to be poor and more lawless than not. It’s Hutt territory ffs, who’s going to step in if not them - and Padmé’s strategy not going to hurt them. It’s not that Tatooine’s economic model is good in any way, but if you just waltz in, take an axe to it and waltz back to fucking Lake Cuomo and your silk sheets, what’s going to replace is probably either more of the same, or worse.

In a similar but why vein, she says of the people she intends to free that she’ll “find them new homes, if they wish it” and I guess it’s supposed to sound good except if you think about it we’re talking about people who have nothing. Anakin and Shmi’s hovel isn’t *their*, it’s Watto’s; Anakin’s pod was only his because it was built out of junk (and because Watto has a modicum of decency somewhere inside). Freeing people is all well and good, but if you’re not actually giving them the tools to do so then you’re not really giving people a new start in life.

All this is why without actual systemic change what Padmé’s planning here is just plain fucked up: she’ll be injecting her assets into the very system she wants to go against, and do zero against the conditions that allow slavery to continue. Buying people, even to free them, is going to do shit against the institution of slavery itself, and if Padmé’s political acumen is supposed to be worth writing home about, then maybe she should show some awareness that she’s pulling some First World bullshit.

Previous notes: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2.a 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 5, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

In coronavirus news today, there were a record 2.4 million vaccines administered.

Florida governor Ron DeSantis (R) is denying any involvement in a vaccine drive in a private, gated community after which a resident of the community, former Illinois governor Bruce Rauner (R), made a donation of $250,000 to the Friends of Ron DeSantis Political Action Committee. This appears to be part of a pattern in Florida, where vaccine administration seems to track with wealthy communities whose members donate to the governor’s campaign funds.

News about the January 6 insurrection continues to mount, with a mid-level Trump appointee from the State Department, Federico Klein, arrested yesterday on several felony charges, including assaulting police officers, stemming from the riot. Tonight the New York Times revealed that a member of the far-right Proud Boys organization was in contact with someone at the White House in the days before the insurrection.

Representative Zoe Lofgren (D-CA) has catalogued almost 2000 pages of public social media posts from those representatives who voted to overturn the election. The material reveals that a few representatives were active indeed in pushing the idea that the election was stolen and Trump supporters must fight. Especially active were Paul Gosar (R-AZ), Mo Brooks (R-AL), Matt Gaetz (R-FL), Billy Long (R-MO) and Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA).

Senator Tom Cotton (R-AR) is slow-walking the confirmation of Merrick Garland as attorney general, an odd stance at a time when one would think we would want all hands on deck to investigate the insurrection and ongoing domestic terrorism.

The Senate continues to hash out the American Rescue Plan. After last night’s 10 hour and 44 minute reading of the bill by Senate clerks, demanded by Senator Ron Johnson (R-WI), there was a surprise when Senator Chris Van Hollen (D-MD) requested that the debate on the bill resume at 9:00 this morning and be limited to three hours, rather than the 20 hours that had been planned. Since no Republicans were there to object, the presiding officer agreed, and voting on amendments started at noon.  

The big deal today was that Senator Joe Manchin (D-WV) balked at what observers thought was a done deal, withdrawing his support from the measure’s $400 weekly unemployment. Shortly before 8:00 p.m., Manchin and Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) reached a deal to extend $300 payments through September 6, making the first $10,200 of unemployment benefits nontaxable for those households whose income is less than $150,000.

Manchin’s position has raised fury on the part of Democrats who are already mad at the loss of the $15 minimum wage in the bill, and there are grumblings that Manchin should not have the power to water the measure down.

But Manchin is as powerful as he is only because the Senate is split 50-50, and the Republicans-- who represent 41.5 million fewer Americans than Democrats do-- are refusing to vote for the measure at all, despite the fact that 77% of Americans want it. We have a structural problem both with the Senate and with the Republican Party.

The Democrats continue to believe they will pass the American Rescue Plan.

