#“wonder if goose is friends with them”

[pinchan]

danilo and midas being strangers are so important to me. "i wonder if we would've been good friends in another life" type of strangers but still strangers nonetheless. they see each other as disgusting and foul danilo because they see midas as an affront to god and midas because it sees them as a condescending hypocrite but danilo provided shelter for it anyway because its their duty and midas paid them back because it's only appropriate. danilo barely knowing anything about midas and midas even less so but they were the closest thing it had to a friend so in the time it will come to pass it will entrust the remains of its daughter to them and danilo will have to carry the weight of a lonely stranger's memento on them once again like they have been doing and will continue to do in their eternal life. anyway.

[dooblez]

i love you/p

i want to scream it to the skies! i want the mountains and the forests and the rivers and the cities to know that i am in love! i love with every fibre of my being and if i keep it in for a second longer i’ll come apart at the seams! i want to love loudly and strongly until there is nothing else that you can see except i love you! i love you! i love you!

it seeps into the cracks and corners of my life, and then i’m whispering it into every little thing i do. i love you, i whisper to the birds that i’ve memorised deep in my heart and the birds i will never get to see. i love you, to the tomato plant that lives on the windowsill and the arcade near the football field and the stray beads in my room and the videos on my phone and the colours and faces that live only in my dreams. you are my loves to me and because of that i love you.

i cannot shout it, for anything louder than a murmur would make it real. i must whisper it into every sketch i draw, every plant i water and every game i play. i love you! i love you! i love you!

[blindmagdalena]

imagine being hired by vought to be a sort of housekeeper to homelander, doing his laundry and cooking for him in his penthouse. he’d immediately grow to love having someone to come home to, and would automatically slip into husband mode whenever he finds them doing him some wifely act of service (conveniently ignoring the fact they’re paid to be there, of course)

ao3 link

Working for Vought, specifically Homelander, turns out to be an insanely simple gig. Typically, you never even see him. You're free to do your cleaning in peace, picking up after America's favorite hero. He rarely ever leaves a mess, but there's enough to keep you employed. Tidying up his towels, replacing his hygiene supplies and tooth brushes. You're trained specifically on how to clean his suits. You empty and stock the fridge. He goes through a lot of milk. You always make sure to get whole. He lodged a complaint the one time it was less than. You were told initially that your cooking services wouldn't be necessary. Homelander isn't known to be, well... much of an eater.

Still, you didn't want the food you stocked at the start to go bad, so one day you prepare a few meals and put them in containers in the fridge. You include little notes with instructions on how they should be reheated. You sign each one with a little heart simply because that's how you've always done it, and pin them to the fridge. You think nothing of it. Homelander is dumbstruck by it.

At first he's affronted that you would leave him cold food in his fridge and expect him to heat it up for himself, but there's something distinctly... loving about it. Coming home to his laundry clean and his shelves dusted never felt like that. It was nothing more than a reset, an automatic process that he didn't dedicate any thought to. But this? This is personal. This reminds him that a living, breathing person was in his home, tending to it, and that person... cooked him a meal, and left him a little note. With a heart.

The next morning you get a text that you will indeed be cooking for Homelander that evening! You're in the midst of it, staying later than you usually do, when he walks in the door. You aren't making anything fancy, just steak and mashed potatoes, but he sucks in a breath like he's inhaling the scent of a gourmet meal. His smile is broad and gleaming. It makes your heart skip a beat.

To your surprise, he introduces himself. He shakes your hand firmly, and holds your stare as you remember your manners and manage to spit out your own name. "Charmed," he says through that radiant smile, and you feel like he means it. His eyes are somehow much bluer in person. His gaze flickers to the stove, and he clicks his tongue. "Not to question your craft, but is this really enough for two?" Looking at the steak currently searing, you falter. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you having company? No one told me." "Well of course I'm having company, you silly goose. You're standing right here, aren't you?" He asks, putting his hands on his hips. It's cheesy, like a moment straight out of a sitcom, but you fluster anyways. This man has such presence to him.

"You... want me to eat with you?" You ask, bewildered.

"Be a shame to cook up a storm and not even feel the rain," he laughs, as if you're the one thinking strangely here. He's already gone to the fridge, and pulled out a second steak. He offers it out to you with that same charming television ready grin. "C'mon. I can hear your stomach growling."

Tentatively, you take the package from him. "Okay."

That night, and each night that follows, you cook Homelander a meal at the tail-end of your shift, and sit down to eat with him. It's surreal, but after the second night, it occurs to you that you've never once seen sign of him having company. There's never extra dishes, or towels. No remnants of a party in the trash. If he does have friends, they're certainly never here.

You can't help but wonder if he's lonely. The thought humanizes him from the larger than life image you had of him in your mind, and you have an easier and easier time engaging him in conversation. He's funny, if not a little strange. There are times when you don't really know how to respond to the things he says, but he often moves on quickly enough to keep things from being awkward.

Truth be told, you're starting to quite enjoy his company.

Homelander begins showing up earlier and earlier into your shifts. The next week, it's barely after 4:00pm when he strides through the door, greeting you with a chipper, "Heya!" and a little salute.

You turn off the vacuum, and despite being a little caught off guard, you smile at him. For the first time, you say, "Welcome home!"

For a second, you worry you've said something wrong. That smile slips off his face, and he stands frozen a touch too long in the doorway. However, before you can add an amendment, his lips stretch back out and he closes the door behind him. "Good to be home," he says. There's less of that showmanship in his voice, you think.

"I didn't know you'd be home so early, I haven't finished-" "Oh, don't mind me, you do your thing. Pretend I'm not even here," he insists, taking a seat on his couch.

You expect him to occupy himself in some way. A book, perhaps, or even just his cellphone. Instead, for the next hour you're keenly aware of the fact the only thing he seems to be entertaining himself with is you.

After that, you cook dinner as usual, and the two of you eat amidst pleasant, casual conversation. It's the same as any other night, and yet somehow this evening feels distinctly different. You can't name exactly what it is, but something has changed.

Homelander begins filling out your time with new requests; he's suddenly become quite fascinated with plants. You had mentioned to him before that you like to keep them, despite the work they take. Your shifts grow longer to account for your new tasks.

All the while, he's been more and more present during your shifts. Although he doesn't directly take or distract you from your chores, you're always keenly aware of of his gaze on you while you work. You try not to overthink it, but the weight of his attention is heavy nonetheless.

One day, you're sweeping up a mess of spilled dirt, struggling to maneuver around the legs of a piece of furniture, when Homelander hops up to intervene. "Let me get that for you, sweetheart," he says, lifting the entire cabinet up as if it weighed nothing at all.

You lose yourself for a moment, standing dumbfounded before abruptly remembering to sweep the dirt out from under it, your heart racing. Your mind keeps replaying the pet name, and with every echo of it, your cheeks feel redder. Homelander smiles, watching you all the while. The next day, you arrive to find an enormous bouquet of roses sitting in a vase on the kitchen counter. There's a note with your name on it, and a simple message: Thanks for all your hard work. Keep it up! The note is signed with Homelander's sprawling signature. Smiling widely to yourself, you tuck the note into your pocket, and lean in to inhale the sweet smell of the flowers. On another occasion, it's time to clean the blades of the ceiling fan in his room, but you can't find that darn step ladder anywhere. Homelander must hear the way you're shuffling around and muttering under your breath—you swear the man hears everything—because he steps in to check on you. "Everything alright in here?" He asks, peeking in from the doorway. "Oh, fine, fine, I just can't find my step ladder anywhere. Have you seen it?" You ask, feeling flustered. Getting put behind schedule never fails to trip a thread of anxiety in your chest. "Can't say I have," he answers, stepping inside. He looks around the room. "What'cha need it for?" "Ceiling fan. Uhm, it's okay, I'll get to it later, if that's alright with you? I'm sorry, I could have sworn I left that ladder-" You stop yourself, realizing Homelander is suddenly striding directly towards you. Uncertain, you begin to take a step back, but he's fast. He puts an arm around you, and without warning you're being hoisted up into his arms as easily as a doll.

"Up y'go," he says, supporting not only your weight with ease, but resting you snug against his chest. You squeeze your knees together, arms pulled in tight, as if making yourself tiny will somehow protect you from the embarrassing quicken of your breath, or the rampant beat of your heart. "There you go. Who needs a step ladder when you've got me?" He asks, grinning down at you with that familiar dazzling spread of pearly whites. His smile feels better suited to a Hollywood audience than this quiet little moment, but the only thing you can really focus on is the fresh, woodsy smell of his cologne. "Uhm, I-I still don't think I can reach-" You stop, noticing the ceiling fan is now within arms reach. "Oh." Looking down, your eyes widen. Neither of your feet are touching the ground. Instead, Homelander is hovering well above it, holding you adjacent to the fan. You can't help the nervous laughter that suddenly bubbles out of you. "Oh my god," you laugh, looking around. "You're flying!" "As I'm known to do from time to time," he says, voice dripping with satisfaction. His gloved fingers tap absently at your waist, basking in your awe over what is, to him, a wholly unremarkable feat. The sheer normalcy of you makes his every move seem a marvel. He savors your wonder. You're so enamored with the novelty of it, you remember belatedly why you're up here. Clearing your throat, you reach up with the duster, and gently spin the fan, collecting the strands of dust and the like that had gathered on each one. You try your damnedest to focus on that, and not the fact Homelander's face is less than a foot from yours. Out of your peripheral, you can see that his grin has softened into a content, absent smile. Your stomach does cartwheels as you finish dusting the fan, bringing the duster back down. You clear your throat again, pretending it's not a nervous habit. "All done, thank you," you say quietly, smiling back at him.

"Any time, sweetheart," Homelander purrs. There it is again, that coy little nickname that sends your mind into a tizzy. As if that weren't bad enough, he winks at you, floating gently back down to the ground. Your legs feel so much like jelly, you worry you'll collapse the moment you're on your feet. Luckily, even once he's set you down, he leaves a hand lingering on your back. "You got a thing with heights? Your heart's pounding," he points out, much to your mortification. You try to laugh it off. "Oh, no! No, just wasn't expecting it. I'm fine with heights," you say, fumbling with the duster for a second before slipping it back into the cover. "Good," Homelander responds, an oddly cryptic depth to his tone. His smile lingers. "That's good. Alrighty, I'll leave you to it," he says, tipping his head in a polite little nod before he heads for the door, leaving you to your own devices, and the rapid fluttering in your stomach. Later that same day, you're thoroughly perplexed when you spot the step ladder exactly where it's supposed to be, certain you had checked there a dozen times over.

Two weeks from the day you first shared a meal, he presents you with a gift after dinner. "Oh, sir, you shouldn't-" "Please, please! Don't be so formal. It's just a little thing," he says, waving his hand dismissively. "Y'know, to show my appreciation. You take such good care of me. Just wanted to return the favor." Butterflies swarm rampant in your gut as you tug loose the pretty red ribbon tied around the box. Uncertain of what to expect, you feel a measure of relief when you lift the lid, and see a lovely apron folded inside it. "You wear this print a lot, figured you could use something, you know, matchy. Feminine," he says, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Your other one's seen better days."

You exhale a soft laugh, touching the fabric. It's soft beneath your fingers, and of excellent quality. The gift is a thoughtful one, and it feels appropriate, despite what the expensive looking wrapping made you think. "You like it?" He asks after a beat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I do! Yes, thank you. It's very nice. I've enjoyed working for you, sir—" You stop when he points a finger at you, his brows raised, and you correct, "—Homelander." He smiles, dropping his hand. "And eating with you. I can't say any of my other clients cared whether or not I ate," you say, chuckling. You think you see his nose twitch strangely at the mention of your other clients.

"Right, well! C'mon, let's see how it looks," he says, taking you by the shoulders and guiding you over to the mirror near the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city. Homelander takes the box from your hands and presents it to you, allowing you to lift the apron up and let it unfold. Odd, it feels a touch heavier than you expected. You sling it around your neck, but before you can reach back to tie it, Homelander has taken it upon himself to do it for you. He cinches it at your waist with a sharp little tug, grinning at you from over your shoulder as he meets your eye in the mirror. "Loooook at that, perfect fit," he purrs, tying the ends off. "It's beautiful, thank y—" Smoothing your hands down the front of it, you stop. There's something in the right pocket of the apron. Glancing up, Homelander has a mischievous glint to his expression, but his brows raise, and his lips curl down. He's playing dumb.

Curiously, you slip your hand into the pocket, and feel smooth velvet against your fingers. Wrapping your hand around a firm rectangle, you draw it out, and feel your stomach flip as you stare at the distinctly luxurious looking black box now in your hands. "Oh, geeze, totally forgot that was even in there," Homelander says. His tone is terribly unconvincing, but he does sound very pleased with himself. "Whelp, you've already accepted, so I guess it's yours now." "I—" "Go on," he urges, giving your shoulders a little shake. He's watching you eagerly through the mirror. "Open it up. It's all yours."

Swallowing, you crack the box back on it's hinges. Your jaw drops, your chest tightens. You stare at the shimmering three-stone drop diamond necklace in utter disbelief. You don't even feel Homelander let go of your shoulders, or hear him slide off and drop his gloves to the nearby table. "Oh my god," you whisper. You probably couldn't afford the box this thing was sold in, let alone a single stone on it. "I don't think I can accept this, sir," you say, slipping back into the habit of formality as your brain struggles to catch up to reality.

"Oop, too late for that," Homelander dismisses, plucking the delicate necklace up from the fabric it lay in. "Here, allow me," he says, ignoring your shellshock while he drapes the necklace against your skin, his bare fingers brushing the back of your neck as he gets it fastened.

Breathless, you tentatively touch the bottom diamond. Your mouth feels full of cotton, and your heart is racing. Is this really happening?

Meanwhile, Homelander grips your upper arms, beaming. "Look at you. You know what they say about diamonds; they're a girl's best friend," he laughs, those canines of his looking sharper than ever.

Giving your arms a squeeze, Homelander leans close to your ear. "Happy two weeks," he whispers, the heat of his breath on your neck prickling goosebumps all the way down your spine. "Thank you," you whisper back, pushing out a bewildered little smile.

Homelander lingers there a moment, the warmth of his hands on your arms seeping through the fabric of your shirt. His smile has relaxed some, and his gaze is slightly distant as he looks you up and down in the mirror. You see a flash of pink as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue. It isn't until you clear your throat that his eyes snap back up to yours, regaining presence of mind. "I should get going," you say gently. His fingers flex on your arms, and the corners of his mouth twitch. "Right," he says, lips pulling into a thin smile that doesn't reach his eyes. This is always his least favorite part of the night. With obvious reluctance, he drops his hands from your arms. "Right, ah, let me—" "Unless..." You interject, turning to face him. Homelander's brows shoot up to his hairline. He blinks. "Unless...?" "Unless you'd like me to stay," you say quietly, your stomach tying itself in knots. "Not as your housekeeper, but maybe as just... Company?"

"Company," he echoes, his parted lips slowly drawing into a smile. This one does reach his eyes. "We could watch a movie."

"I like movies," you say. The words sound dumb to you as soon as they leave your lips, but Homelander looks at you like you've just spun a beautiful sonnet. "Great, I have movies," he says, putting a hand on your lower back as he gestures you to the living room. His smile is broad now, eager and a touch boyish. You feel a little surge of endearment amidst the adrenaline. "What do you want to watch?" "Dealers choice," you say, slipping out of the apron before you take a seat at the couch. Homelander immediately busies himself with the television, flipping through Vought+'s enormous repertoire.

Still in a mild daze, you don't process any of the titles that fly by on the screen. Instead, you're hyper aware of the weight of the necklace hanging from your throat, and the lingering heat that Homelander's hands left on your skin.

So much for a simple gig.

