#For the Romping and the Roaring

[hom3landr]

Sated

18 +

Homelander x Reader

After an exhausting romp in bed, you decide to ask Homelander about his enthusiasm towards eating you out.

You flop your head back down on the damp pillow, body heaving and glistening with sweat. You can feel every labored breath viscerally and your whole body pulses like a drumbeat. Your hair is matted and stuck to your forehead. You look a mess. You feel a mess. And it takes a significant effort to muster up the effort to try to push away the man still licking at your twitching and overstimulated cunt.

“Why…” You’re embarrassed that it is more of a wheeze than an actual word. “Why do you like that so much?”

The head between your thighs lifts, chin literally dripping with you. A long time ago, you’d been on a trip to Yellowstone with your family and had encountered a grizzly in the field near the trail. It was fat and sleepy, a bloody carcass cradled between its paws as it lazily ate its fill. The ranger insisted that no one needed to panic despite the relative proximity to the bear. After all, us tourists posed no threat and with a full belly and no cubs to watch, we were safe to remain near this dreadful creature. 

Homelander reminds you of that bear but with slick instead of blood. A rather graphic comparison to make but all of your fantasies about Homelander end up tinged with gore eventually. You can pet the bear and play with the bear. Watch as the bear feasts and rages and roars. You keep him well fed and as long as you do so, you can remain on the trail unharmed.

He licks his lips with a smack and a smirk.

“Are you complaining?” He purrs as he crawls up your body. He kisses the protest from your mouth before you even realize that you’ve opened your mouth to make it. His tongue is insistent, intentionally filling your mouth with the taste of your own pleasure. You wrap your arms around him weakly and cradle him as he indulges. Eventually he separates to let you breathe and you attempt to justify your question.

“It’s just most guys I’ve…” You respond before you’re cut off by another forceful kiss. Homelander does not like when you bring up other men while in his bed, even if your opinions of them are less than complimentary. 

“I thought you’d given up on comparing me to other men a long time ago.” He teases gruffly as he presses hungry kisses against your pulse.

He’s being deliberately obtuse and you wish he’d just answer your question. You know you’d offend him deeply if he ever knew this, but you hadn’t expected him to be a great lover when you first fell into bed with him. You figured he’d feel nice enough but a quick selfish fuck was all you expected. Imagine your surprise at the way he relishes taking you apart. He is selfish in bed but only because he leaves you so fucked out after that any further plans you could have for the day are cancelled.

“Ok on a societal level, it’s not always seen as a manly thing to do. Women give blowjobs but men suffer eating pussy. That kind of thing.” You try to explain in a way that doesn’t remind him that he’s not the only one to have explored your body. You don’t want to sour his good mood. It’s a bit hypocritical on his part, considering he still brings up Maeve. You wonder if this is why she managed to endure him as long as she did.

Homelander hums and pulls away with a heated kiss to the bolt of your jaw. He looks at you quizzically.

“And…? I don’t see what that has to do with me eating you out. You like it. I like it. You don’t have to make it complicated” He responds. His brows are furrowed and he’s quickly losing patience with your questioning when he just wants to enjoy the afterglow.

You huff and prepare to drop it when he speaks again.

“I’ve never really thought about why. You taste delicious and I love the way I can feel you twitch under my tongue when you come. You’re so vulnerable, even more than regular sex. I like that. I like how easy it is to make you feel good. I like the way you act around me when you feel good. You get all soft.” He answers and your body pulses with a new wave of arousal at the way he describes giving you pleasure.

“I’m always soft around you.” You reach up and fluff his hair lightheartedly but his gaze remains piercing. His hand wraps loosely around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze but the weight of him reminds you what he’s capable of. But you’re too lazy to think too hard about it. You don’t think he’s going to try anything now. The bear has been fed.

“No, you’re not, even if you think you are. I can tell when you’re drawing away from me. You get scared.” He squeezes just tight enough to restrict your breath, eyes never leaving yours, before releasing and removing his hand from your neck. “You’re not scared now.” 

He lays down beside you and you tuck yourself tightly against his side. He sighs heavily and wraps an arm around your shoulders as he kisses your forehead. The two of you lay in a peaceful but contemplative silence. Despite his admission, the confession hasn’t seemed to raise any of his defenses. You run your fingers over his whorls of chest hair and he nuzzles against your temple. You do really try not to be scared. You know him well enough that no matter how he might bluster, unless you betray him in some way, you’re likely to remain unscathed. It’s not your fault that it doesn’t stop your lizard brain from kicking in whenever his eyes glow red or his words turn sharp and accusatory. 