The popularity of that bill spells trouble for Republicans. President Biden is making a pitch for Americans who feel that the government has not responded to the needs of a falling middle class. The bill expands the earned income tax credit for all Americans, and almost doubles the child tax credit. These provisions will disproportionately help poor families, especially families of color. The measure is expected to cut child poverty in half, while also helping parents to work by helping them pay for childcare.

Meanwhile, there is another big event on the horizon in Alabama that suggests a seismic shift in the contours of our political parties.

Workers at an Amazon plant in Bessemer, Alabama, are voting on whether to unionize. Amazon opposes the move, which, since Amazon employs more than 400,000 warehouse and delivery workers, is shaping up to be the biggest fight over unionization in American history. The company warns that unionization might increase costs and slow growth, and it has flooded its workers with mandatory anti-union meetings and anti-union literature—even posting signs in bathroom stalls. While workers have complained about working conditions and mandatory overtime, the company points out that it offers Bessemer workers benefits and a starting pay of $15.30 an hour, while the federal minimum wage remains pegged at $7.25.

The reason this unionization effort jumps off the page for politics is that President Biden recorded a video on February 28 taking a strong pro-union stance. He reminded viewers that “America wasn’t built by Wall Street, it was built by the middle class, and unions built the middle class. Unions put power in the hands of workers. They level the playing field. They give you a stronger voice for your health, your safety, higher wages, protections from racial discrimination and sexual harassment. Unions lift up workers, both union and non-union, and especially Black and Brown workers.“

Biden made it clear that the choice to unionize should be made by workers, without pressure from employers. “The choice to join a union is up to the workers—full stop.” Biden has also nominated Boston mayor Marty Walsh, the former president of the Laborers’ International Union of North America, as secretary of labor. If confirmed, Walsh will be the first union member to serve as secretary of labor in nearly 50 years. Biden’s vocal defense of working Americans has the potential to rally struggling workers to the Democrats more firmly than they have rallied for decades.

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[thosequeenboys]

Love Is Love Is Love (Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello) - Chapter 2

A/N:  This story started as one shot for the Hardzzello Week “Missing” prompt - Missed (link below). The story unfolded as a series, which I named after a phrase in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s 2016 Tony acceptance sonnet that paid tribute to the victims of the Orlando, FL, night club shooting. Because of my commitment to gay marriage and LGBT rights I wanted to share a story of family joys and challenges through them.

Chap. 1:  Missed  

Summary, Chapter 2:  Puzzled:   Ben and Joe learn new information about Alex, and Joe receives a surprise that promises to complicate their lives.

Warnings:  Doctor’s visit for a check-up; angst

tagging: @warriorteam1924 @heybuddy-drabbles @oniriquex @igotsuckedintothevoid @watercolouredreams @roger-taylors-car @nightoftheland @lapofthemusicgods

The new year unfolded, and the days became longer demarcated by pink, lavender and gold sunsets. Their lives felt pretty stable and had a certain rhythm. Joe was serving as a consultant on a Netflix show, which required travel to LA a week each month.  With his own next gig requiring intense travel slated for later in the year, Ben cherished watching winter slip into spring on walks with his trusty, observant companion by his side, touching the cracked ground where bulbs sprouted, watching birds build nests and smelling flowers.   On a mid-March afternoon that was remarkably spring-like, Ben and Alex returned from playgroup, though this walk was silent and tense.  As they entered home, Joe was wrapping up a call.  

“Alex, how about watching some PBS?”  Ben said, entering the living room and turning on the TV. “Dad and I need to catch up on boring grown-up stuff.  I’ll bring you a snack in a few minutes.”

“OK”, Alex said, knowing he didn’t have a choice and that the ‘boring grown-up stuff’ probably included him. Before Ben left, he tried to change their dynamic by running his hand through his son’s hair.  “Alex. I love you.” Alex gave his dad a side glance, feeling lingering sadness from their earlier interaction when his dad was mad at him, but relieved to hear his dad’s affectionate words.  