[beyondthisdarkhouse]

Alt text is so incredibly useful when it comes to speakers of other languages. I follow a bunch of fiber artists from different parts of the world, Ukrainian fashion designers and Chinese antique garment collectors and Iranian university professors of textile art history. There are discussions happening in different languages, and resources like books and scholarship, simply not available in the English or French I know.

And a lot of them never even use the Latin alphabet a lot of the time! So sometimes I can photograph a book page or screencap an Instagram story and get my phone's OCR to give me text to paste into Google Translate, and I can sometimes use a Cyrillic keyboard to type out what I'm seeing, but but as soon as something is antiquated or handwritten or viewed at an angle, my goose is cooked. I can't even get the original phrase to try to translate at all.

Unless there's alt text. Because alt text gives me exactly the data I need in the exact right format to take to a dictionary and get the gist of what's going on.

It makes me reconsider how my own content is accessible or inaccessible not just to blind or visually-impaired people, but people who aren't perfectly fluent in English. Because I and a lot of my friends are native English speakers who usually only speak 1-2 languages total, I'm prey to assuming that everyone in my intended audience is like us. That of course everybody can easily process English text, whether it's printed or written in cursive or using some antique calligraphic hand. And of course, that's not true. Now when I look at my analytics for my business's rare medieval name, I occasionally see translation site traffic where people in Farsi or Ukrainian or Chinese have translated me in return.

The curb-cut effect is a wonderful thing, I think. The primary reason I've used alt text is a good one, and it also turns out that it's really useful for a lot of other people too.

[femoso-seben]

Livestock AU

Where Cod characters are hybrids living on a farm -------------------

Price and Alejandro were raised together, as guardian livestock animals they were raised together. Alejandro is a Llama hybrid and is trained to attack dog-like creatures he guards over the sheep. When Gaz the young border collie Hybrid was introduced he had to work with a very aggressive Llama that didn’t like his dog shape.

Ghost is a Kangal, like Price but much bigger. Ghost comes from a puppy mill and has to fight to get food. Very quiet dog unless intimidating the coyotes and wolves. Ghost learns quickly and tends to be the most independent but always comes back to check in with his fellow livestock dogs.

Soap is a Great Pyrenees who generally do anything required of him, mostly looking after the ducks, ducks, and goose. Very playful and young still learning the ropes but very good at his job does sleep during the day since he needs to be active at night. If he sees an unattended egg left over night will eat it.

Lastly is Gaz a border collie and very good at his job if he finds anyone miss behaving (most Soap sometimes Roach) he will bite them near the next to correct that behavior.

Laswell and Roach are both Barn cat hybrids. Laswell usually does all the recon missions and gets the boys to then check things out if she finds something suspicious. Roach is a rescue dumpster cat who survives being poisoned a few times. Very rambunctious and follows the guardian dogs around. Ghost is very fond of the silent cat, you will find Roach sneaking bites of Ghost dog food.

Lastly only recently added is an Alpaca. Rudy is situated with the Goats and as their alarm system acts like a less aggressive Alejandro. Alejandro and Rudy do see each other as packmates as well as their individual herd.

Nik is an old police dog who retired as a family dog, and will help out once in awhile when the urge to work hits him.

The livestock guardians’ main rival is a pack of wolves led by Graves. His shadow is a large pack of wolves that tries the farm every once in a while.

Another group is a group of Coyotes led by Valeria. She has gotten a few Birds from Soap which really upsets him.

The farm is currently being invaded by rats Led by Makarov and Laswell is trying her damnest to hunt him down, he and his Konni group are aggravating the farmer.

The farmer decided to get a few more barn cats.

Reader is a small kitten from another farm with too many cats they and their two friends, Farah a brownish cat hybrid, and Alex a big sandy color cat are added. Turns out Alex is the son of Laswell one of her litters.

Reader is treated like an eyesore by the older guardians until they are old enough to train, learn, and join the workforce. Reader mostly wonders around seeing each group and how they work, and finding their spot to rest in. Makarov once scared them and got scolded by Price. -------

It stupid idea idk was inspired a little by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and @frogchiro and the Hybrid side of Cod community

[bluesylveon2]

Chocolate Muffin Drama

A/N: So i'm on the olympic chocolate muffin tiktok and then this appeared lol. Everyone is aged up, sports/countries are not specified (except for Vil, Rook, and Rollo), and Yuu/Reader is a female

Everything starts when Ace wants to get breakfast at the Olympic dining hall and his eyes land on Yuu eating about 10 chocolate muffins

Yuu literally has crumbs on her face and the chocolate filling (or sauce? Idk) on her fingers. She looked like a hot mess that someone from the German team showed up to "clean the potato"

Ace is both surprised and confused

Later on, while sitting in the audience for a sport, he watches Yuu destroying the opposing team. Gold medal worthy, in his eyes

Ace rn: "is that the same girl who devoured those muffins in one sitting?"

Yes, yes, it is

Anyways, Ace is SMITTEN by Yuu and is determined to win her heart

How does he do it? He grabs a muffin at the dining hall and tries to give it to Yuu, but she is not there.

He comes back the next day to find out there are no more muffins! (gee I wonder why???)

Plan B: give it to Trey

Ace: I need you to tell me what ingredients are used to make this muffin

Trey: okay....

Eventually, Trey cracks the code to the muffins and even writes down the recipe for Ace

If only all's well, ends well

Meanwhile, a muffin thief was currently bringing the muffins back to the Village

Ruggie drops off his stash to Leona (while also taking one or two for himself. Leona pretends to not see it) so he can give it to Yuu later that day

See, Leona has been doing this for a few days now, but he waits until Yuu gets her servings before taking the rest to avoid suspicion

Yuu caught Leona's eyes at the same event Ace went to

He would have gone for more had a certain Frenchman not sat by him

Leona: there are other seats, ya know?

Rook: au contraire! These are the best seats to watch Madame Trickster perform!

So Leona repeats the process and basically plays hide and seek with Rook while Ruggie works.

He ends the day by being Yuu's prince charming (literally) and gifts her the muffins

He knows about the redhead who is trying to recreate the muffins.

It would be bad if the recipe got stolen...

Except, it wasn't Ruggie who took it. It was a bat

Lilia is grinning like he won the lottery. He saw how the muffins became viral on MagicTok and he just had to make some to share to all of his fellow athletes

(Little did anyone know that Lilia would accidentally end the Games if he succeeded)

Luckily, Silver is there to save everyone

He recognized the muffins from the dining hall and Malleus mentioned his new friend loved them

So he goes out to the nearby shops/places in Paris to buy the ingredients, unaware of a group of six guys currently on a goose chase to find a recipe

(tbh idk if the athletes can explore the city but let's pretend they can)

Silver has never met Yuu, but according to Malleus, she was a nice person.

Malleus suggests that Silver makes Yuu some muffins (it's a miracle he was able to at the Village). Silver gives some to her as a thank you for befriending his brother

What he doesn't know is that Malleus is trying to set the two up, so he talks about Silver when he's around Yuu and recruits Sebek to stop Lilia from adding his "secret ingredient" to the muffins

Bonus:

Malleus also drags Silver to Yuu's sporting events, sitting away from Ace and Leona

Except he has his own problem with someone from the French team

Rollo: why must you sit next to me? go somewhere else

Malleus: hush, Flamme, I am trying to get a sister-in-law here

Silver: trying to fight sleep

[burrcapts]

Furry Midnight Haul

Nobody really knows how such places come to be, but it typically doesn't take very long before they are noticed by those who had the misfortune of living nearby. Most of the time it starts with people simply having a strange, uneasy feeling if they happen to get too close. But with time, the stories behind them begin to grow and fill with new, frightening details. The locals start whispering about those who went missing after going there on a dare, or just because they did not believe the rumors and had something to prove. Unfortunately for Quinn and Leo, they weren't locals at all and heard no such warnings.

After Leo's gps sent the two of them on a goose chase across the countryside, suggesting an apparently far more optimal and 12,7% faster route that eventually turned out to take them through a good handful of different dirt roads, they somehow ended up in the absolute middle of nowhere. Somehow even despite that the duo was still in a pretty upbeat mood, chatting merrily about the amazing concert they were at earlier that evening. Unfortunately it was already well past midnight and Leo was starting to feel really worn out after all the different excitements of the day so driving much further did not seem like such a great idea.

The closest town on the map was almost an hour away and even then, it was so small that Quinn and Leo doubted they would have found an open motel there anyway. Instead they decided to spend the night in the parking lot of this old truck stop they happened to be passing at the time. It looked abandoned, but most of the lamplights around the property seemed to still be working so they hoped that at least no animals would be disturbing them till morning.

Quinn needed to take a quick leak before bedtime but Leo was so wiped that he wasted next to no time reclining his driver seat all the way back and rolling up some old sweatshirt he found on the backseat for a makeshift pillow. Of course he agreed when Quinn asked him to try and stay awake until he was back in case something were to happen. But it wasn't even a full minute after his friend closed the car door behind himself that he began dozing off.

Quinn was only planning to run behind the building and have a piss there, but as he got closer, he realized that he could see a faint light flickering behind one of the windows. Maybe this place wasn't really as abandoned as they originally thought… Upon closer inspection, he found the door to the public toilet at the side of the building, that's where the light was coming from! 

Much to Quinn's surprise, while not spotlessly clean by any means the bathroom wasn't a complete sty like he would have expected and after taking a small peek, he decided to try going inside, not knowing that nobody had been there in ages. He noticed a bit of a funky, musky aroma in the air, but honestly, that wasn’t a total dealbreaker. He walked up to the stalls and found them in a more than acceptable state as well. Those were going to be useful in case that double sized chili hot dog he got at the last gas station came knocking…

But one thing that caught Quinn's eye in particular had to be graffiti that covered the walls inside the stall. He giggled, wondering if he accidentally stumbled upon some secret gay cruising spot. The drawings were pretty simple and rather crude, depicting numerous beefy, burly men, with big cocks and even bigger beards! Quinn giggled when he noticed just how much care and attention was put into drawing their junk and their body hair, but how little anything else. 

Upon a closer look, it was almost like a comic book of sorts, showing the lives of a pair of particularly hairy, bearded truckers (but really, mostly just the two of them fucking each other and the men they met on the road.) One was drawn almost like a round ball with how huge his gut was and while the other had a pretty hefty potbelly too, someone definitely put the most effort into making his arms look as big and muscular as possible. 

Back in the car, Leo could see those same two arms in a much greater detail. As soon as he'd fallen asleep, he found himself having a very strange dream... In it, he was also reclining in front of the steering wheel in the middle of this same parking lot, only he was inside of a huge semi truck, rather than the old sedan he got from his dad. When he tried to move, Leo realized that he was occupying the body of someone else.

Someone big… really big. Those furry arms he saw waving in front of him were just enormous! He also had a beard, and it must have been really long and bushy because Leo could see its end brushing all across his meaty, ridiculously hairy chest whenever he looked down! He immediately blushed when he realized that wasn't the only thing he could see… This guy's fly was popped wide open with a fully hard, beercan of a cock sticking straight out of it!

And the freakiest thing was that as soon as he saw it, Leo began feeling so damn horny, as if he'd just been beating it off himself… suddenly it was almost getting hard to keep himself from wrapping this furry paw that he now had for a hand around the engorged, leaking piece of meat. Why not give it a few strokes? It wasn't like he was planning on cumming before the huz was back… that thought came so naturally to Leo that it didn't really occur to him to ask who was this ‘huz’ that he was talking about.

The burly trucker whose body Leo was now inhabiting did not like to think too hard about things, especially not when he was this hard and horny himself! If Quinn had still been around, he would have seen Leo squirming in the car seat, moaning pleasurably as the coating of stubble around his mouth began sprouting darker and thicker. But what was going on inside Leo's dream in that same moment was far less tame…

After giving his swollen meat a few timid strokes, he quickly discovered just how good it could feel to jerk off in the body of such a hulking, furry beast of a man. By now he was completely consumed by lust, grunting loud and beating it so hard that his huge, hairy balls were swinging in the air. Leo could actively feel himself growing dumber, but it was impossible to resist all that pleasure. As if this mind, limited to only the horny, brutish thoughts was experiencing them with that much more intensity.

Some of this horniness must have been rubbing off on Quinn because as he continued to study the lewd graffiti, his cock started to tent up in his pants without him noticing. His eyes were so tightly glued to the drawings that he also failed to realize that little by little, the space around him was changing. Paint was losing its vibrant color and peeling off the walls, the white tiles on the floor turning to shades of grey and freely overgrowing with grime. The unwashed smell of sweaty, wild sex was allowed to fill the air, opening the door to numerous, dirty and perverse thoughts that were just waiting for an opportunity to sneak into Quinn's head.

He found himself picturing what those two bearded truckers might have looked like in real life. Somehow not finding it strange at all that his interest was gravitating particularly towards the drawings depicting the most explicit sex scenes. They both had such massive cocks… the one belonging to the beefier trucker was hella thick, but so was the meat of the guy with a huge gut, and it might have been even longer! Quinn let out a moan as his cock started to grow even bigger, pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. 

Ugh, why the fuck was he wearing something so damn tight while on the road? It always felt best to ride in nothing but his jock so he could always whip out his cock whenever he got horny and give hubby a hot show… and since the jockstrap was right there, he would always have something around to wipe up all that cum off his belly too! Suddenly Quinn had the perfect image of a blonde, big bellied trucker with an enormous, matted beard pressing a nasty, yellowed jockstrap straight into his face. He grinned and gave it a snort, then, a moment later, Quinn found himself making that exact same sound, his hand tightly squeezing the bulge sprouting from his crotch. 

Fuck yeah, horny manstink always got him so damn hard! Quinn started to lift his other hand towards his face, he felt something between his fingers… its crusty fabric was soaked with so many  old loads that he could already smell it… his ripe, old jockstrap… suddenly Quinn was pushing his face right into it, taking a deep snort as his faint, weekend's worth of stubble started to grow longer and denser. Already making him look like he hadn't shaved in well over a month, and probably hadn't bothered to comb his shaggy mess of beard in about as long too. 

Oh damn, this manly stink was really getting him going! Quinn was in the process of trying to clumsily undo his belt and get ahold of his cock. But fuck, he needed more! His mouth was opening, the tongue sticking out further and further, something was telling him that he just had to give this rank jock a good lick… he could already almost taste those salty, countless loads spilled into it… but then suddenly Quinn opened his eyes, asking himself just what the fuck he was doing?! He tossed the jockstrap against the wall, pushing the stall door open and bolted outside.

Unfortunately for Leo trying to resist the influence of this place was proving to be far more difficult while asleep. Even despite his dwindling intellect, he could tell that this was no ordinary dream. Everything was too real… the inside of this cab, this hulking, beefy body covered in coarse fur, the way it felt when he squeezed this beer can thick cock that constantly dribbled with pre. He had this sudden urge to give it a taste and once he did, he simply couldn't stop! He was such a horny pig! Constantly beating off and huffing his ripe pits.

Leo was still able to tell that the deeper he sank into this lustful frenzy, the harder it was getting to recall ever doing anything else, ever being anything else than this massive, furry trucker! But who cared? He was so fucking hot now! Leo wasn't able to resist tilting the rear view window towards the cabin so he could see more of himself in the reflection. Getting so damn turned on admiring his broad, meaty chest and caressing the enormous beard that was hanging down from his tough, brutish face. 

Back in the real world, Leo's body was moving in that exact, same fashion. Fingers combing through what was now a full beard, densely covering his cheeks while his other hand tugged on his swelling cock. Somehow Leo knew what was happening to him, that his real self was changing to resemble this burly, constantly horny, hirsute beast of a man but he was powerless to do anything about it. Completely trapped inside this horny wet dream and unable to wake up. 