“You get soft too.” You admit. “… I don’t mean to get scared of you. It just happens but you don’t have to worry about me. I promise.” 

Things go silent for a while but it’s comfortable. He hasn’t gone all tense the way he normally does when he’s convinced you’re lying to him somehow. You’re glad he trusts you. You wonder if the post-coital glow is dulling some of his paranoia.  One glance up at the mirrored ceiling and your blood fills with warmth with how natural it looks for the two of you to be slotted together like puzzle pieces. Naked on top of the covers, not an inch of skin is hidden from your gaze. 

“You don’t need to worry about me either. I’ll…try to be softer with you.” He replies, words taking an uncertain dip at the end.

You believe him. He’ll try to be soft just like you’ll try not to get scared. But you both know that as much as the two of you try. You can’t fight against nature.

You can only keep feeding the bear.

[messenger-of-babel]

Three Year's the Charm

Summary: You're nervous to make yourself known as Bruce's partner at his annual winter gala. (Bruce Wayne x reader)

Word Count: 1.4K

Notes: Please see the note attached to the Christmas Masterlist! Due to unforseen circumstances I've had to slow and put a pause entirely for some places. I'm going to try and double posts when I can. Much love and Merry Christmas!

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Christmas was supposed to be a time of peace, of getting together with family and friends. To open presents in front of a roaring fireplace, to eat baked treats with festive drinks. 

Your Christmas was shaping up to be wildly different. Sips of alcohol or eggnog made you more nervous as you watched guests pile in, filling the foyer of the manor.

This year’s tree was magnificent, covered in blue and silver and stretching to the ceiling of the ballroom. You had watched Alfred give harsh instructions to the workers setting it up, standing at the top of the stairs like a foreman till it was perfect. Bruce had told you it was his pride and joy each year, and it was better to not get involved when Alfred was tasked with decorating the tree. The year before Alfred had often for a beautiful golden look, and the year before had been a wonderful red and white combination.

This was like any other Wayne Christmas Gala, (you had attended three so far) except this time, you were going to be introduced on the arm of THE Bruce Wayne, the namesake and host of the entire thing.

While you two had been in the talking phase Bruce had an excellent handle on his public image, and any paparazzi that managed to steal a snap from you was unable to locate it when they went to work the next day. You relationship had been reduced to his hand on your thigh when you went for late night drives, or even later romps in the back of his car with tinted windows. Stolen kisses normally held behind the enormous Christmas tree once all the guests had gone were now to be on display for all to see, and more accurately, for every glare. 

You weren’t a stranger to the way that the public cast looks to every supermodel, reporter, and actress that had been on the playboys arm over the years. You had seen the snide glares and haughty stares afforded to his partners, and you know that once you walked down those steps on his arm you’d be next. 

When you feel him step behind you, warm palm on the hand of your back, you tense. “You’re worried.” He murmurs, voice low as he scans the ballroom below. “It’s not a good look on you.”

You cast your eyes back. “It’s hard to not be. I’ll be torn apart by angry women and billionaire men alike. What a Christmas.” You mutter back. 

“It won’t be so bad, baby, I promise.” He says, moving his hand in circles to try and sooth you. “But if you prefer we can-“

“No.” You sigh. You had thought about that all day and had been half tempted to ask him to call it off. But you couldn’t.

In The early years of your relationship you didn’t mind being a secret, knowing that Bruce wished he didn’t have to keep you out of the light either. Yet as they wore on and you fell for him more, you got selfish. You wanted him to yourself.

So even if it came with the stares and made the pit of dread coil in your stomach, there was still the part of you that wanted to be with him down there under those Christmas lights.

“I want this.” You say softly. “I mean, I want to be with you. Properly.” You give him a small smile. “Besides, I’ve just gotten Damian to like me. I’m not going to back down at something infinitely less scary.”

Bruce gives a chuckle to that and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You really did get him to warm up, in the end.” He teases.

“I don’t know if I’d consider him warm, but he’s definitely less cold.”

“Oh come on, he shows affection.”

“Just last Tuesday he rolled his eyes in my direction and muttered something under his breath in Arabic.”

“See? He does that to me all the time too.”