Ben sat at the island counter in the kitchen facing Joe who had moved to the other side of the counter, peeling and cutting vegetables for chicken cacciatore.  

“So that thing happened at playgroup.”  Ben looked up at Joe.  Joe felt his chest tighten.  Again? He knew where this was going; they had been there before.   Ben sighed and continued:  

“The toys were laid out on the floor, and he and the other kids were playing.  It was going really well.  They were talking, and he seemed into it.  I thought, ‘Finally! He’s getting how it should be.” Suddenly he went over to the bookshelf and started looking on the shelves.  He pulled out a puzzle box.  I said he had to put it back; we can’t take things without asking. I told him we weren’t playing with that today.  He clutched it and refused.  He sat down with it, and when I tried to take it, he pulled it away. He actually scowled at me.  I gritted my teeth and told him to give it to me. I had smoke coming out of my ears, but I tried not to make a scene.  Fortunately, Becca, you know Georgie’s mom who was hosting, came over and said Alex could look at the puzzle - it belonged to Georgie’s older brother, Jeremy.  I thanked Becca and asked Alex to thank her too, which he did.”

“So, he dumps it out. Ok, so no surprise there.  But then he starts his sorting thing, and he’s holding up the pieces to the box in front of him and I’m kind of trying to block him, listening to the other parents.  And, he starts putting pieces together, making the border, and suddenly, one of the moms sees it and, like, gasps.  “OHMYGOD, Ben, he’s doing THAT puzzle?’  Then everyone starts looking.”

“We’re all always comparing notes:  What are the kids eating and not eating? What classes are they taking? Who’s looking at pre-schools?  It’s supportive, but everyone’s trying to make sure their kid is, you know, ‘on track.’”  

“Yeah,” Joe nodded, switching knives to cut up an apple. “My sister told me all about that.  It can get ugly.  Some parents brag, and parents whose kids are at a different stage try not to freak out. You can feel the anxiety bubbling up. Sometimes it’s just better to talk about politics, honestly.”  

Sighing, Joe plated the apple slices and spooned some peanut butter on the side of the plate.  Ben grabbed the plate and the water bottle. He slid off the stool to deliver it to Alex. Joe started to build the dish, sautéing peppers, carrots, onions and garlic.  After they softened, tomatoes, wine, stock and chicken would join the party.

Returning, Ben continued. “So, I just brushed it off. Talked about his older cousins teaching him, how he tries to copy them, you know, he just fools around and gets lucky.  Then it was time to leave.  He only did a little of the puzzle.  Jesus, it was like 50 pieces.  I said we had to clean it up.  He was all with the ‘no’s’, but finally I glared at him – I swear I almost lost it - but he relented.  I feel so out of control when this happens and not sure what to do.  And, Alex gets laser-focused and detaches. I had to tell him to say good-bye and thank you.  I could tell he was still thinking about that fucking puzzle as we were saying our goodbyes….”

Joe stopped chopping the basil and put his knife down, wiping his hands on a towel. He ran his fingers through his hair.  “He is who he is.  And we shouldn’t be too surprised about his laser-focus -- and his smarts -- knowing his two sets of genes,”  Joe said, with a wink, before continuing, “You handled it well, Babe. Really well.   You shouldn’t feel defensive.  We need to figure out how to deal with this.  Take him for the check-up… better late than never.”

Suddenly Alex came in holding the empty plate and bottle.  ‘Hey, Buddy,” Joe said.  “The chicken is almost done.  Want to finish it up?”  

Alex nodded. He went over to Joe who took the plate and bottle and put the stool in front of the stove, helping him up.  “OK,” Joe said, pointing to a pile of chopped greens on the cutting board.  Here we have some basil and parsley.”  Alex grabbed the greens and sprinkled them into the pot.  Joe handed Alex the wooden spoon and he stirred them in, as he planted a kiss on his son’s neck.