Even his best efforts amounted to little more than making himself shift from side to side in his seat. Except by now, it was a tall and wide driver's seat of a massive semi truck and with every stroke of his cock, Leo was getting closer to filling it completely with his furry bulk. He knew that the only hope he had left was for Quinn to quickly get back and wake him up before it was too late!

Unfortunately for Leo, his friend was going through a major crisis of his own at that same moment when he ran out of the bathroom stall and saw himself in the mirror. He was so unrecognizable that at first Quinn screamed, thinking that someone else was in here with him, but when it finally sank in that he was looking at himself, he was far too freaked out to make even a peep. His puffy face was completely covered in shaggy, matted hair! The only thing that Quinn could think of was that he must have been having some kind of an allergic reaction because the rest of his body was suddenly so swollen that his normally loosely fitting hoodie was ready to burst at the seams.

Quinn was panicking so much that despite having felt the messy hairs against his fingers, he still refused to accept that such a huge beard could have sprouted all around his mouth just like that. He rushed towards the sink, convinced that it was something he could simply wash off. Turning on the rusty tap and splashing his face in such a hurry that it was only when his beard was completely soaked wet, that Quinn got a good whiff of just how badly this water reeked. 

It was so unbelievably ripe and musky, as if someone made a whole bunch of brawny construction workers wipe themselves with only a single towel after their shift, and then wrung it right above his face. Quinn let out a strained groan as he tried to hold his breath, but it was too late, his chest started to swell so rapidly that it felt like he might suffocate if he didn't pull off his hoodie. Only to find a massive, round gut flopping down onto the sink alongside a pair of fat moobs when he did.

It was just immense and it was still swelling larger and covering in thick, sweaty hair right before his eyes. Quinn’s gaze constantly darting back and forth between it and this massive, unkempt mess of a beard that was now cascading down his chest. Quinn had no idea what to do now, he only knew that somehow, watching it all happen was getting him so unbelievably horned up that he was only moments away from tearing his pants open to whip out his rock hard cock and start beating off.

But then it turned out that he won't even have to wait that long. Suddenly a big, muscled arm covered in thick, dark fur appeared on top of his belly, with another one undoing his belt and grabbing his cock from behind.

“Fuck huz, should have told me ya wanted to stick around cruisin’ for some cocksuckers round here, would have joined ya earlier! Or maybe even taken care of that gigantic schlong myself!”

Quinn moaned when he felt the grip tightening around his meat as the visitor's broad, rough fingers began massaging its entire length. He looked up and saw the gruff face of a hulking trucker brute with a beard almost as massive as his own. After a moment and a closer look Quinn recognized him, and of course he fucking did! It was his husband Leo, the horny pig couldn't even wait till he was done having a piss and had already stomped here with his cock out, wanting to fuck! But that was why Quinn loved that bastard so much, the only man he'd ever met who was as much of a horndog as himself! He grinned and pulled down his pants all the way, opening his hairy ass wide and sliding it onto Leo’s thick, throbbing cock.

“Yeah, give it to me you hot fucker! Yer gonna be tasting that load when ya rim my arse at the next stop!!!”

Wait… why was he saying that… Quinn wanted to tell Leo to stop but instead only kep spewing more dirty, perverted things and encouraging him to fuck him harder. God, that felt so damn good, seeing just how much his gut was turning this beefy trucker on! Leo was moaning even louder than he was when he caressed this furry, swelling beach ball with his meaty paws. Inside, Quinn was still desperately trying to tell his friend that he had to stop, but the only thing leaving his mouth was a horny litany of the dirtiest curse words ordering him to keep going until eventually even he was too turned on to talk at all.

Only grunting wildly as he tugged on his big nips and pushed his ass deeper and deeper onto Leo's beer can thick fuckstick. After all those years they've spent on the road together, fucking multiple times per day, they could both tell without fail just how close the other was to blowing his load. And with how loud and savage Leo's groans were getting, Quinn knew that the huz was already on the edge.

“Do it fucker! Blow that load in my… HNNGHHHHH!!!

He couldn't finish before he felt Leo squeezing his cock as hard as he could take it and jerking it rapidly until it began spewing thick globs of prime trucker spunk all over the floor in front of them. Then thrusting his cock as deep up Quinn's ass as he could before he started cumming as well, completely flooding the big bellied bear's insides. As always, the intensity of the orgasm leaving them heaving and panting loudly, completely dripping with sweat. After Leo slid his cock out, Quinn gathered some of the cum still oozing from its tip onto his tongue and pulled his man into a sloppy kiss, already looking forward to finding out just how much better this load was going to taste after marinating inside his hole until the next truck stop.

If you liked the story and would like to read more bear themed transformation fiction, or have something written for yourselves consider subscribing to my Patreon! This one in particular was a request from two of my subscribers!

I have also set up two extra accounts on twitter and bluesky for caption purposes! https://x.com/burrcapts https://burrcapts.bsky.social/

[rh3maji]

Lil rant abt Caine

Caine is just a lil guy, despite it all. From a design standpoint I thought I was gonna absolutely fucking hate looking at him because those chattering teeth toys make my skin crawl- but the art direction really helps make him look more appealing and whimsical than a disembodied pair of talking dentures sounds on paper.

The thing with Caine is I didn't initially like him that much after the pilot. While his interactions with Bubble were quite funny, that one episode left me feeling like he'd just end up being kinda one note or at the very least one note in a way that'd get on my nerves. Then everything changed when Pomni Wake Up Time to Go On an Adventure! attacked

The comedic timing throughout that announcement video was so fucking funny and thanks to his line deliveries and animation/model [?] upgrades- CAINE LOOKED AND SOUNDED SO ADORABLE!!

Legit it wasn't until this came out that I realized I actually could be on board with Caine as a character and it's been uphill from there. Episode 2 was better than the pilot not only comedically and visually but also in terms of showcasing just how actually unsettling Caine can be as an antagonist. Not because he's vengeful or malicious, but because he's so oblivious to how people work. His mind's always buzzing with terrible ideas and he's so so eager about these adventures, but at the end of the day he really really doesn't get the circus crew. Try as he might to include them, keep them engaged [ZOOBLE WAIT!], or even give them what they want [Exit doors] he doesn't realize how traumatic and distressing their current situation can be. The very nature of being trapped in a digital world is bad enough but it's especially rough here bc not only does its god have limited capabilities, you also are very well acquainted with him, and he can't fully understand your pain nor can he truly save you from it. He won't mourn your abstraction. He will not attend your funeral. He will not understand the distress of your arrival, nor the weight of your departure.

This isn't just sad from the pov of the circus gang, it's also very sad for Caine- not because i think he'll ever feel sad about it himself necessarily, but instead because the situation is sad. New members appear over and over, you craft adventures and games and distractions like [i'm assuming] they'd asked you to, but over and over, one by one, they abstract. They stop laughing at your jokes. They don't like you. They want you to leave them alone. It's confusing and maybe even inconvenient.

Where I'm hoping the series takes Caine is that this dissonance between Caine's intentions and the distress of the circus gang gets worse and worse and worse until something's got to give. I'm hoping that maybe at some point a character will try to sit down and talk with him and for it to either sorta get through to him but completely backfire in some form because he misinterprets what the others want from him OR i'd also be down for him to listen, but not understand any of it and proceed as tho nothing happened. I don't want Caine to come around really, it'd be interesting to see how Goose would go about having him come around to being a better host that empathizes more with humans, but personally I do prefer him to keep on keepin' on being this oblivious and eager antagonist.

My favorite Caine lines/line deliveries so far:

"You, my friend, stumbled into an incredible world of wonders, where anything can happen!…e-except for swearing."

"And here we have THE GROUNDS! Drown yourself in the digital lake, or engage in ridery at the digital carnival!"

"What do you think of XDDCC? You're right, terrible, LET'S TRY THAT AGAIN!"

"Kaufmo abstracted? Why didn't anybody tell me?"

"Bubble you can't say that"

"-ZOOBLE WAIT!"

"Why are you all just standing there?! The- The Canyon- C-Candy Canyon Kingdom needs you now!" [according to his VA, this was an actual line flub but hoo boy am i glad they use it bc it's hilarious]

"I know you guys love your NPCs, but if I start losing track of who's a human and who's an NPC, who knows...what. could. happen..."

That last line there specifically surprised me the most because up until he said that I was under the impression Caine was linked to every single NPC. I even thought he could see through their eyes if he so chose thanks to his "hundreds of all seeing eyes" line in the pilot. Him saying this here implies lots of things. Has Caine forgotten before? Is someone in the circus secretly an NPC ooooooooh~

"Who knows what could happen..."

Honestly, when Caine first said this I did immediately theorize Jax as being an NPC but now that it's been *checks calendar* three months since I watched episode 2, I don't think this is the case anymore. Jax being an NPC would be...something. Jax not knowing he's an NPC would be interesting [i like it when ppl's realities get shattered], but honestly I think this line was a way to telegraph to the audience that no Caine isn't actually all knowing. He didn't know Gummigoo was coming through that portal until he saw him with his own two eyes. My theory is that Caine is only able to teleport, create, censor, transform, and destroy the world around him, but isn't able to see all of it at once unless he tries to. I think Caine's default state is one where he only knows what he sees directly in front of him/what he himself has left waiting for someone else. And rather than implying someone in the gang is an NPC, I think that line in episode 2 was mainly implying Caine can be tricked, that it's possible to hide something from him, to surprise him even. Though I'm not opposed to an NPC we haven't met trying to join under the guise of being human, it'd potentially create some fun tension assuming the audience was given enough reason to care about them.

Jax is actually my favorite character in tadc, but i couldn't fill an entire post with things to say abt him. Caine seems to be- at least as of right now- the easiest of all the characters to try and wrap my head around. I'll probably have a lot more to say about Jax as he exists in canon as the episodes come out [EPISODE 6 MY BELOVED]

but uhhhh yeah, that's all the things i had to say abt Caine. Pls go watch/listen to the fansong Digital Land bye!

[queerism1969]

What is something about being LGBT that a straight person would never guess is a thing you have to deal with on a regular basis?

People asking how you have sex

Once you come out, you never truly stop coming out.

Being queer means that you are going to be really lonely a lot of the time.

The mini internal debate you have every time you tell a story about your SO. Do I say friend or girlfriend? Have I come out to this person yet?

People ask if I know X person because they're also gay.

When you're gay, there's a very real chance your Significant Other will not have a family to bring you into.

Any expression of my sexuality is "being in your face about it" and "it shouldn't be your whole personality".

Everyone had an opinion about my mere existence.

People legitimately question the validity of your relationship, and whether it's just a phase-especially if you're bisexual

Straight people always want to know what your type is. It always feels like a test to see if you find them attractive.

How to properly have sex. They REALLY don't teach you that in sex education.

You never know who is secretly homophobic whether at work or in public, so you always have to act "straight" in a lot of situations

You get sick of never being represented in media, but straight people don't really get it.

Getting polite service is difficult.

Office workers will sometimes purposely send you on goose chases because they don’t want to serve you.

Before y'all knew I was gay, you talked a lot of smack about "the gays." You don't remember, but I remember. I will always remember.

Losing nail clippers can really harm a relationship.

Being queer sometimes feels like being a 30-something-year-old teenager in a community full of 30-something teenagers and weirdly grown-up kids who’ve been living on their own since being kicked out by their bigoted parents at 16.

We have to constantly police our language.

The shame/internalized homophobia.

Your right to exist being a political debate

Wondering when the Supreme Court will revoke my rights.

You can’t really just have sex on a whim... You have to spend time (a lot more than you think) to clean.

While closeted, probably the weight of the secret or the fear of someone finding out.

A gay person will watch any TV show or movie, no matter how bad, if they hear there is even a slice of positive gay representation in it.

When a gay couple kisses in public, people stare. Not even out of disgust or anything, but just because it’s still kind of foreign to them.

You can't always go to the place you want for your honeymoon, because you might get killed

Being described as someone’s “gay best friend” and not just their best friend.

Every time we tell someone we have a partner, and it catches them off-guard, they proceed to tell me about a gay person they know.

The doctor is always super surprised as to how we can be both sexually active and be 100% sure that we are not pregnant

People force you to come out, and they act like they’re doing you a favor.

You have to be prepared to lose any friendship at the drop of a hat

Every couple of years or so, we get a random homophobic death threat on social from someone we've never interacted with.

[eupheme]

— will you show me?

no-outbreak!joel x f!reader, joel x reader x tess

Rated E - 4.2k

Tags: switch!joel and switch!reader, poly relationship, use of alcohol, light sub/dom elements, sex toys, references to threesomes, sexual photos, oral sex, anal play, pegging, joel teaches you what to do

a/n: when the wonderfully talented @wannab-urs announced her #PMAMC event, I knew I had to sign up! Thank you so much, this was so fun 💖

When Tess lets slip an unknown dynamic of your shared relationship, it’s impossible not to think about it. To wonder… to wish. Luckily, Joel is more than happy to show you how.

It starts over drinks.

Time ticking down more quickly than you’d like. Each sip of your cocktail brings you closer to her leaving, as you sit in the booth between Tess and Joel.

Her thigh pressed snug against yours. Fingers drifting along the back of the booth, the tips stroking the side of your neck. Goose bumps rising in the wake of her touch, making you shiver. 

A warm hand wraps around your knee on the other side - a silent, possessive weight. Legs that are still jelly from the hours before - during a soft, drawn-out goodbye.

One that signals the end of a long, perfect weekend. Every detail carefully planning to celebrate Joel’s birthday, filled with family and friends. Squeezing in just enough alone time to ensure it’s one he won’t forget. 

It would be a couple weeks before she would be back in town again. Leaving you in very capable hands, ones you’ve gotten to know well over these last few months. 

The neon lights above the bar flicker with the stuttering of your heart, as she leans. The room dark enough that the illumination of her phone feels too bright, as she flashes the screen at Joel. 

Something from earlier. 

Something you remember because you were there - just positioned on the other side of the lens. Memories ooze and wash over you with the quick glance you manage to catch.

Framing you from neck to hips. Broad hands palming your breasts, molding you to their touch. Thighs splayed wide, where there’s the blur of something in a pretty shade of purple moving between them. 

You clench at the reminder. The snap of her hips. The leather and silicone. Joel’s hands cupping and squeezing, just before your head had tilted back to take him.

“Send me a copy of that,” Joel murmurs, a small curve of his lips as his eyes drag across the image. 

It makes your cheeks burn, to be stuck between them. Their tones so casual, as if it’s just an interesting article online, instead of an illicit memento. 

Tess grins, thumbs already tapping to pull up his contact. 

“Thought you’d like that, birthday boy.” She muses, tongue trapped between her teeth as she sends it off. “Seeing as you both like the same one.”

There’s an almost imperceptible stiffening beside you. His hand clamping down a little more tightly - a flatness in the press of his lips. 

You already hang onto his every word, so it’s not hard to miss - your eyes darting up to his as they narrow in her direction.

Leaving Tess oblivious, on the other side.

It stays with you, as your time runs out. As you say your final goodbyes in the parking lot outside the airport. A quick pressing of mouths, embracing arms and murmured words, as you wave her off.

Watching her grow smaller. Leaving you both alone.

It stays with you on the drive home. Joel’s silence is not unusual, the radio filling the cozy space with Johnny Cash and Bruce Springsteen. 

The usual comforts, but you can’t help the slow drift of your eyes in his direction. Once and then twice, until he’s catching you - an eyebrow raising. 

“Been lookin’ at me an awful lot,” He comments - eyes drifting back to the road. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

That slight sort of tension coming back in the way his hands twist around the wheel, how his eyes slide away before you can answer.