“I don’t know if that’s an affectionate thing either.” You laugh, grinning wider when he lightly pecks your shoulder. His warm hands pat down your sides and you step towards the staircase yourself.

The chatter was like a low hum as Gothamites socialised below, drinks in hand as they circled the floor like well dressed sharks. “Don’t worry,” Bruce whispers, smiling softly as if to encourage you. “I’ve got you.”

With a squeeze of his hand you moved your other to the banister, steeling yourself as you both begin to descend the stairs. As if your first step set of an alarm, heads began turning your way and narrowing in on your form. Each step down, every inch down the curved staircase made conversations hush. You could feel the stares piecerce through your outfit, discoing you from the inside out.

Were you good enough for Bruce? Had they seen you before? Were you famous? What were you this time? A swimsuit model? A CEO? From old money? New money? A stray from the side of the street? An accountant on wall street?

The questions were heavy in the air, easily crushing out the Christmas spirit that the band weakly tried to keep alive. When you hit the final step and felt the smooth marble of the ballroom floor beneath you, the feeding frenzy started. They began to circle you and Bruce, smiles shining and fake.

They offered you greetings, and handshakes and smiles,  but the beating of your heart made it hard to focus on them. Silently you looked up for Bruce, and he understood what you were asking.

“Everyone,” He called into the crowd, tone charming and sly smile on his face. At the sound of their host the guests turned like dogs, focusing in on the billionaire in front of them. “I hope that everyone is enjoying the festivities, please, help yourself to the drinks and more, God knows I can pay for it.”

Theres a scattering of laughter as he jokes with them, flashing them that billionaire grin. “I want to take the time to introduce my partner here,” he looks down at you, tugging you closer to him. “No better time than Christmas, I think. So on behalf of us Waynes here,” his hand tightens around you. “and all of my sons, we wish you a very Merry Christmas.”

Theres applause after he raises his glass in a toast, and the band starts again with full force. You flick your eyes up to Bruce, who is currently studying the chattering that has spread across the guests with a smirk.

“What did you do that for?” you hiss, tugging him closer to your face. He smirks back, that boyish glint in his eye returning.

“You wanted me to fix it, darling.” He chuckles. “I did.”

“You called me a Wayne.”

“That I did.” He grins. The band starts a slow rendition of ‘Last Christmas’ and he tugs you towards his chest, feet already moving in a lazy waltz. “It’ll keep them guessing for a while. They’ll try to figure out what we are, but they’ll behave in case you’re already my spouse.” He smiles down at you, watching you follow his waltz.

“Already?” you raise your eyebrows and he shakes his head softly, lowering his head towards yours. “What do you mean already your spouse?” you ask.

“It means,” he murmurs, spinning you till you were dancing under the light of Alfred magnificent Christmas tree. “That I may have just spoiled my New Year’s surprise.” He huffs.

You study him under the LED’s, how the light flickers off the edges of his face, highlighting the contours and shadows of his skin. You raise a hand to trace them softly and he turns his cheek into your palm. This was Bruce Wayne, the man who fought for the betterment of Gotham every night. Who looked nothing but weary standing in front of you now, about to mark the end of another year.

“Merry Christmas, Bruce.” You say softly, offering him a small smile.

“Merry Christmas.” He rumbles back, eyes lighting up again. He dips his head down to press a kiss to your lips, and you can feel the corners of his mouth tilt upwards when he does.

You loop your arms around his neck, foreheads touching. You could only wonder what tree Alfred would put in the manor next year, and if once you were officially a Wayne he’d let you help choose the colours.

[peachdues]

full disclosure, one of my favorite dynamics in TGW is not Miko!Reader x any canonical character, but the one between her and the old crone that raised her

“Out all night!” The old woman threw her a withering glare before she returned her attention angrily stabbing at the firewood with her poker. “And no need to ask what it was you were up to! Shameless!” 

Y/N did not answer; she could not, for she was unable to summon any sound in her throat. 

“One would think you’d set a better example for the young girls! You are the heir to this Shrine, and yet you spend your nights having romps in the hay –” 

The head Priestess’s shrill voice melted beneath the loud roaring in Y/N’s ears. She clapped her hand over her mouth in an effort to squash the whimper she felt building in her chest as her lungs constricted and tears welled hot and fast in her eyes. 

“--Do you have anything to say for yourself, anything at all –?”