A week later they were in Premiere Pediatrics, and the medical assistant took Alex into a small room. Ben and Joe waited outside. She tested his vision, and they overheard her asking him about colors and numbers but they got into a discussion and didn’t pay attention.  

Suddenly, the assistant tore past them and approached the doctor down the hall, showing him the paper in her hand, as a nurse quickly escorted Alex and his parents to an exam room.  

Joe helped Alex undress and put on the robe.  He whipped out a book, Ocean Creatures, from his backpack. Alex settled into his lap and Joe started the story.  They got halfway through the book and in walked Dr. Herbert “Call Me Herb” Markman, holding a slim file in his left hand.  

Dr. Markman was there from the beginning.  Before the beginning. Ben and Joe had to have a local pediatrician vouch for their sincere interest to be parents and their stability.  And they had to show there was a doctor at the ready as soon as the baby arrived.  When Joe called the practice and asked for an experienced doctor, explaining the situation, the receptionist set up an appointment with Dr. Markman right away, noting he was the most senior member of the practice.  A Google search showed they hit the pediatrician lottery: degrees from Ivy League universities; a professor at the local Medical School; a successful researcher; and a former President of the American Society of Pediatrics.  As a person, he was warm, calm and conversational. As a doctor, he was thorough, smart and sensitive to both his young patients and their over-concerned parents. At their first meeting, Dr. Markman insisted they call him Herb, but Joe and Ben settled on Dr. M. To keep the relationship on an equal playing field, Dr. Markman followed the more formal naming convention.

“MR. JONES-MAZZELLO!” Dr. M. greeted Alex like a long-lost friend.  “So nice to see you!  You’re here for your 2-year check-up, I see. Let’s get you up on the bench. He patted it and helped Alex up.  Then he turned and offered a warm nod and outstretched hand, “Mr. Jones.  Mr. Mazzello.”   He placed Alex’s file on the desk.

Ben chimed in somewhat guiltily, “Actually, we missed the 2-month mark. He’s almost 2 and a half now.”

“No harm, no foul.” Dr. M. responded with a reassuring smile as he applied hand sanitizer.  

Dr. M. addressed his patient.  “Alex, are you having any concerns about your body, anything hurt?  Anything you want to ask?”

“No, thank you. I’m well, thanks.” Alex replied.

The three adults laughed. Ben beamed, proud at his politeness.  

“Good to hear.” Dr. M. commented. Turning to Joe and Ben, Dr. M. asked, “Any concerns? How’s he been?” Any more high fevers?”

“No, no fevers. Thankfully.” Joe said.

“He’s fine, seems good, really.” Ben added.

“Is he good, really or really good?” It was a play on words, a rhetorical question, but Dr. M. was on to something.   “Ok, let’s take a look.”

He examined Alex thoroughly, prodding his organs eliciting a stream of giggles. He checked his heart, ears, eyes, blood pressure, spine and reflexes, making notes on his I-pad as he went along.

“All good!” He said.

Dr. M. opened the file folder on the desk and pulled out the report the medical assistant handed him earlier. He went over to the shelf that held some books and games and pulled out 10 black checkers.  “As I put these down, Alex, can you count them for me?”  Alex counted 1 through 10 as the checkers were placed on the exam bench. Then, Dr. M. picked a few up and asked him the total number remaining on the bench. Then he put some back, asking for a total.  He did this a few more times, moving quickly.  Alex hesitated at times, thinking it through, but didn’t get flustered. Joe and Ben looked on with awe. Was he really adding and subtracting?  Dr. M. collected the checkers and put them aside on the bench.  

“What did you think of that?” He asked Alex.

“Fun!” Alex said.  

“Good to hear we have a satisfied customer.   We always try to provide patients with some fun during visits.” Dr. M. said, typing into his I-pad and winking at Joe and Ben, making it clear that round of ‘fun’ was not offered to most patients at their 2-year visits.

“So, what do you like to do, Alex?”  Dr. M. asked.