“Maybe I just like looking at you.” You smile - at him, the small shake of his head at your words. He takes to compliments like oil in water, but it doesn’t keep them from slipping from you.

But that silence still hangs, and you frown. More curious than anything. A sliver of worry - knowing if you press too hard, you’ll meet a wall.

“Joel.” There’s a short inhale of breath, “Can I ask you something?”

It lingers for just a second too long, before he’s answering.

“Think you just did.”

The dry humor makes you smile, a small laugh as your eyes drift over the traffic, the hanging red stoplight above.

You should ask him before it changes.

“At dinner,” You start, “You got funny at something Tess said.”

“''S not a question,” His answer is evasive, and that grabs your attention, as you shift his way.

“Fine.” You narrow your thoughts down, “Was it what she said about the toy? Or was it the photo?”

“Weren’t the photo, sweetheart,” The soft name has sharp edges, a hint that you’re onto something. A few weeks ago you would have dropped it.

But they had both pressed that communication was important. Something you had really tried to upheld, for them. 

“The toy, then?” You press - letting your fingers drift between the space that separates you. It only takes a moment before his hand drops to curl around it, resting on his thigh.

“I don’t-” Joel inhales a short breath, and then frees it, “I just didn’t want you finding out like that. Wanted to talk to you properly.”

That has you frowning, your head tilting, “Why would you need to tell me you use a toy on Tess? You think I’d feel weird about her using it on me?”

You wouldn’t. 

You’ve had her on your fingers, on your tongue. 

You’d tasted her on Joel’s cock, before you swallowed him down. 

“Don’t use it on her.”

Another beat of silence, “She uses it on me.”

This time, it’s you that’s gone quiet. Your thoughts swirling messily as you try to process what he said.

What it means.

You’ve read about it. There’s so much Tess and Joel had introduced you to. Your own curiosity sending you into your own forms of research.

But, this hadn’t been brought up. Not that you can remember. In your time spent together Joel always had a commanding tone and a firm touch, though softened when directed at you. 

Perhaps it fits, though. He bends, for Tess. 

It’s hard not to let the images swirl in your mind. Knees nudged wide. Red-tipped nails sinking into dark curls, the slap of skin on skin. Hips and a hard cock grinding into the mattress - that pretty, rough groan he makes when he’s close. 

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes a little unfocused, where they stare ahead. A moment, as you collect your thoughts, “Why… why would that make you angry?”

He sighs then, some of that tension ebbing from him, “’m not angry. It’s just not something we’ve done together.”

A hint of that edge comes back, “And I don’t like discussing our private affairs out in the open.”

That makes you smile, “It was an empty bar, Joel. We go there all the time-”

But then you’re pausing, thinking. Your words coming slowly, “Were you worried what I’d think?”

The truck pulls up in front of his home. A light left on in the living room, in Sarah’s rush to meet a friend. The engine idles until he’s switching it off, though neither one of you move. 

Silence hangs, for a moment. You feel as if you can almost hear the click of his watch, the seconds slowly ticking by. 

He doesn’t answer, so you do it for him.

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” You slowly lean, reaching - fingers pinching at his chin, until he’s facing you, “I just didn’t know you liked it, that’s all.”

The corner of his lips curl, “Been busy. Had our hands full with you, honey.”

It’s the Joel you know, now. His back easing against the seat, the stiffness leaving his shoulders. 

Your hand still lingers on his thigh, gently tracing.

“Is that…” The prospect feels thrilling, the question on the tip of your tongue, “Is that something I could do for you? Will you show me?”

His eyes dart to yours. But there’s only an awe in your tone. A desire. 

It wouldn’t be the first time a switch had been flipped in your brain. A latent urge to return all the pleasure that’s been given to you. The thought of rolling them beneath you - riding and touching them until they’re trembling. 

“Is that right?” He asks, slowly. The glow from the street lamp outside cuts across his face, a dark eye hilighted in gold, “Is that what you want?”

You nod. No hesitation in the gesture, your mind already running wild with the thoughts of his pleasure in your hands. Of being able to do this for him.

Of something new. 

“Alright,” He answers. 

“I’ll show you.”

The harness feels heavy. Black leather that fits around your hips, circling your thighs. Something pretty on underneath, your favorite shade in layers of satin and lace.

Picked up a few days ago, in one of the shops the next town over.

Your eyes had been wide, perusing the shelves with Joel. A new perspective this time - looking at the different options, for an item not intended for yourself. 

Strapless. Double-ended. Vibrating. 

The cock had been easy. A copy of the one Tess had brought with her, the same shade of purple. 

A heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of using it with Joel. Spreading to your neck and ears when more was added to the basket.

The harness. Another bottle of lube. 

Something else - a heavy silver plug, the gem a glittering shade of emerald green. 

“For later.” Joel hints, before you can ask, “Maybe next time you can take us both.”

The thought had made your breath catch in your chest. 

“We’re shopping for you.” You had hissed, his hand warm at the base of your spine. Burning.

“Savin’ us a trip.” He murmured back. 

It had led up to tonight. An evening alone, the planning giving you time for your nerves to make a home in your chest and belly. 

Your fingers wrap around the plastic cock now, the angle so different than what you’re used to. Joel’s fingers still linger at your hips, adjusting the straps until it fits snugly against you.

It feels pleasing, in your hand. The curving thickness, how you can see the shadow of your fingers beneath from the jelly-like texture. The dim lights from above shining off it, and then you’re picturing how it would look glossy. 

Your hand pumps, from thick base to tip. Embers sparking in your belly, as you think about him being the one to do it. How pretty it would look, disappearing between his lips. 

“Are you going to get this wet for me, Miller?” There’s a commanding edge to your voice, just barely concealing the waver. 

His eyes and then a brow lifts, from where he sits on the bed. Where you stand between his spread knees, the dildo bobbing between you.

“You get bossy with a cock, sweetheart?”

There’s a little tilt to his head. A rasp in his voice, and your cheeks are burning again for more than one reason. 

“I, I just thought-” Your words trail off, until his hand is wrapping around yours and squeezing, “I thought that is what you wanted. How Tess would do it.”

Tess, with her pretty voice and blunt words. So much like Joel - how they always had you scrambling to obey.

Stay still. Be good. Just like that, honey. Make me come.

“You don’t gotta be her,” His look softens, “I just want you to be yourself.”

They way he says it, so bluntly, so certain, loosens the tight knot in your chest - easing some of your embarrassment. 

“What do you want, honey?”

It’s easy for you to answer, “I want to make you feel good.”

He smiles at that. It’s familiar, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “I think we could work with that.”

There’s a soft squeeze of his hand against yours. Fingers that slip free and then drop, wrapping around the silicone. Squeezing there too, with a slow pump of his fist. 

“Now, if you wanna see me suck your cock, I will.” Joel’s voice lowers then, “But you gotta as me nice, baby.”

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. Dumbstruck, with how pretty his drawl sounds, curling around those words like the careful grip of his fingers.

The breath you inhale is shaky, small. Eyes widened where they’re focused on his face, his lips.

“I want you to,” You breathe.

“You can do better, sugar.” There’s that heat then, in his eyes. That teasing tone, back in place. “Come on, now.”

“Please, Joel.” 

You’re not sure when things got turned around. How you ended up being the one begging, but it’s there - the soft whine in your voice. The want.

And you think you don’t mind at all. 

“I want to see you suck my cock.”

There’s the flash of white teeth then, with his smile. The slow stroke of hands as they move against your hips. Easing you back one, two steps so he can slip from the bed. Sinking to the floor on his knees. 

Your feet widen on their own. Watching his fingertips against the silicone. The slow duck of his head, the peek of his pink tongue.

Carefully taking one inch, and then another. A wet suck and bob of his head, as he slicks you up. Fingers pressing into the dark denim of his jeans, clenching, as his eyes flutter shut. 

Taking his time. Touching and stroking and licking, with sure and steady hands. Hands that make you clench, as he groans around you. As you sigh, feeling flood of arousal at the sight on him, on his knees for you. 

He leaves the base untouched, lips wrapping around as he works his way down the shaft, and then back up. 

It’s here, that you gain your footing again. Fingers wrapping in his curls, gently tugging. 

“You can take it,” You urge, gently, “You’re much bigger and I can take you.”

There’s a rough sound, at your words. Eyes that burn, as they flip up to yours. As he listens - inching further down, until the tip of his nose ghosts against your belly.

It thrills you. 

Holding himself there for a long moment, as your hand frees itself to stroke his cheek, all rough stubble and warmed skin - before gently easing him off.

“You did so good,” The praise feels different, coming from your mouth. An urge to hear transforming into an ache to give, as you look into dark, blown-wide eyes, “Let’s get you on the bed, okay? I want to touch you.”

That smile coming back, as he rises on stiffened joints - where knees pressed into the hardwood floor. 

A tenting in his pants that was not there before, becoming more prominent when he settles back against the pillows. Pulled half-way down the bed, calves dangling off the side edge. The hem of his black t-shirt riding up, your eyes snagging on skin as you climb on beside him. 

Where he put you together, the careful fastening and tightening of straps - you take him apart.

The heavy buckle cool against your palm, the leather stiff as you work his belt open. Plucking at the button, his own hands grasping at the dark denim. A lift of his hips as they are tugged down, slowly baring him.

Inches of skin, the trail of hair that only darkens the more you ease down his jeans. Thickening at the base of his cock, already hard at curving against his hip. 

He makes a sound, a hushed inhale of breath through his teeth as you palm him. Fingers wrapping around as his jeans and boxers fall to pool together on the floor. 

Socked feet spreading as you inch between his thighs - as he opens himself up to you. 

You look is reverent. Waiting for him to show you, like he promised. Teach you how to make him feel good. 

Watching, as he does. 

The lithe pull of muscle as he leans - a hand reaching up to hook around the handle of the bedside table. Drawing out the bottle - fingertips glossy with lube, as they dip.

You can feel him jump against your palm, when the tip of one presses against his rim. Sinking down to the knuckle - forearm flexing with the careful pump.

Working himself open, slowly. That warmth in your belly pooling lower - the toy shifting with you, a reminder. The base bumping against where you throb, only fueling your eagerness.

“Come on.” His voice is strained, as he holds the bottle out, “You wanna learn, right?”

It’s slippery against your fingers. Cold. You try to rub them against your thumb to warm them - before he slips free. 

“Just-,” There’s the hitch of his breath, as your touch drags from cock, to his heavy sack, then lower. “Go slow, okay?”

“Okay.”

Your eyes are on his - a promise in them. The careful press against his opening, until you’re sinking in. Warm now, his groan so pretty as his head tilts back against the pillow.

It’s slow, the rhythmic pump of your fingers. Almost familiar, moving with the memory of other nights. Knuckle-deep before withdrawing, never leaving him completely. A second slips in with his encouragement  - coaxing words and the swell of his cock.

Twitching against his stomach, an errant drip smearing against skin and coarse hair. It’s easy to dip your head, fingers curling as you lick the weeping tip.

He jerks beneath you, clenching. Tight around your fingers as he groans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. Hands leaving where they grip in the pillows to brush your cheeks.

“You can’t-” Joel’s lips are parted with a heavy breath, a rough sound, “Gonna cut this too short if you do that, darlin’”

And god, it’s tempting to try. You think you could - keep those fingers buried in him while you suck him off. Keep him warm in your mouth, while you figure out just what he likes.

Your own question is low, as your face tips up to his, “Would you let me do that?”

His laugh is strangled and hushed, “You can do anything you want, honey. But if you want to do this, you’d better that it easy on me.”

The this that he is ready for. Nerves skitter across your skin, as your fingers slip from him. Eyes watching and expectant as the lube is passed to you again. 

The silicone slick and glossy from the pass of your palm, wrapping around the thick base. Stepping back off the bed, feet planting on the floor between thighs that spread wider, hips tilting up. 

“Take it slow, you got this.”

It almost feels funny, his encouragement. More used to coaxing you in other ways.

You can take it. Another inch, honey. Just like that. 

Well, you can do that for him. Your own words mirroring his, as you line yourself up. A shiver as the blunt tip slides against his rim. 

A shallow shift of your hips as you move forward. Slowly sinking into him. 

He stiffens beneath you - back bowing and chest rising with a held breath. Fingers that slip down until they’re gripping white-knuckled against thighs that inch wider. 

You take it slower than he does for you. He knows you can take it - but you’re in control here, soaking in every sigh. The pretty groan as you rock back and then forward, deeper.

A hand coming to rest on his, fitting your fingers against his knuckles. 

“Feel good?” You ask, softly. Trying to keep your shallow rhythm steady. Eyes dragging from the harness to the hard curve of his cock, up,

To where he nods, breath inhaled through clenched teeth. 

“Doin’ real good, honey,” His hand twitched beneath yours. A flexing of the muscles in his forearm, matching the clench of his belly, “Move your hips more. That’s my girl.”

You’re moving with his words, the praise like a glittering warmth against your skin. Another groan knocked loose as you do as he says. 

Thrusting until you’re truly buried in him,  pressed skin-to-skin. Pulling back to do it again, his cock bobbing against his stomach with the force of your hips against his.

He’s pretty, like this. Want blooms beneath your skin, prickling. Eyes greedy with the way they watch sticky patch glistens against his abdomen. As thick thighs press about your hips, hitching higher to drive you deeper. 

The harness biting into your skin, the way the base grinds against your clit each time you hilt yourself. His pleasure held in the tilt and grind of your hips, your hands. You think you get it. What she sees, what she wants-

And the sounds. The wet slap and suck of skin. His words, running from his mouth. The growl in his throat when your fingers hook under his knees, the angle changing.

“Fuck.” It’s a loose, ragged sound, “Fuck, honey. Just like that-”

It has you alert. Heart thudding in your chest and between your thighs, with his desperate plea. Your pace slowing until you get it right, grinding against that spot inside him.

Watching how the flush rises from his chest. Dark curls mussed above eyes that are now heavy-lidded and blown wide. His strong hands anchored in the sheets again, using the leverage to help him meet your thrusts. 

Your head ducks, saliva pooling on your tongue. A hand leaving his thigh so you can spit on your palm - too focused to search for the bottle that’s now lost amongst the bedding. 

Wrapping around his cock - where he’s flushed there, too. Another rough curse, the edge razor sharp as you stroke him from base to tip.

The thrust of your hips stuttering, unused to the coordination. A new appreciation for Joel, the way he ruins you so thoroughly and so often. 

His hand covers yours. The press of his warm palm and thick fingers enveloping yours. Wrapping your hand tighter, guiding you to stroke him faster, harder. 

“Don’t stop.” It’s a ragged plea, “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart-”

In this moment, you think there’s nothing that could make you. Your own breath short and panting - eyes fixed on the pull of his brow, the part of his lips.

The way he thrusts into the tight clutch of your fist, fingers pinching harder. Your name a ragged groan that draws out long and low as he stiffens, the messy spill of his release over your knuckles with the next twist of your wrist.

His hand falls limply away as he comes - painting the curve of his belly, arcing up to his chest, sticky and glossy against his skin. You can feel the pulse under your thumb, see the tightening jerk of his cock, when your eyes tear from his face to drift down. Watching him, until he’s fully spent. 

Only then do your hips carefully slow, your hands loosening to drift across his stomach and hips, tracing his skin. 

He’s beautiful.

A tanned arm thrown across his face. Sweat dewing skin, the soft and unsteady inhale-exhale of his chest and belly.

Stained with himself, smeared across his abdomen from your hands and his. Glinting in the low light of the lamp, a low hiss as you carefully ease yourself from him.

Resisting the urge to drag your fingers across, collect him - slip them into your mouth. 

Instead, you do what he does for you.

There’s the damp sway of your cock against your thigh as you move to the en-suite. Wiping him clean with a dampened cloth, as his fingers pluck at your harness. 

Leaving it to pool against the mattress. An ache left behind - a sticky wetness in the crux of your panties that he’ll find in a minute.

For now, he fits you against him. Joel’s arm looped bonelessly around you, as your cheek presses into his shoulder.

A small flicker of pride in your belly. A heat - pleased that you had been able to do this for him. That he had trusted you, like you so often do for him. 

Your fingers scratch into skin, the dampened curls at the base of his neck. He moans, heavy-hidden eyes cracking open to look your way.

There’s a depth to them. A loosening, making them soft and warm and you can’t help but press your mouth to his. 

A hand coming to cradle your jaw, a little flick of your tongue telling him how needy this has made you.

He swallows your groan, with a sound of his own. 

It’s bliss, sharing this moment with him. 

There’s the dull hum of the traffic outside, the light breeze of the fan that sits on the dresser. Hours left until dawn - the promise of coffee and breakfast and a morning spent together, before you’re supposed to pick up Sarah and meet Tommy for the afternoon game. 

“You still mad at Tess?” It’s more tease than question - teeth sinking into your bottom lip to bite back the smile.

A smile that is returned, with a little huff of a laugh. Voice rough and low, as he rolls you beneath him to nose at your jaw. 

“Can’t say that I am.”

Thank you for reading!! 💖

[seirei-bh]

Summary and opinions of Jason's route ep 5! SPOILERS

Well, well, well, if you're the Jason route, congratulations, my friend! We're celebrating here with cocktails and ugly sobs because we FINALLY get a moment with Jason that last more than two minutes! + a moment alone with him! applauses!

In general it was a good ep, I liked it! I still need to play it with other routes to get a complete opinion, but I enjoyed it.

And now, before continuing, this post contains BIG SPOILERS!!! about this ep in this route, so if you prefer to enjoy the content of the ep by yourself I REALLY recommend that you wait until the day of the general release and play it before read this.

Btw keep in mind that I'm going to make this post with humorous notes on purpose, so pls take it in good vibes!

As soon as I started the ep I got angry because Thomas was two hours late to work without any consequences -Devon was 100% ok with that, like???- while my Sucrette was awake since 7AM as a clown, and then she had to hear how Roy and Amanda argued over a cool project and about how Thomas got the coolest one and then they let my Sucrette take care of the shittiest project of all, thanks Devenementiel! I felt loved and considered! I'll be happy to betray all of you soon! :D Except you, Elenda, you're a sweetheart and wonderful, pls be my wife. I love you, honey.

My sucrette Lily proceeded to take on the project herself without ask help and without making any calls to the client (because she's stupid and because I wanted she suffered alone so Jason could manipulate her later, I'm evil yeees), and ofc she ended up screwing up. Then Elenda tried to cheer us up and then my sucrette went for a walk alone to catch a depression for having disappointed Devon, her coworkers and even her goose. Dishonor on your goose, girl!

Then we found Jason in the park!! Basically our girl was seeing her life passing away in front of her eyes and then our lovely knight came to make fun of her, like a perfect Fool knight in a fairy tale. I swear this man has to have a location chip on us that also detects our emotions, otherwise Idk how we match up with him in every episode XDDD I guess his cell phone alerts him and he will go into "OMG my future wife need my bad jokes! I must go with her so she notices me!" and he runs out of his office.

In short, he offer us his help while he tries to hide his horns, his trident and the infernal flames from the ground , we end up telling him our problem because Sucrette is an idiot, and we make a deal with the devil, but not before Jason telling us to ask him nicely like "pleasee help me", and my Sucrette goes into: desire to kill increasing mode. Jason calls Danica to get info about the project, and while we wait for her response, Jason smirks and thanks us for liking his Instagram photo, while Sucrette tries not to k*ll him. When he gets the info very proud, she also mocks him and comments that "If you track everyone like this, it's no wonder you already have gray hair." and Jason responds that it's not from stress or age, it's poliosis, and that it's hereditary, and his father had them too. And there I wanted my Sucrette to shut up, lol, I'm embarrassed, girl.

Then comes my favorite moment: Jason takes us to Goldreamz!! Here we get a tense scene in which he touches Sucrette's back, they look at each other intensely, she has contradictory feelings because she thinks she's betraying her Devenementiel's coworkers, she doubs about his intentions, and then… *laughs* I love sm this:

Jason is sooo proud of his office and his company that asks Sucrette her opinion about it, Sucrette comments that she has no opinion on it, like meh~ I'm not impressed, man, this is Ikea, and Jason responds like a total offended diva XD Then he counterattacks by making fun of Devenementiel's decoration and both tease each other like always. I love my two fools.

His expression was priceless. And she doesn't give a f***, lmao, tell him, girl. This pathetic man wanted to impress sm his queen and he failed. Someone should call the ambulance, the rival boss is having a shock *laughs*

Next, they both discuss the processes they will follow for the project, Sucrette contributing ideas and Jason getting her very good and surprising contacts. Then there's another of my favorite moments, Jason shows briefly vulnerable when Sucrette asks him a couple of personal questions about his childhood. Jason reveals to us that his parents were not millionaires, that his birthday parties were quite modest, and that his father died when he was a teenager, and then he ends the conversation. And I wanted to hug him.

Here I want to give my opinion. This is the first time that we get info about his family and I'm surprised! Because I thought Jason came from a rich family, like Amanda, and the plot twist about his father leaves me intrigued. The only thing I can theorize now at least is that Jason became an ambitious person perhaps due to this, and I wonder what exactly happened to his father, whether he died from an accident or illness.

Finally, Sucrette thanks him and Jason tells her that she shouldn't forget that now she has an outstanding debt with him that she'll have to pay at some point, dramatic pause----! He doesn't tell us what he wants, but I've a couple of ideas: either Jason will try to get something from Devenementiel by using us (despite Sucrette told him she would never betray Devenementiel) or he will try to get us to go on a date with him to a dinner or an event, without we won't be able to reject his invitation, to try to seduce us.

I already suspected that Sucrette on his route would end up visiting Goldreamz at some point, but I admit I didn't expect it to be so soon! It was a pleasant surprise. We didn't meet Danica and Spencer yet though.

After that, Sucrette presents to her colleagues at Devenementiel the project she has worked on with Jason, without meantion him ofc, Devon congratulates her, Elenda hugs her (my queen Elenda being the best girl always), and Sucrette feels horribly uncomfortable because she thinks she is betraying all of her coworkers by hiding the truth about Jason's help. Hahaha, I'm really would like Devon and the others finds out that Jason helped us, I want to see their reaction *evil masochistic laugh*

At the end I had the date with Roy at the pool, since I will do the ones with Amanda and Thomas in a few days. I loved it! Roy's illu is so beautiful, so colorful and bright! <3 Although Beemoov are cowards for not giving us mermanRoy, he'd have look so hot! U__U Regarding Jason's illus with him in the company, I also really liked the intimacy and tension of the scene, and the detail that their faces are in shadow, as to emphasize the forbidden nature of that secret meeting and that you're making a deal with the devil.

About the PAs, I spent around 1.700, but I forgot to use jokers this time, so I guess for other people could be cheaper.

You can also get a sea background for your room and furniture of that theme in your closet at the end of the ep. They are available to buy whatever you want. I used the background for my bedroom and I love how it looks!

[enditen]

birds of a feather

summary: a bit of understandable anger toward your fiancé for— in your eyes— unwise decisions leads to hurt feelings and avoidance. thankfully, the two of you come back together in the most interesting of places.

word count: 4090ish.

rating: m

warnings: public sexual acts. talk of death ( rooster's, goose's and carole's ). angst. two adults being stubborn fools. talk about breasts. talk about ruining hawaiian shirts and dress whites. kind of playing around with naval deployments and what not.

pairing: bradley ( rooster ) bradshaw x female reader ( callsign vulture )

author's note: hi, first fic in this fandom that was simply supposed to be hot titty fucking with a title of a tit for a cock and then turned into 4k of angst then some titty fucking. some of you might recognize me from another fandom on here on tumblr to which if you do, hi y'all. also i feel like i missed tags and i'm sorry about that. assuming i write more for this because i've gotten over my nervousness i'll learn. and special thanks to @blurredcolour for being a little cheerleader

You’re beginning to wonder if there’s just something about Maverick that just turns everyone around him a bit stupid. You like to think that most of the team surrounding your fiancé aren’t idiots and yet there you were being proven completely wrong as you listened to Bradley explain what exactly had happened on the mission.



“That’s not what he meant when he said don’t think!” You remembered screaming into the phone, knowing fully well that while Mav was his own special brand of stupid- and deliriously lucky he wasn’t the same level of pure unadulterated idiocy Bradley was displaying.

“It worked out!” Was somehow his raspy defense and it had taken all your self control to not hang up the phone right then and there, the sheer unmitigated aggravation seeping through your pores As it stood, what you did end up doing was letting out the world’s most put upon sigh as you rolled your eyes.



“You’re just lucky Mav didn’t have to bury another bird.” At Rooster’s sharp inhale you started to speak again. “I didn’t mean it— I’m just—”



“No. I get it, Vulture,” he spat out your callsign, a definite sign that he’s pissed and you had struck a nerve you honestly shouldn’t have right in that moment before you heard something in the background. “You don’t have to come get me, I’ll get home fine.”



The silence after he hung up feels almost as all consuming as the idea of him dying was.

It’s always been a thing that when one of you comes back from deployment or from a mission or from visiting friends who are stationed somewhere else that you pick one another up. Some of your friends call it silly, but for you and Rooster it works. You’ve always wanted to be together all the time but at the same time— when opportunities present themselves you’ve never been the type to ignore them. Hell, even if you wanted to, the other one would just argue against ignoring the opportunity. That’s why you found yourself here, waiting for Rooster to come back from what should have been a mission he didn’t come back from. What was almost a mission he didn’t come back from. You wonder if this is how his mom felt with his father and if the reason she never wanted him to become a pilot like this is to avoid anyone else having her fate. You see Rooster walking with Hangman and are about to lean out of the car to tell him to get his ass in the car before he sees you through your windshield. The look he gives you is one of aggravation and hurt that you’ve so rarely seen on his face that it practically pins you to your seat in the car. You've seen those brown eyes look at you with so much love and you've made jokes comparing them to warm chocolate more than once but in this moment— all they do is remind you of a hardened and unbreakable tree.



He shakes his head before turning to keep talking to Hangman, laughing at some probable dumb joke the man said and you swear your stomach drops through the floor of the car. You hadn’t thought he was serious about not wanting you to come get him and here he was getting into someone else’s car to go— home? Maybe, or maybe he was going to crash on Hangman’s couch or find— no. No, for all that Rooster was angry with the slip of your tongue he would never cheat on you. He loves you in a way that makes other people sick and makes Maverick and Penny tell you that yeah, you kind of remind them of his dad and Carole.



Still, he’s never been this angry at you and that terrifies you in ways that you can’t put into words. You’ve flown dangerous missions that didn’t terrify you as much as the look on Rooster’s face did right in that moment. After what feels like hours, but is only really ten minutes you pull out of the area you were parked in and head home. You don’t realize Hangman hasn’t left and that Rooster watches you leave from his side of the truck. 



“She couldn’t have done anything that bad, man.” Jake tries to reason as he puts the truck in reverse. 



“You don’t know her like I do," he scoffs, shaking his head and slipping on his aviators. "I forgot why she’s called Vulture. Just— Just drive.”

You suppose it's a mercy that you see Rooster the next morning, making coffee as if he didn't break your tradition with one glance through a car windshield. Suppose you should be thankful he's back home and in your kitchen and not back home in a casket, but you've never been one to allow yourself simple pleasures like that when you're hurt. When your heart's twisted into the version of itself that only releases anger and toxic fumes to push away everyone you hold dear.



That anger has your mouth moving before your brain can catch up and make you see sense. All you know is that the man you love hasn't said one word to you since that phone call and he's only making one cup of coffee and not two. Another tradition broken and you can only see red.



"Are you ignoring me?" You ask the moment he turns around, sipping his coffee without seemingly a care in the world.



Bradley isn't necessarily the more verbose out of the two of you, but he's never particularly short with you. Today is the exception, much like everything about the past two days.



"No." A pause as he sets down his coffee cup and you see a bit of coffee clinging to his upper lip and that stupid little mustache you've grown to love over the years. "Maybe."



"Maybe," you parrot, moving over to where he's standing and watching as he moves just far enough away to allow you to grab your own cup and your own specific pod to make your coffee. "You nearly die, I say something stupid and now you're acting like a moody teenager. Cute, Roo."



Roo. Not even Rooster and certainly not his name because he certainly doesn't deserve it in this moment. You watches as his eyes drift over your body, noting how you're wearing one of his favorite Hawaiian shirts with the top buttons unbuttoned, revealing skin that normally he'd have covered in kisses a thousand times over since he returned last night. Instead it's unmarred by his lips and teeth and you're as vicious as can be. Two can play that game. Two can be childish.



"I'm sorry, something stupid. No— no, you didn't say something stupid. You said something cruel. That's a big difference, babe. One is normal, the other is you reminding me that I could have left you alone just like my mom was. Like that didn't go through my head. Like Maverick didn't tell me that much while we were heading back. "



A laugh erupts from deep inside your chest as you turn to look at Rooster. "Did it really go through your head? Did you think I'm throwing away my life with Vulture because I need to save someone who ruined parts of my life? Or did your brain get scrambled from the G's?"



You watch as eyes that you love start to fill with something resembling tears as his hand clenches the coffee cup. He loves you, he knows that to be a simple fact. He loves you. His father loved him and his mother. Mav loves him and loved his father and his mother. And you love him. In this moment though, that last one feels like a joke, feels like a dagger twisting in his chest. Maybe you don't love him if this is what you want to spew at him. You're a woman who should have had a callsign of Viper but only gets Vulture because you can handle things other people couldn't. You take care of things other people wouldn't or couldn't. He supposes you taking on all of those things is what makes you the way you are.



"It's what my dad would have done," he forces the words out and tries to not cry because you know what that means to him. You know know better than anyone. "I was his wingman."



"And what about my wingman, Bradley?" Your question comes out softer than you mean it to even as you slam your coffee pod into the machine. Somehow tears start to tease the edge of your eye line. "You were just going to leave me without mine. You really are your father's son. Guess I should be happy we don't have a little you running around. That's a little too on the nose."



The slam of the coffee cup startles you more than anything you've thought was possible in that moment and yet without missing a beat you turn to face Rooster once again in time for you to see angry tears falling from his eyes. "I'm not doing this. You're— I didn't leave you. You're not having to bury me and you're not having to be by my side as I bury the closest thing I have to a father now. That is what should matter. Not what I did. What I know you would have done for some people. What you'd have done for Phoenix alone. I'm here in our kitchen wearing my engagement ring and you're just wearing my shirt and not sobbing into it because it's the closest thing that smells like me. Let it go." He takes a moment to take a shaky breath and starts to move toward you. "I made a mistake but I don't regret it. Let. It. Go."



If you were younger, if you were the same girl Rooster met all those years ago you'd have taken your ring off and slammed it on the counter right next to his coffee cup in a fit of anger. You're older now, same as Bradley and you stop yourself even as your hand inches toward your ring finger. Bradley's always been taller than you unless you're in heels and it forces you to look up at him. "You forget who you're wanting to marry, Bradshaw. I'm— I'm not letting this go. Just— you know what, sleep on the couch, do whatever. I don't care— you're not sleeping in our bed. Especially if you want to act like I meant to say what I said in the first place. You want to ignore me? Fine. Then do that."



You see Bradley's jaw tense, and watch the way it moves as you normally would enjoy before he speaks. "Wasn't planning on sleeping there for a while anyway. Enjoy your coffee, Y/N."