Alex thought for a minute and answered, “The library.  We take out lots of books.  I like ocean animals.  And gymnastics. I like to sommersault.  And parachute lift - some of us run into it, and we have to run back before it falls on us!” Alex smiled, sitting up straight, swinging his legs, picturing the activity.  

“Wow, that sounds really thrilling.”  Dr. M. said, giving Alex his full attention.

Alex nodded and then looked at the ceiling thinking about what else filled his days. “Puzzles!  I really like puzzles.”

Ben looked over at Joe encouragingly, wanting him to take the cue, as he twisted the band on his left ring finger with his thumb.  Joe looked up, rubbing his chin.  It was the perfect opening. “Uh, yeah, about puzzles. We should let Dr. M. know what happens sometimes.  Like at playgroup.”

Alex looked down, remembering how angry his dad was with him that day.

Ben continued.  “Remember at Georgie’s, you got the puzzle off the shelf and started doing it when there were lots of other toys out.  You can’t just go into someone’s stuff.”

“I was bored!” Alex said with a raised voice, annoyed that his dad didn’t understand.

Dr. M. nodded.  “It’s hard to feel bored, isn’t it?”

Alex nodded emphatically, and Dr. M. continued, “When you feel bored, Alex, it’s good to tell one of your dads, and together you can discuss what to do. Maybe you can ask for another toy.  But, sometimes, you may have to be bored.  Lord knows, I am more than I’d like!” he laughed, trying to lighten the tension, but came back to the point.  “Do you think you can talk about how you feel before acting?”

Alex nodded, looking at Ben, who gave him a smile.

“Good!” Dr. M. said. “Your dads can remind you.  So, what else happens in the Life of Alexander Jones-Mazzello?”

“I help Papa cook.” Alex smiled at the recent memory.

“Cooking is fun!  How do you help?” Dr. M. asked.

“Add basil and…pars and stir.” Alex said.

“Basil and Parsley,” Joe clarified, “My Italian influence.”

“I’m a big fan of Italian food!”  Dr. M. said.  He smiled, directing his next question to Ben and Joe. “Any other activities your fine young man is involved in?

“He just started music class!” Ben added enthusiastically. “I read about the strong association between math and music, so we thought it would be good…” his voice trailed off as he looked over at the doctor typing into his I-pad.

Call Me Herb looked summarily unimpressed, perhaps the most unimpressed he’d been in his 35-year career as a pediatrician.  Ben and Joe exchanged glances.

“Alex, you are well on your way to becoming a fine 3-year old.  One day, I’d like you to meet my friend, Wendy.  She’ll show you some other fun puzzles and games I think you’ll like.” Dr. M. said as he helped Alex dress.  Then Alex leaned over and grabbed the checkers and started to play with them. 

Dr. M. then spoke softly to Ben and Joe, “I’m going to give you the number of Wendy Chambers. She’s an educational psychologist. She’ll do her assessment and have some ideas.”  He wrote her name and number on his prescription pad. “Do it this year, before the pre-school search heats up. The information she provides will help,” he said in his gentle tone as he handed the slip to Ben, who looked down at it.

“Is…Did…Is what we’re doing not right?” Ben asked hesitantly in a whisper.

“You’re doing great.” Dr. M. reassured.  Sensing Ben’s concern, he walked over to him and Joe and said very softly.  “It just may not be enough. In the long run. He’s precious.  And,” he added, “Gifted. With all joys and challenges that come with it.  I’ll let Wendy know I’ve referred Alex; you’ll be in good hand with her. Let’s stay in touch.”

After a round of handshakes, Dr. M. departed to a chorus of thank you from the boys.  

As they left the doctor’s office, Ben mentioned they needed to pick up some groceries.   “We’ll meet you home, then?” He said to Joe, their eyes lingering expressing they were in this together, whatever ‘this’ turned out to be.  Ben bent down to zip Alex’s jacket, his knee resting on the sidewalk, and planted a kiss on his cheek.  “You were such a good patient with Dr. M.  Ready to go, Buddy?”  Alex smiled and nodded, leaning in to hug Ben, who welcomed the embrace.  As usual, Alex’s hug stopped Ben in his tracks, and he had to force himself to stand up and proceed, grasping Alex’s hand.