Ever since you had started dating, you and Bradley had talked every single day. No matter the fight, no matter what happened between you two you would never let something like this drag on for so long. Life was short after all and you two were both vividly aware of that.



This time though, this time it drags on for two weeks and you have a half right mind to stand in front of Bradley until he talks until you realize from how even Phoenix looks at you while at the Hard Deck that it wouldn't help. It truthfully might make things worse. So you let him stew and he lets you stew. You miss him and you like to think he misses you but you're both very stubborn people who know how to hold grudges with the best of them.



It's strange, ignoring someone you love in your own house but sometimes you'd like to argue that you and Bradley are strange people. Normal most of the time but with those small little scars inside and out that make you do strange things. Strange things like make sure your dress whites are ready to go the day of what you think is a ceremony— honestly you hadn't paid attention for once to the notice. That's what you do with someone you love and someone you care about— not someone you're still so angry with that it hurts to talk to them.



You arrive separately to questioning looks from most of the Dagger Squad and Maverick but you both shrug and smile them off even as you stay apart most of the night. What you both don't realize is that the other is sneaking glances when one of you looks away. Your eyes take in the man who you think— you hope— is still going to be your future husband and bemoan the fact that he can't wear this uniform everywhere. There's something special about seeing him all dressed in white and looking every bit a dashing naval aviator.



His eyes? Oh, his eyes take in the woman he knows he's still going to marry if one of you would just break already. They take in you in white which you hate wearing because it shows off everything and stains and all those silly things you say. They take in how your jacket contains your chest but how the buttons strain just a little and how he knows that you're probably wearing a lace bra that he loves underneath it. He knows how that bra feels against his hands when he cups your breasts and squeezes them in his hands. Your chest is a work of art sometimes— all the time really and he hasn't touched in over two weeks.



Jake is the one who notices how Bradley's eyes haven't left you for a few minutes and notices how he's shifting in place— fidgeting in a way he's never seen him.



"She's been staring at you too," the blonde chuckles. "This is— This is every bad high school dance and military ball I've ever been to rolled into one. Go over to her, Rooster. Stop pining, man."



Bradley wants to defend himself but he turns to look at you again only to catch your eyes and how they slide down his body before stopping at his crotch and— he finds most logic and sense goes out the window. Like two magnets drawn to one another you both find yourselves by each other's sides, with hands grazing each other's hips.



"I—" He starts before you shake your head.



"I was being cruel. You've— We both know I get like that and I was terrified, Bradley. I saw our lives flashing before my eyes the second I found. It was gone in an instant. That doesn't excuse—" Your words are cut off with a soft kiss that you're both endlessly thankful no one sees.



"Babe. Trust me, I know I was an idiot and that same vision you had? Yeah, you weren't the only one. I swear I heard my mom and my dad yelling at me." His words are soft as he nuzzles his nose against yours, laughing softly when you scrunch up your nose because of his mustache. "I'm sorry."



You sniffle a little, partially to prevent a sneeze from his mustache hair and to cover up the fact that you're a little emotional. "I'm sorry too." You take a moment to look up meet his eyes only to see how his eyes are trained on your breasts. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, are you staring at my boobs in public? At a function?"



You watch as a light dusting of color reaches his cheeks before he bites his lips. "And if I am?"



A breath leaves your mouth slowly as you move the hand that's been on his hip toward the front of his dress pants, giggling softly at the slight hardness you feel. "I'd say you should stop unless you want me to take care of this in the bathroom."



His eyes dart around the room checking to see if anyone will notice you're both gone for a bit before he laughs. "Meet you there in five?"



You practically give yourself minor whiplash as you nod quickly. "Can I keep the bra on?"



His groan almost gives the two of you and your plans away.

The great thing, you think, about this bra, is that it makes it so easy to have Bradley stick his cock in between your breasts without taking it off. You know by the end he'll want it off, want to squeeze your breasts as he slides his cock in between them but in the beginning he's fine with this.



"I missed my girls," he groans as you press your arms against the side of your chest, pushing your breasts together even more. "Should— Should've gotten over myself and fucked you in my shirt that morning."



"You would have gotten come on your favorite Hawaiian shirt, Bradley," you try to reason with him even as your voice takes on an airy sort of quality the quicker your fingers move in between your legs. You should have taken off your pants but you realize it's a little too late for that now.



"We're probably getting come on our dress whites, babe." It's a joke but one that's likely very true from the way you can see his cock pulse and from the way your fingers— even through the articles of clothing you're wearing sound so obscene as they squelch and slide between your folds. "Would've made it better. Fuck, swear this bra does something to your tits."



"It's a bra? A dressy one? That's the point?" You can't help but giggle as he moves faster, his cock gilding against the soft skin of your breasts. "You getting close baby?"



"Lil bit," he grunts out, his hand moving to try and grasp at one of your nipples. "You wanna free them? Let your nipples join in on the fun?"



"You just wanna smear them with precome, Bradshaw, you're not slick." It's not a no, and your hands move to start undoing your bra even as you look up and see Bradley with the dumbest smirk you've ever seen him have. "Why are you—"



"You're slick though," he pulls his cock out from between your breasts and bends down to kiss you as your bra releases your breasts. "Bad—"



"Bad dirty dad joke," you cut him off with a fond shake of your head. "At least wait until we have a little birdy before you stoop that low."



A shrug is the only answer you get as he lines his cock up with your breasts and waits for you to press them together before saying a single phrase. "Sorry. It's in my blood."



You look up at him through your eyelashes and sigh, ignoring how your heart twists a little at the faked twinkle in those brown eyes of his. Instead you bend your head down just a little to lick a small kitten lick at the head of his cock. "Doomed to those jokes for the rest of my life as Mrs. Bradshaw. What have I done?"



A shudder ripples through him at your lick and he has to force himself to not come right then and there all over your perfectly made up face. He wants to though, wants to see you debauched like you should have been the second he came home and was alive and in your arms. He should have painted your face white. Should have made it so there was a stain on his favorite shirt that he'd wear proudly because it'd tell everyone how needy you two were for each other. It'd remind everyone that he's taken by the most vicious, intelligent, and vivacious woman he's ever met. It'd remind him that you missed him that much that you couldn't bear to be apart from some part of him for too long.



He didn't though and he can't right now but tonight when you're home and laying across your shared bed maybe he can do it then and watch as your lips try and lick bits off your face. The image he paints in his mind is something else and it has him clenching the fabric of your jacket before his own hands move to play with the tops of your breasts. The action earns a low whine from you, wanting more of his large hands on you, his thumbs playing with your nipples as he kisses you. You two have to make this quick though and it shows in how Bradley's thrusts increase in speed and how he motions for you to do something— anything— with your boobs and your hands until you finally catch onto his meaning.



"You are so boob drunk, Bradley," you mutter as your hand wraps around the part of his cock not between your breasts. With every thrust up you manage a lick or two just to tease him until you see his thrusts getting messier and less controlled.



A breathless low chuckle leaves him. "Nah, just you drunk. Fuck, babe, Y/N. I'm— let him go. Gonna—"



"Cum on them. Just cum on them. I'll wipe it off."



You look up with all the confidence in the world to see him with blown out pupils and a wet lips from where he's bitten them to keep quiet. "You su—" You cut him off with an almost violent nod that has the head of his cock brushing your chin as he does. "Okay okay."



What happens next is a flurry of limbs and grunts and low whines from you and Bradley as you chase your respective highs. Bradley comes first, hips stuttering, painting your chest with his cum, pearly white and just uncontrolled enough that some lands on your lips and chin and another bit lands on your dress shirt, narrowly avoiding your jacket. Your name falls from his lips easily as you look up at him, your fingers curling just so inside of you as he reaches out to cup your cheek his brown eyes so full of love, arousal and adoration that you come with a silent cry, your body threatening to fall forward from the sheer intensity but his strong hands are there to stop you.



You both lean back— him against the wall and you on your knees- catching your breath before he moves to grab paper towels, wetting them just enough for you to clean his release off of you. He embarrassingly lets out something close to a childish whine as he watches you lick the traces of come off your lips until you raise an eyebrow at him and his hardening cock.



"When we get home." You both manage to say at the same time before letting out matching peals of laughter. After a moment where you both can't keep a straight face Bradley starts to tuck himself inside his dress pants and you start to button your shirt back up before he pulls you up with an ease that marvels you even to this day. You feel the warmth of his large hand through your shirt as he straightens it out, making sure it's regulation ready. He winces at the slight stain of his come near your shoulder before remembering you still have to get your jacket on. His hands make quick work of the buttons and he notes with pride the only sliver of come one can see is easily explained away as water.



You can't help but bite your lip at Bradley when you see him looking down at you, inspecting his handiwork. Almost as if he realizes you're staring he meets your eyes and smiles this stupid half smile that makes his mustache look far cuter than it has any right to be and has his eyes dancing with mirth.



"Come on Lieutenant Bradshaw, they're gonna notice if we stay here," he tries to school his face into something resembling a serious look before he chuckles softly.



"Aye aye, Lieutenant Bradshaw." A pause. "You can't call me by your last name yet, you know."



He shrugs, unlocking the door as he wraps his arm around your waist. "I almost died. I can do it if I want. Besides, saw your thighs tense up."



You tamp down on the urge to slap his arm playfully as your own arm moves to snake around his waist. "You're lucky I love you."



"Yeah,' he stops right before you reach the door to reenter the hall and presses you just lightly against the wall. "I love you too."

[topguncortez]

“i’m worried that if we go there, and things don't work out... things might never be the same.” with rooster! please and thank you! :)

prompts list:) thank you for the request!

All of Rooster’s life he was told that everyone gets one “great love” in their life. His mother’s great love was obviously his father and the one reason why she never remarried. Rooster could remember when he was about 13 or 14, asking his mother why she never remarried. It had been over 10 years since his father’s passing and Carole had never so much as looked at a male the way she did Goose.

“Because it wouldn’t be fair,” Carole told her son, a sad smile on her face, “It wouldn’t be fair to marry a man knowing I couldn’t love him the way I love your father. He was my great love… and I’ll never find another one like that.”

Bradley wondered if towards the end of her life, when she was alone in the house for those last couple of years when he was off at school, if maybe, just maybe she wished she had someone there. He asked her again, on one of the last good days she had, if she wished she had found someone to spend her life with.

Carole again, gave him a sad smile, “It wouldn’t be fair. There’s only one person I’ve been praying about seeing again.”

Bradley hadn’t realized it at the time, but the older he got, the more he envied what his parents had. “A Great Love” that was as if it came straight from a romance novel. “A Great Love” that held steady for years, despite his father being deceased for more than half of it. “A Great Love” that seemed to come so easy to them but for Bradley, was nearly impossible.

Except, it wasn’t impossible.

No, Bradley did have a “Great Love”, in the form of the neighbor girl who lived in the blue house next door. The girl who used to make mudpies with in the backyard. The girl who teased him relentlessly when he got braces only to end up with wires on her own teeth a couple of weeks later. The girl who is his best friend… and is currently crying on his couch over her now ex-boyfriend.

“A-And he was saying stuff and I-“ You sucked in a deep breath, trying to will the tears to stop falling down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Rooster said, using the age-old nickname, even though he wasn't in the slightest sorry. Sure, he felt bad that you got your heartbroken, but he was celebrating the fact that Douchebag Dan was finally out of your life, "You deserve better."

"I thought he was the one!" You sobbed, "He had me sending him ring options!"

And suddenly Bradley hated Douchebag Dan even more than he did fifteen minutes ago when you showed up at his doorstep.

"Hey," Bradley said shifting closer to you, his thigh touching yours, "You know what this means though, right," You looked up at him with big sad eyes and the most adorable wobble of your bottom lip, "Your great love is still out there."

You rolled your eyes, "I'm starting to think that's a hock of shit," You flopped back on the couch defeated, "I've dated three guys in my lifetime all for over two years and none of them have put a ring on my finger," You held up your hand, wiggling your ring finger, "It's just not going to happen. I don't have a great love."

"Sure you do."

"Where!?" You looked over at Bradley, "Where is mine?"

"Maybe, you're looking too hard for it. Maybe they're closer than you think," Bradley simply shrugged, reaching for his beer bottle on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" You quipped, "What about you? Have you met your 'great love'."

Bradley sucked in a breath, knowing he couldn't lie to you about this or hell, about anything, "Yeah," He admitted, "But she doesn't feel the same."

You felt a pang in your heart, causing you to sit up, pulling your legs underneath you, "Does she know?"

Bradley shrugged, "I think so. I mean, I-I've known her forever."

"Oh," You were trying to rack your brain of the potential girls that Bradley had his heart set on, "Do I know her?"

"Mhm," Bradley pursed his lips, taking another sip of his beer for he stupidly gave himself and his stupid crush away. A stupid crush that could mean the end of the longest, greatest friendship he has ever had. You were the one thing from his childhood that had managed to stick around. You were there when his mother died, when his dreams of following his father's footsteps came crashing down, when he got his acceptance letter to UVA, when he graduated flight school and got his wings, when he graduated from TopGun.

All the major memories that Bradley had, you were always right there. He couldn't let a stupid crush end that. He couldn't let his heart and his feelings complicate things. He couldn't-

"It's Phoenix, isn't it?"

Bradley spat his beer out of his mouth, coating the coffee table in sticky alcohol. Your eyes widened as he coughed and wiped the beer from his lips.

"What?" He choked out.

"Your great love," You muttered, "Is it Phoenix?"

"Hell no," Bradley shook his head, "That-that's crazy."

"Not really, she's pretty and you're around her all the-"

"It's you," Bradley cut you off.

You felt your heart stop in your chest as you stared at your best friend, "W-What?"

He sighed, hanging his head in shame, "It's you, Y/N. It has always been you. You are my "great love"."

"Bradley, I-"

Bradley shook his head, "I didn't mean to do this. Not when you're upset over Douchebag Dan, but. . .fuck, I can't take it anymore," He stood up from his spot on the couch, beginning to pace, "Watching you go with guys who have no idea what it means for you to look at them like they hung the fucking stars. To have you love them and kiss them and be with them day after fucking day. I love you, Y/N. I have been in love with you."

Fresh tears were in your eyes as you looked at the man who is your best friend, "Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

"Because I’m worried that if we go there, and things don't work out... things might never be the same," Bradley's big brown eyes shone with unshed tears, "And you're all I have left. I can't lose you."

"You won't lose me," You stood up from your spot on the couch, walking over to him, "Cause I love you too," You grabbed his face in your hands and placed a kiss on his lips.

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in March 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup [ @1dmonthlyficroundup ] which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #60 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

☁️ you were in my dream by staybeautiful / @harruandlou

(E, 60k, acquaintances to lovers) Louis woke up after having a sexy dream about his best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend resolved to never think about it again. He hardly knew Harry, so what difference would it make? But when they are thrown together only a few days later, Louis had to admit, his subconscious might have been onto something.

☁️ Always a Bridesmaid by @kingsofeverything

(E, 29k, age difference) The night before his best friend’s wedding, Harry falls into bed with a silver haired stranger who makes him wonder what his own forever might look like.

☁️ Behind Smoke Stained Curtains by @jaerie

(E, 19k, omegaverse) The worlds align when Louis meets an alpha from the road with as many secrets as he holds himself.

☁️ The Room Thief by @2tiedships2

(NR, 15k, omegaverse) When Louis comes home and is confronted by his knothead alpha flatmates, he knows it won’t result in anything good, but he didn’t expect to be left homeless, effective immediately. He definitely didn’t expect to fall for the specific knothead who stole his room.

☁️ Simmer Down and Pucker Up by @silverstuff50

(E, 9k, exes) When Louis' sister invites his ex to her wedding Louis is not a happy bunny. But his friends are wankers and their meddling causes the sort of drama that Louis would usually beat the crap out of them for. Usually...