“Thanks for shopping.  See you guys at home,” Joe said.  As they peeled off in opposite directions, Joe suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out.  The area code was vaguely familiar but he didn’t recognize the number, and there was no name associated with it.  

“Hello, Joe Mazzello.” He answered, stopping.  Joe nodded slightly as the name was revealed.  

“Oh. Hi.”  He said, in acknowledgement, suppressing his surprise. The voice relayed information, and Joe juggled his phone, trying to shift gears quickly and process the unexpected information.

“Really?  Seriously? Wow. That’s…terrific. Have to say, wasn’t expecting it.  I mean…” his voice trailed off as more information was relayed.

“When will…?” He registered the response with a nod, his eyes darting side to side.

“Uh, OK! Sounds good….” His voice faded as he tried not to express any concern or hesitation, though logistical wheels were turning in his head, as they always did.  “Ok, uh, let me … can I give you a call tomorrow and we can discuss the details? This is…Great!  Thanks. Thanks for the call.  Take care…Talk tomorrow. Bye.”

Joe clicked off the phone, his eyes opened wide.  A surprised grin emerged while he shook his head.  If life, acting  – and parenthood – taught him anything, it’s you can’t always predict what’s around the corner.  Life doesn’t ask to ‘put time on your calendar’ or ‘is this convenient?’  You have to keep calm and make it work.  As he walked home, Joe started to strategize about how to do that with this surprising news.

[judefan821-blog]

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Love At First Beer | Todd X Reader

A/N: This is my first Todd imagine and I hope you guys like it...idk what else to say besides let me know what you think!! Request: being friends w natalie and she introduces you to the vlog squad at coachella and you end up hooking up w todd -anonymous Summary: You meet Todd during Coachella weekend and the two of you hit it off. Warnings: drinking, sex (implied)

—————

You feel like you’ve been driving forever as you pull up to the house the rest of Natalie’s friends were staying at. You had known Natalie for a while, yet never had a chance to meet her friends. She thought Coachella weekend would be a perfect time for everyone to meet you. You reluctantly agreed and now you’re finding yourself nervously shaking while getting out of your car. You send Natalie a quick just parked text and make your way to the front door.

Before you have a chance to knock, Natalie swings the door open. “Y/N! You’re here!” She has a beer in hand, a sight you don’t usually see.

“Hey, Nat! Sorry I’m late. Work was a bitch with letting me leave early.” You step into the house and throw your bag into the corner.

“C’mon. Let me introduce you to everyone!” Natalie grabs your hand and drags you through the house to the backyard where people are jumping into the pool, running with water guns, and playing beer pong. Not the surrounding you usually see Natalie in. She’s always calm and reserved when you two are together.

She takes you over to the lawn where you see a shaggy haired boy in all black, camera in hand, filming two other guys chugging Coronas. “This is David, Todd, and Zane.”

“Hey. I’m Y/N.” You say as David turns around and points the camera in your face.

“Hi! Wanna join?” David asks enthusiastically.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Why not.” You grab a beer off the table next to you and pop it open stepping in front of the camera next to the two other boys.

“1, 2, 3, GO!” David yells as you all start chugging the beers as fast as possible.

You’re the first to finish and drop your bottle to the grass and look over to the others finishing up the last of their beers.

Zane looks at you with shocked eyes. “Woah! How’d you do that? I’m supposed to be the beer champ.”

“Beginners luck?” You shrug your shoulders as Todd flips his hair and makes eye contact with you for the first time. Maybe it was the fact you just chugged a beer on an empty stomach, spent God knows how long in the car, or it could be that you were just completely in awe of the beauty standing in front of you, but you suddenly became speechless as Todd smiles at you.

“Beginners luck looks good on you,” Todd says reaching his hand out to you. “I’m Todd.”