☁️ and then, i wait there for you by punk_pillow_princess / @punkpillowprincess

(M, 9k, established relationship) Harry has always dreamed of having his “happily ever after”, but hasn't found the right one yet. Suddenly, he meets Louis.

☁️ you can be my lover, i can be your love by @wildhalos

(M, 9k, canon m/f) the one where Louis may have accidentally fondled his best friend, and it's not weird unless they make it weird. Harry's almost positive. She swears.

☁️ What we parted ways with by louisismycat / @liminalkittyfics

(M, 6k, exes) Alpha Harry is surprised to see omega Louis at his matchmaker’s cocktail party for millionaires. Years ago when they were together, Louis loathed schmoozefests with rich people.

☁️ That’s the way love goes by bella28

(T, 4k, soulmate goose!) In a world, where soulmate geese are sent to the people who can't figure out who their soulmate is, Harry finds himself stuck with a goose when he is attending a concert of his favourite artist Louis Tomlinson.

☁️ Stand Not in Front or Behind by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(NR, 4k, omegaverse) Harry Styles always knew his purpose in life was to be a pawn in an arranged marriage to assure allegiances. He never actually put much thought into his future partner.

☁️ Pussy Juice by @homosociallyyours

(M, 4k, girl direction) While she manages to dodge the bar's "special" drink, the Pussy Juice shot, she can't avoid the feelings that come up when her former teacher (and teen crush), Louis joins her and her friends for the night.

☁️ pretty please? by @disgruntledkittenface

(E, 3k, girl direction) Harry gets impatient for her Valentine’s Day present.

☁️ Lipstick Like Dynamite by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(E, 3k, established relationship)  the one where Louis is a professional football player who loves seeing his boyfriend in lipstick, a fact that Harry likes to use to his advantage

☁️ Green Coffee and Morning People by @insightfulinsomniac

(T, 3k, uni) Louis has a crush on the prettiest boy he’s ever seen — the curly-haired guy who sits next to him in his Community Psych class and brings strangely-colored drinks to class with him each day.

☁️ You are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad) by @dreaminrainbows

(M, 2k, pining) Louis is a hot bartender and Harry is pathetically in love with him

☁️ When you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect? by INnenaHeart / @thechavier

(M, 1k, sexuality crisis) Louis realizes he's into men because of a long hair, chelsea boots wearing, Harry

☁️ The Devil's Hour by silverkiiwii / @tomlinsins

(NR, 1k, established relationship) Harry and Louis are going on their first roadtrip and they have very different interpretations of what leaving in the morning means.

- Rare Pairs -

☁️ Unplanned Circumstances by @haztobegood

(E, 8k, Zayn/Louis) Zayn has worked his whole life to be one of the top spies in the Agency. When he returns from his latest mission, the unexpected reappearance of a one-night-stand could change everything. Part 1 of Unplanned Circumstances

☁️ Baby, I'm Right Here by @enchantedlandcoffee

(T, 1k, Zayn & Louis) The one where Zayn and Louis are best friends and, after much prompting from their family members, try and give dating a go.

☁️ if it feels like love (then it must be love) by localopa / @voulezloux

(G, 1k, Niall/Shawn Mendes) niall and shawn are in love. if they could both realize this, that would be lovely.

[penny00dreadful]

CW for this chapter on AO3

Part 1/ Part 3/ AO3

Eddie was out of breath. Embarrassingly and catastrophically out of breath. He wasn’t some god damned athlete, he was an academic. A pathetic fucking stereotype of an academic, huffing and puffing as he tried to drag his suitcases up the gangway towards the riverboat. It would take them down the Nile and closer to where they needed to be.

Robin was up ahead, happily chattering along with her one bag slung easily over her back.

Eddie dropped the suitcases with a loud thunk, glaring up at the ramp to the boat, wondering how the fuck was he going to get everything up there.

Robin turned back to him and lightly kicked one of his cases. “What the fuck did you even pack in there? The whole damn library?”

He pushed his hair back from his face, the heat of the day and the exertion of carrying everything left his curls sticking to his skin and his neck sweating under his starched collar. 

He used the tie around his wrist to scrape the hair back before he answered her.

“I need my books for my research, Rob. And what about you? Did you pack nothing but air?”

Robin shrugged. “You do this enough times, you learn to pack lightly.”

“Do what enough times?”

Robin pursed her lips. “Let’s just say, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Oh right, sure.” He tried his best to pin her with his glare. “You’ve run off to secret mythical cities before? With your best friend I’ve never heard of before this week, Steve?” Eddie huffed. “What’s the story there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how does someone like you know someone like him?”

Robin shot him a sly conspiratorial grin.

“We go way back.”

“Jesus Christ, Robbie.” He threw his hands out. “What does that even mean? You go way back with that… that filthy, arrogant, primitive dickhead–”

“Anyone I know?”

The voice that called out from just behind him made Eddie’s heart both explode into flutters and drop straight out of his ass, which was a hell of a sensation to feel.

He turned slowly, expecting to see said filthy, arrogant, primitive, dickhead, still covered head to toe in dirt and rags and looking like a wild caveman, but that was not what he was greeted with.

Steve was standing behind him, a heavy duffel very similar to Robin’s own resting over his shoulder and an eyebrow cocked in Eddie’s direction.

He’d bathed which, duh, bare minimum to make someone look better than they had done, rotting away in a jail cell. But he’d also cut his hair back. It now rested over his forehead in a swoop that Eddie would almost call dashing if he didn’t hate himself so much for thinking it. He was clean shaven, showing off a sharp jawline and a few smatterings of moles dotting down his cheek and neck. 

Eddie’s eyes trailed after them, coming to a stop against Steve’s forearms. His clean white shirt was rolled up to the elbows and there was a large branching vein running along the arm he had up, holding his bag, the tendons along the back of his hand flexing.

Eddie needed water.

Maybe he was dehydrated and that was why he was staring so much. That had to be it because there was no way he would be staring at that fucking asshole for any other reason.

Steve hardly paid any attention to him. He had moved his attention over to Robin, pulling her tight against his side and ruffling a hand through her hair, purposefully messing it up.

Like a prick.

Why was he even here?

What reason did Steve have for dicking Eddie around instead of just telling him where he could find Hamunaptra?

Was this some kind of rich boy entertainment for him?

Eddie’s heart rate was still up, though he’d insist it was the heat and the dehydration doing that to him and not the tendons and veins wrapped in tanned mole-dotted skin along with the hair falling into big hazel eyes—

“Listen Harrington.” Eddie snapped, a little harder than he needed to. “If this is just some game to you or some kind of wild goose chase or a way to dick us around, you tell me right now or I’ll… I’ll—”

Steve grinned back at him, eyebrows tilting up.

“You’ll what?”

He was so fucking cocky, wasn’t he? So fucking smug and sure of himself, it was infuriating.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve said his name like he was speaking to a child. “When I asked Robbie to find someone who could open that puzzle box I knew it was going to come with some ridiculous caveat. But the fact that you, you actually want to go there yourself with us tells me all I need to know about how prepared you are for this expedition. I wasn’t lying about being there before and if it was up to me? I’d never set foot back in that place again. But unfortunately for us, we–” Steve waved a hand between himself and Robin, “–have to go back. You don’t. But you’re insistent. So hear me when I tell you that you’ll find nothing there but sand and blood and I will not be saving your ass from whatever stupidity you bring down upon us.” Steve shot him another perfect, gleaming white toothed smile. “Kay?”

Turning on his heel and, with what must have been some kind of chest-thumping, caveman need to show off his strength, he grabbed the handle of one of Eddie’s suitcases and lifted it easily from the ground, carrying it up onto the deck of the boat.

Eddie stared after him with his mouth hanging open in outrage, almost spitting at Robin as he turned to glare at her.

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

Robin just grinned back at him, all knowing, like she was seeing something he wasn’t.

“He’s Steve.” She answered, simple and easy, turning to follow the dickhead up the gangway. Eddie was left almost vibrating with irritation and he took a deep breath in, hoping that he would be able to get through this expedition without murdering either one of them.

Eddie was trapped on a boat with Steve Fucking Harrington, dickhead rich-boy with a non-academic interest in Egyptology, an interest that had never seemed to manifest in any kind of funding before now. 

Eddie had never even heard of the Harringtons. They simply didn’t exist in the archaeological circles he was familiar with, and Eddie was familiar with them all.

So that either meant they were new money, which wasn’t something he particularly cared about, money was money. 

Or. 

There was some kind of ulterior motive for them suddenly throwing their big bucks behind this. Something for them to gain. There had to be. There was always something for the richy-riches to gain.

But Eddie hadn’t heard anything about the Harrington parents either. Steve was way too young to be heading a wealthy American dynasty. It had to be his parents' money, right?

So where were they?

Why hadn’t Robin or Steve or anyone else mentioned them?

And why were they letting their son run around digging through the sand for ancient artefacts and not paying someone to do it for them? Someone like Eddie. That was how this whole ecosystem worked after all. 

Pay someone like Eddie to dig the things out of the sand for them. Donate whatever was found to whatever museum would take it. Get a whole new wing or whatever named after them. Host some kind of gala to pat themselves on the back about it. Done.

It was the circle of life out here.

So why didn’t that seem to be the case?

Eddie shook his head, trying to focus back on the book in front of him.

He’d managed to find a quiet spot hidden away behind some piled up supplies. Though he could still hear the raucous laughter and shouting coming from the other group.

Other Americans who were apparently also looking for the City of the Dead. Eddie had an image in his head of old cowboys in the west, riding up and down dusty streets and shooting their pistols in the air and he snorted to himself, designating them the Cowboys in his head. 

Robin was playing them in poker.

Or to be more precise, Robin was hustling them in poker.

Though she wasn’t hustling them for money so much as she was hustling them for information.

And she was getting it too.

The other group of men were only all too delighted to recount the tales of their other expeditions, the treasures they stole from their native lands and sold for a profit thousands of miles away with a carelessness that made Eddie’s stomach churn in disgust and anger.

It always broke his mother’s heart to hear about it. There was an uncomfortable feeling spreading in his gut at the thought of what she would say if she could see him doing what he was doing now.

Eddie shifted in his seat, trying to tune back into the words in front of him and drown out the shouts from the crowd across the deck.

The piece of information that had really gotten Robin’s attention was that the group had someone on their side that had been to Hamunaptra before. It had caught Eddie’s as well.

For one fleeting moment he had thought that Steve might be double crossing them, but it became clear pretty quickly that they were talking about someone else and when the name “Tommy” had been mentioned, something had slammed hard against the table.

The silence that followed had only lasted a second before Robin had started up again, but Eddie could tell she was pissed.

He settled himself back into his chair, curling up and getting comfortable, content to let Robin deal with the rabble, knowing from experience she was expert at it.

He had his legs bent, wedged up between the table and his chair like a gargoyle on a plinth, book resting on his knees as he practically curled his body around it.

He’d had to unbutton his waistcoat. It was digging too hard into his belly and he had finally let his hair back down.

It was creating almost a curtain around himself and his book, cutting him off from everything else outside. 

Just how he liked it. 

He nearly jumped out of his fucking skin when something heavy and loud was dumped onto the table in front of him.

Whipping his head up and clutching his book tight to his chest on instinct, Eddie was met with the shit eating grin of said Harrington rich boy, mouthing out an insincere ‘sorry’ as he sat himself down opposite to Eddie, apparently making himself comfortable.

Before Eddie could open his mouth to ask Steve one: what the fuck and two: why did he think he was welcome at Eddie’s specifically chosen secluded spot, Steve directed that blinding grin at Eddie again.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said, slowly undoing the ties along his duffle.

“You don’t scare me.” Eddie snapped back, pulling the book up in front of his face, trying to make it incredibly obvious he wasn’t up for conversation right now. 

Maybe, just maybe the two of them could happily exist together in the same space if they just didn’t fucking talk to each other.

But apparently Lady Luck had decided she needed something to laugh at because he could hear the chair Steve was in creaking and a peek over the top of his book told Eddie the guy had his legs spread wide under the table, taking up as much space as possible like an asshole.

“Still mad about that kiss, are you?” Steve asked, eyes still focused down on his duffle and coy smile playing on his face.

Oh, fuck no.

Eddie sent him a scathing glare over the pages.

“That wasn’t a kiss.” He hissed out, book tilting down when Steve finally deigned him important enough to look at. “That was you shoving your face onto mine, that was no kiss.”

Steve’s mouth momentarily pulled down into a frown. 

Apparently the rich boy had never been told what seemed to pass for a kiss to him was not the gold standard of romantic moments and he looked genuinely irritated about it.

Eddie’s own smug satisfaction was short-lived though, when, with a flick of his wrist, Steve unrolled his duffel to reveal a truly obscene array of weapons.

Shotguns, knives, dynamite, revolvers, daggers and too many bullets and shells to count.

Steve started cataloguing the weapons in front of him with a little pout on his face, like a petulant child.

“Did I miss something?” Eddie asked, lowering his legs down to lean in and poke at one of the shotgun shells. “Has The Great War started again?”

“A war of some kind is going to start up very soon if you don’t take this seriously.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair, ticking his book up again.

Take this seriously.

Like archaeology wasn’t Eddie’s whole god damn life’s work.

“There’s something out there, Eddie. Something underneath the sand.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth, his head shaking a little against his will. “Oh really?” He asked, a smile still on his face. “Amazing. It’s almost as if that’s exactly what we’re looking for. Artefacts under the sand.” He spread his fingers out wide parallel to the table and gave Steve a wide eyed stare, mockingly shocked.

Steve’s mouth quirked up, a small secret grin on his face, hiding something. “So you don’t think there’s anything out there?”

“Well,” Eddie placed his book down, finally conceding he wouldn’t be able to read it as long as Steve was here. “While spells and magic would be wonderful–”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, something outraged on his face, but Eddie cut him off.

“Unfortunately in the millennia of history I have studied, nothing has ever surfaced with any tangible evidence, so no. I don’t think there’s anything supernatural out there.”

“Oh?” Steve raised his eyebrows, leaning an elbow on the table, his fingers deftly unlatching a shotgun from its holder. “What makes this site so special to you, then? What are you even looking for out here that you can’t get in the hundreds of other archeological sites around this city? There’s plenty of other mummified bodies to be found in less dangerous places, you know.”

“Not what I’m looking for. There’s rumoured to be a book–”

“A book?” Steve glanced down at the volume in Eddie’s hand with a little snort. “That tracks.”

“This book,” Eddie hissed out, his hackles fully raised, “would be one of the most astounding finds in all of archeological history. It’s supposed to contain the secret incantations, the written word of the man who is rumoured to be the physician and architect for Pharaoh Djoser, Imhotep. It’s sometimes called the Book of Amun-Ra–”

“Incantations?” Steve teased. “So you do think that there’s supernatural things out there.”

Eddie shot him a withering glare. “Incantations, spells, magic, things that would have seemed supernatural to ancient peoples are often things that we can explain now. Just because they saw the work of Imhotep as supernatural doesn’t make it so. Asshole.” He finished off with a huff.

Steve grinned across the table at him, swiping a cloth up and down his gun and nudging Eddie’s ankle with his boot.

“Seems like you are still mad about that kiss.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie snapped back, pulling his leg away. “Couldn’t care less about it.”

He slammed his book back open, throwing it up in front of his face, not even sure if he was on the right page or not but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care.

He wasn’t mad about the kiss.

Matter of fact, he wasn’t even thinking about it.

Hadn’t been thinking about it.

It had never once entered his head and he was going to continue not thinking about it for the rest of his life.

Like he said, it wasn’t even a kiss.

It was a smashing of their faces, messy and hot and sudden and rough.

It wasn’t–

He wasn’t thinking about it.

Eddie focused back on the page in front of him, only to realise he’d been rereading the same paragraph over and over because his mind kept wandering off.

The question was out of his mouth before it had even formed in his head, the burning curiosity in him that he’d tried to ignore coming out in an irritated outburst as he threw his book back down on the table.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Steve grinned to himself like he’d just won a prize. “I was about to be hanged, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” With a flick of his lashes, he looked up, catching Eddie’s eye. “Glad to know you do consider it a kiss, though.”

The noise of indignation that came out of Eddie was something he’d be embarrassed about in any other situation but right now he couldn’t care less.

He shoved himself to his feet, turned on his heel and stormed away from the table. 

He could almost feel Steve continuing to grin at his back as he turned the corner.

He couldn’t believe the audacity of that fucker.

And what was worse, the second he had arrived back in his cabin, he’d realised he’d left his book behind.

So with the last bit of gumption he had, he left his brain behind in his room so he wouldn’t have to think too hard and stomped his way back out to his once quiet, peaceful table.

He had expected to find Steve, probably still laughing at him and cleaning his pseudo-dick like some kind of caveman, but that was not what he found.

Instead, he turned the corner and found said caveman pressing some other guy up against the wall of luggage, fists in his shirt and noses touching.

Eddie’s first thought was that this was another one of Steve’s not kisses; shoving some guy up against a surface to stick his now stupidly hydrated plump lips on them. But then he took in how hard Steve’s jaw was clenched, the genuine anger in his eyes and his white knuckles.

The two men turned to look at him as he snatched his book up from the abandoned table.

Whatever this was, he didn’t want to get involved with it.

In the half second Eddie had to get a good look at their faces, Steve’s anger shifted down into concern when their eyes met.

The other guy, who had previously been full of cocky bravado, now was cycling between confusion, irritation and a little bit of hurt when he tore his eyes away and took in how Steve was looking at Eddie.

Eddie turned his back on them as soon as he could, book clutched in his hand and beat a hasty retreat but not fast enough to escape the hissed words that followed.

“You were always led by your dick, Harrington. Let’s hope this one’s stupid enough to stick around for five minutes.”

“Get fucked, Tommy.”

If Uncle Wayne could see him now, he’d probably wet himself laughing.

Actually, no he wouldn’t. That was unfair.

He’d probably sit Eddie down and ask him what’s eating you, son?

Even so, his uncle would probably still find it at least a little funny that Eddie Fucking Munson was having difficulty distracting himself.

Eddie never had difficulty getting distracted.

Distraction usually came to him without him even asking.

But now apparently his mind had decided was the perfect time to have a singular fucking focus.

And that focus was still on that kiss that wasn’t really a kiss.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a fucking… punch in the face that Steve had delivered with his mouth.

That wasn’t how kissing worked.

So why was it working on him?!

Why was he still thinking about it?

Eddie had practically thrown his vest across his cabin in frustration, ripping his shirt and tie off along with it, leaving him huffing and puffing in his trousers, his loose suspenders hanging around his hips and a thin short sleeved undershirt half untucked.

He’d been so fucking irritated, throwing his clothes around his room like a toddler, he didn’t hear the creak of the wood floor, a footstep behind his back.

He looked up into the mirror and found a man shrouded in black cloth, a hood covering his head, standing behind him, reaching out, ready to grab him.

With a yelp of surprise Eddie tried to duck out of the way, but a hand grabbed his hair, yanking him back and he was spun until he was facing his assailant.

The cold and sharp point of a cruel curved blade was pushed into his cheek and he was only able to back up a single step until he hit the wall, the man pressing in close with a snarl on his face.

“Where’s the map?” His assailant growled.

Eddie swallowed, the blade pushing into his cheek just a little more. He felt a sharp sting and something warm trickle down his skin but when he tried to flinch back, the fist in his hair tightened again.

“Alright, alright, relax, man. Relax.” He raised his hands a little, trying to placate him and just barely nudged his head over, flicking his eyes down to his bedside table where the ancient papyrus was sitting innocently out. “There. It’s there.”

If the guy had taken two seconds to look around the room he could have snatched it up and been gone before Eddie had time to do anything but no. Apparently Eddie just had to be threatened. 

“And the key.”

Oh, okay so evidently there was something else needed.

“Key? What– what key?” Eddie stuttered, trying to think about how the fuck he was going to get out of this situation. He could scream for Robin. He wouldn’t scream for Steve. Or maybe if he took the guy by surprise he could buy himself enough time to run. “I don’t know anything about a key.”

His assailant glared—menacing, intimidating—and pressed closer.

“Eddie!”

The cabin door burst open and Steve practically jumped in, guns held aloft in both hands. Eddie only got half a second to see it before he was being yanked again, held out in front of his attacker like a human shield.

Steve’s guns, which were aimed at the guy who’d just invaded Eddie’s god damned cabin, slid off of Eddie’s body and he just had a second to breathe about it before the window burst open and there were shots being fired.

Eddie took his chance to elbow his attacker hard in the stomach, twisting out of his grip and bringing his other elbow up to crack him across the head.

He was freed from his grip and nearly fist-pumped about it, but his elation was short-lived as a stray bullet whizzed far too close for comfort and broke a lantern over his window.

The burning oil spilled out all over the furniture of the cabin and Eddie’s room was now solidly and terrifyingly on fire.

In amongst the carnage, Eddie had the wherewithal to remember the pocket watch, still in an internal pocket of his waistcoat that he’d thrown across the room.

Eddie dove for it, fumbling around in the fabric until his fingers finally closed around the chain and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

A strong arm pulled back to his feet, dragging him against an equally strong chest and there was a swooning, eyes-fluttering, heart-thumping second where Eddie was held tight against Steve before he came back to himself and before Steve forcefully shoved him out of the cabin door.

Eddie caught himself against the opposite wall and, okay, yeah. 

There was still gunfire and actual fire so fuck it, it was time to run, no time to be thinking of anything else.

He’d only gotten a few steps, shoving the watch into his pocket before he realised–

“The map!”

He turned back.

“We need the map and the key, the were talking about some key–”

He didn’t get much further because Steve, fucking caveman that he was, grabbed Eddie around the waist, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Over Steve’s shoulder Eddie could see Robin, guns out and shooting into his flaming cabin, black smoke pouring out around her.

“We don’t need the map, it’s all up here.” Steve tapped a finger against his forehead.

“Oh, that’s comforting.” Eddie bit back. Robin had just ducked into his cabin and then he was being dragged around the corner and he finally managed to loosen himself from Steve’s iron grip.

He opened his mouth but wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to scream about first; the fire, the guns, the fucking manhandling like he was some kind of damsel in distress, but he didn’t get the chance.

As soon as he’d taken a big god damned breath in to start shouting, the wind was knocked out of him again.

Steve had shoved his big fuck-off duffel bag full of weapons into Eddie’s arms while reloading his gun because, oh yeah, there was a fuck ton of shooting going on out here too!

God damn it, he just wanted to do some fucking archaeology. This wasn’t what he was prepared for, he was a god damned librarian. A scholar for fuck sake. 

With a glance up, Eddie saw another guy standing across from them on a balcony, a gun aimed directly at Steve’s head.

Eddie grabbed onto Steve’s arm and dragged him to the side, only just managing to move him out of the way as a hole was blown into the wall, the bullet landing where Steve had just been.

Steve barely glanced over in his direction before grabbing the bottom of Eddie’s suspenders, where they were attached to the front of his pants and proceeded to drag him quickly and efficiently across the deck to the other side of the boat. 

It was complete and utter fucking chaos.

Aside from the fire and bullets whizzing past, there were people screaming, throwing themselves overboard and the occasional explosion, rocking the boat violently from side to side.

As they moved across the deck, Eddie felt a familiar presence at his back, a hand between his shoulder blades and he realised he was practically being sandwiched in between Robin and Steve as they moved, escorting him across the boat like they were his bodyguards and he was their priority client.

“Can you swim?” Steve shouted at him, over the noise. The heavy duffel was pulled from his arms and Eddie was left wondering what the fuck was going on in this guy’s head.

Robin had her back to them, keeping them covered with her own gunfire while Steve did whatever the fuck he was doing.

“Yes,” Eddie screeched back, “if the situation calls for it, but what does that have to do with–”

“Trust me.” Eddie’s legs were knocked out from under him as Steve bent low and scooped him up swiftly into a bridal carry and suddenly they were very, very close. “It calls for it.”

And then Eddie was being heaved, tossed overboard and he was falling.

“YOU MOTHERFU–” He just had time to scream out before he hit the water.

Luckily for all of them, the shore wasn’t that far away.

Or more accurately, luckily for Steve’s neck because Eddie was going to wring it between his two hands the second he was able to catch his breath. 

He was on his hands and knees, still half submerged but with solid land underneath him, finally.

Crawling a little further forward, Eddie settled back on his heels and snapped his head up in one whipping motion, flinging his wet hair back out of his face and breathed the mother of all inhales.

When he’d settled a little more, feeling his shoulders relax and his chest no longer heaving, he opened his eyes. 

Steve was standing above him, face bright red in the darkness for some reason and staring hard at the river behind them, very obviously refusing to look in Eddie’s direction.

He was dripping wet. 

They all were. All three of them on the shore, Steve, Eddie and Robin.

But Steve’s white shirt and tan pants were practically see through, and being on his knees the way that Eddie was, he was at a perfect height to get a fucking eyeful of Steve’s dick sitting outlined perfectly in those wet, wet pants.

He glanced up again and Steve quickly averted his eyes, face somehow going even redder and Eddie had the realisation that his shirt was probably even more transparent than Steve’s.

Steve must have a clear and probably obscene point of view on Eddie’s body, on his knees below him, trousers stretched tight over his crotch and thighs, undershirt clinging to his chest and stomach. But he probably looked more like a wet, angry cat rather than anything particularly salacious.

From what Eddie could see of Steve’s skin, he had a thick and very, very tempting spread of dark chest hair that kept stretching down, down, down into a thinner trail disappearing into the waistband of his pants–

Nope.

Eddie slowly pushed himself to his feet, patting at his pocket and feeling the tension release from his shoulders when he felt the lump of the pocket watch still there. He shook his hair out again and with the motion, tossed those thoughts of Steve firmly out of his fucking head.

Steve couldn’t seem to stop his eyes tracking him as he stood and they were close, so fucking close.

“Hey Harrington!” A shout came from across the water, effectively snapping the two of them out of it.

Tommy was visible just on the opposite bank, hands cupped around his mouth.

“Looks like we got all the horses!”

Steve took a step into the water, almost shouldering Eddie behind him.

“Hey Hagan! Looks like you’re on the wrong side of the river!”

Without waiting for a response, Steve turned back to the two of them, outright ignoring Eddie and looking at Robin.

“Did you get it?”

Robin grinned back and pulled the puzzle box from her pocket. “I got it.”

Part 1/ Part 3/ AO3

Happy birthday @hbyrde36

My biggest thanks and much love to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[ofmdrecaps]

09/20/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Call To Action: David Jenkins; Samba Schutte; Con O'Neill; Hugo Pierre Martin; How To Help; Other Cast & Crew Sightings: Rhys Darby; Rosie Carnahan Darby; Taika Waititi; Samba Schutte; Leslie Jones; Guz Khan; Damien Gerard; Kristian Nairn; Hugo Pierre Martin;

Well folks. It sure is wonderful to be honking loudly with you again! (Clown or Goose, however you prefer to consider it!). This morning, David Jenkins started us all off with a very specific tweet that set off a chain reaction!

= David Jenkins =

It APPEARS that David is telling us, the fans, that OFMD is "available", and that Netflix is the streaming service to woo. Now, does that mean it's just being bought and streamed? Or perhaps being picked up by a Season 3? There has been some discussion that Netflix sometimes likes to stream a cancelled show before they greenlight another season-- and well, who knows, maybe that's what OFMD is in line for!

Source: David Jenkins' Instagram

= Samba Schutte =

Then a little later in the day... Samba started us up with a new #, #supnetflix!

Source: Samba's Instagram

= Con O'Neill =

Con joined in on the sharing!

Source: Con's Instagram Stories

= Hugo Pierre Martin =

Our "one-line" friend, Hugo Pierre Martin is back at it! He's supporting OFMD in every way he can!

Source: Hugo's Twitter / 2

The fans took David and the Crew's call to action by starting up a tweet storm! Our friends over at @adoptourcrew also kept the momentum going by putting up prompts!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

Some of our crewmates reminded us, and Netflix, we had the numbers :)

Source: Florence aka single_cat_mom on Twitter!

As of the time this post was put together, the trends got up to the following! Thank you to APurplePatch on Twitter for captureing them!

Source: APurplePatch Twitter

And a little schadenfreude for today's festivities! Thank you Ashley!

Source: Ashley aka Seven_Sugars on Twitter

Well there we are-- great job today crew! Sure is feeling good in the fandom today! If we can, let's keep the momentum up through tomorrow! Are you excited about the possibility of an s3? Well, feel free to join in the manifestations from our friend @xray-vex!

Source: Xray_Vex Twitter

== How To Help ==

I can't believe I'm saying this again-- but hey! Wanna help out with the renewal (or at least selling OFMD) effort? Please consider some of the following!

Sign the Petition if you haven't already! (Change.org DOES clear out non-confirmed via email signatures every once in a while, so be sure to check your email.)

Request Our Flag Means Death on the Netflix form!

If you're interacting with social media, use these hashtags: #OurFlagMeansDeath #supnetflix #AdoptOurCrew #SaveOFMD

== Other Cast & Crew Sightings ==

= Rhys Darby =

New Bill Napier Weather Update from Rhys today on his Substack! There was even a shout out to some of our crewmembers you might recognize! Give it a listen!

Source: Rhys' Substack

= Rosie =

More Kitten Content from the Darby Household! (why yes, I will use my one movie allowed per tumblr post to add kitten content, I regret nothing).

Source: Rosie Carnahan Darby's Instagram

= Taika Waititi =

Taika's back to his "influencer" phase again!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Taika Waititi (@taikawaititi)

Source: Taika's Instagram

= Damien Gerard =

Damien's finally getting to get some relief! Congrats sir!

Source: Damien's Instagram

= Kristian Nairn =

Kristian catching up with one of his old co-stars, Issac Wright!

Source: Kristian Nairn Instagram

= Samba Schutte =

I realized I shared Samba's pics last time, but didn't say much about the new campaign! Samba's new Shop Stands campaign is benefiting the LA Regional Food Bank! First up, you can get a hoodie version of the Crew For Life T-Shirt! - Crew For Life Hoodie

Next up-- Samba is back with another cooking class! This time it's Death By Cheese! Death By Cheese Class

EVENT DATE: NOVEMBER 9 EVENT TIME: 10AM PT/1PM ET EVENT LOCATION: ONLINE

Source: Shop Stands

= Guz Khan =

New season of Man From Mobeen! Not sure if there's a date yet...but looks like Guz is sharing some pics!

Source: Guz Khan's Instagram

= Leslie Jones =

Leslie was on the Jennifer Hudson Show a couple days back!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by The Jennifer Hudson Show (@jenniferhudsonshow)

Source: Jennifer Hudson's Instagram

= Hugo Pierre Martin =

In case you haven't heard, Hugo is doing a Spotify Audio Series! Wanna check it out? Visit: Spotify

Source: Hugo's Twitter

== Articles ==

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Love Notes ==

Alright, lovelies. I have so many things to say and yet no stamina to do so. I'll try to pick up tomorrow-- I just wanted to send this your way, I hope you find the ones who make you feel like you're basking in warmth and love, like the sun.

Source: StayCloseToYourself_ Instagram