You reach to shake his hand and open your mouth, but no words come out. Natalie jumps behind you putting her hands on your shoulder. “She’s Y/N and she’s just a little shy.”

“DAVE! COME LOOK AT THIS!” You hear someone yell as the boys run off together.

You turn around to Natalie with flushed cheeks. “Oh. My. God. He’s beautiful.” You turn over your shoulder and see Todd leaning against David looking at his camera.

“Todd?” Natalie perks up with a smile. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?!”

“That you would like him!”

“Like him? I don’t know him!” You get slightly defensive. “I just think he’s attractive,” you say calmly.

Natalie rolls her eyes and loops her arm with yours. “Whatever. Let’s just get you another drink.” — A couple hours later a party bus pulls up in front of the house and David calls for everyone to get in. “COME ON GUYS! Jack said SeatGeek has a VIP tent and we need to go!” Camera in hand again, David films everyone climbing into the bus while you’re putting your shoes on and checking you have everything in your bag.

Natalie pops her head through the door. “You coming?”

You look up and give her a half smile. “Be right out.” You pick up your stuff and make your way to the bus and find yourself looking around for a place to sit. You see Natalie is already sitting with Joe and Jason.

“Y/N!” You look over to see Todd with his hand up. “Over here.”

You walk over to Todd and sit down next to him. “Hey.”

“You chugged that beer like a pro earlier by the way. I’ve never seen a girl take back a drink like that.” He says looking at you impressed.

“Thank you for the kudos. I guess going to a party school for college had its perks.” You open your bag. “Speaking of party schools,” you say pulling a flask out. “The one thing I learned from college was to never leave home without one of these.”

“Ah. My kind of girl. May I?” He says gestures towards the flask.

You hand it to him happily. “Go ahead.” You watch him take a sip and laugh when he gags.

“Okay. I did not peg you for a vodka girl at first sight,” he scoffs handing the flask back to you.

“You mean Natalie didn’t tell you I was full of surprises?” You joke putting the flask back in your bag.

“She mentioned looks, brains, and wit but seemed to have left that small detail,” he jokes.

You can’t help but blush over his comment and look over to Natalie who is smiling at the two of you connecting. You two talk for the rest of the the ride not realizing that you’ve pulled up to the venue.

You suddenly see a hand come and smack Todd against the head. “What the fuck, Scott?” Todd touches the side of his head. “I was having a conversation.”

“Let’s go liquor up,” Scott says walking off the bus.“I guess we’ll finish this later?” Todd asks.

“Sounds like a plan,” you smile at him getting off the bus to find Natalie and tell her about talking with Todd. “Girl. Why didn’t you tell me about him sooner? He’s amazing!”

“Todd? Amazing? Yea, he’s good looking. But amazing? Might be a stretch,” Natalie laughs.

“No, Nat. He’s smart and funny and he even laughed at my lame jokes that you don’t even laugh at. Like genuinely laughed at them.”

“Even you’re whale joke?”

“Yes. Even my whale joke.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s just go to the tent.” — Later in the tent you’re walking by yourself and see Todd talking with David, Jeff, and Jason. You stop and sit quietly at a nearby table and listen in on if he says anything about you while you pretend to be on your phone.

“Guys, really. She even has this little toy whale in her bag and has this bit where she pretends to to look for something and then pulls it out and says ‘whale, whale, what do we have here?’” He laughs at the thought of the bit you did earlier on the party bus.

Jeff hits him on the arm. “C’mon, dude. You’re saying all this over a toy whale?”

“Give it a rest, Jeff. Todd’s in loooooooove,” David mocks Todd.

“Oh shut up, losers. I’m not in love. She’s just kind of cool,” Todd says pushing his friends playfully.

You can’t help but blush to yourself as you listen in on their conversation.

Hours pass and you find yourself alone again sitting on a bench outside the tent hoping you magically find cell service. You see someone sit beside you and look up to see Todd holding two beers. “Two beers?” You question. “Someone is getting alcohol happy.”

He hands one to you. “Ones for you. Thought you could use a refreshment.”

“Thank you, Todd.” You grab the beer from his hand. “Cheers.”

“Cheers to what?”

“To—,” you think for a moment. “New friends.”

“To new friends,” Todd repeats as you clink bottles and start drinking. — Drinks later, you find yourself stumbling back into the rental house with your arms wrapped around Todd. You can’t remember seeing anyone perform at the festival, but you remember a lot of drinks and little food being put into your body. Todd walks you down the hall into his bedroom and lays you down on the bed.

“You wanna sleep in here tonight, Y/N?” He asks helping you take your shoes off.

You prop up leaning back on your arms and look at him through glossy alcohol eyes. “If you want me to.”

He sits down next to you on the bed and pushes some hair behind your ear. “I’d like that. We can talk more.”

It’s silent for a couple seconds before your drunken thoughts become vocal. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Todd looks taken aback by those words.

“Kiss me.” You sit up straighter. “We’ve been hanging out and talking all day. We wouldn’t have done that if there wasn’t some connection here.” You shrug your shoulders. “I may be drunk, but I’m not so drunk that I’m blind to what’s happening here. Even Natalie caught onto something on the bus earlier. If I’m wrong then tell me so I can leave and not waste my—”

Todd’s lips crash into yours mid-rant and you can taste the mixture of beer, tequila, and the vodka from your flask mix together in passionate kiss.

Todd pulls away and whispers, “Wanna know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t going to come this weekend, but Natalie told me that you were coming and showed me a picture. I knew I had to meet you.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come.” You lean in to give Todd another kiss and he wraps his hands around your waist pulling you close to him.

“I’m glad I came too.” He kisses your neck and you let out a light sigh. “Oh, you like neck kisses?”

“I mean, I don’t hate them,” you joke.

“Then, what about this?” He starts kissing your jaw and makes his way down your neck to your collar bone.

You let out a laugh and pull away. “As much as I do enjoy that, I can’t. Natalie obviously wanted us to meet, but I don’t think she wants this to happen.”

“Look,” Todd sighs and let’s go of you. “Y/N. If you really don’t want to do this, that’s fine. But please don’t let Natalie be the person to stop you from doing something. Like you said, she wanted us to meet. She’s probably expecting this to happen.”

You roll your eyes knowing that Todd is right. “Fine. Let’s do this.” You pull your shirt off and look at Todd’s shocked face. “What? You wanted to do this.”

“I just—,” Todd rubs his eyes. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. From the moment I saw a picture I’ve thought so and now you’re here.”

“You’re right. I am here. So let’s get to know each other more.” You move to sit on his lap and start kissing him. He moves back on the bed and lays down pulling you on top of him. You tug his shirt off and he does the same with your skirt. Soon enough clothes are strewn around the room and you and Todd are laying in bed both staring at the ceiling.

“Wow,” is the only word that has come out of Todd’s mouth.

“Good wow or bad wow?” you turn your head to look at him.

“Great wow. An amazing wow,” he says looking at you.

You let out a laugh and crawl out of the bed to go check your phone to see if you have a text from Natalie.

Girl! We can all hear you!

You turn to look at Todd. “Well, I guess they know what we just did.”

Todd grabs the pillow from behind his head and holds it over his face. “Fuck. They’re gonna mock me for the rest of the weekend.”

You jump back onto the bed and pull the pillow away from Todd. “That’s okay. Natalie will mock me too.” You give Todd a kiss and grab his hand pulling him up. “Now let’s get out there and deal with the mockery together. Deal?”

Todd sighs and looks at you with bright eyes. “Fine. Deal.” He points a finger at you. “But if Natalie doesn’t make fun of you I’m coming back in here to hide.”

You laugh and get up to grab the clothes from around the room throwing Todd’s at him. “Fine. But that’s the only reason you’re coming back in here. Let’s go!”