No, she didn’t. There was nothing she could deny, no barb she could hurl back that was sharp enough. Even if the old woman hadn’t spied them emerging from the garden hut or their tearful goodbye at the gate, as Y/N strongly suspected she had, there still would be no hiding what she’d done. If her empty futon hadn’t given her away, then the rumpled state of her clothes and the rat’s nest that had been made of her hair, certainly would.

All Granny would have to do was tug the collar of her charge’s kosode to the side to see how Giyuu had seared his devotion into her skin.

She couldn’t hide what she’d done, nor would she want to. Nothing she’d done was wrong; chastity wasn’t a requirement for inheriting the Shrine and she’d always known she’d never marry. She couldn’t spoil herself if she willingly offered herself to him, knowing she would never get herself back. Not fully, anyway.

She would not apologize; she did not feel sorry. Not one bit.

Defiant, Y/N lifted her chin high, her nails biting into her palms as she willed herself to become steel; to tell the old crone that she would not say sorry for making a bad example of herself once more.

The moment she met Granny’s eyes, full of anger yet so full of worry, she burst into tears.

[covertleathers]

Davrin Week 2025 - In the Valley of Dreams

My contribution for Davrin Week 2025! I was working on like three different ideas, but this one had the most emotional impact on me personally. Enjoy!

Halla. Thousands of them. Thundering across a sea of plains. The earth cracked open, exposing the rotted steaming blight underneath. Helpless, he watched each one with a delicate bound plummet into the open, steaming maw. Never to be seen again.

That dream haunted Davrin. So much so he couldn't concentrate as he ran through his strength routine that morning. It disturbed his peace as he whittled away in his bedroom in his chair. It was felt remarkably real. He was not one to care much about his dreams or even to remember them. In spite of that, images of the blight's red reflecting off the hallas' snow white fur would not leave him. Even Assan noticed the unease and pressed his haunches into the Warden's leg as he worked.

Bellara asking him to join her and Rook to Arlathan was the only thing that somewhat roused him from this daze.

"Are you ok, Davrin?" Rook asked as he approached the several meter tall mirror. "You don't have to come with us today! Lucanis is also itching to get out."

"He's not going to appreciate it," he replied, putting on his usual confident affect.

Bellara rested her hand on his shoulder with a smile. "I think it's going to be fun. Maybe you can show me how Assan hunts for truffles?"

Arlathan was home, once. Now, it had been so long since he had roamed those woods that he felt like he was experiencing it as a stranger. Assan though, he took to it like a fish to water. Maybe griffon instincts were that strong. Davrin would watch him cut through the breeze and perch in a giant oak as if he had always been there. How many griffons had glided through Arlathan in the times of old? Were there thousands? It was hard to imagine the sky darkening with a flock, if that's what it could be called, of those beasts. It must have been terrifying to ancient folk.

Dark eyes of the halla cast in red. The guttural roar of the blight below. Davrin pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You always relax when you two are here," Naran pointed out as the group crossed a log bridge over a sizable river. "In your element, I think."

He caught the other elf's eye, noticing the glint of a grin. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You like seeing Assan fly freely, I think," Bellara added helpfully.

"Exactly. I wonder if that's what turlum looks like." Rook continued, "You share each other's joy."

"I'm not gonna let him get lazy, if that's what you're saying," Davrin huffed. "He needs his wings to be strong if he's going to fight darkspawn."

"Jolly romps through the forests are a part of that," the rogue agreed earnestly. "Everyone deserves a little fun. Helps you work harder."

"Of course you would say that."

The three approached a ridge overlooking a small bowl-like plain. Tall grasses moved like water in the brisk wind. It almost looked alive. A flash a white dashed at the edge of his vision. Davrin held up an arm to stop his cohorts. Dark ochre halla's eyes peered at him from a distance. It couldn't have been more than twenty meters away.

"Hey," Rook hummed as he took a squint in its direction. "That kind of looks like the halla we saw with Assan."

Indeed it was. Davrin would recognize those individually distinct, twisting horns from anywhere. It was still underweight, but far from death's door as when they coaxed it from the thicket.

"Do you think it remembers you guys?" Bellara asked eagerly.

The halla watched them, still as stone, its long graceful neck turned ever so slightly their way. For a moment, Davrin could have sworn it inclined its head in acknowledgment of their presence. The wind picked up, pulling his cloak toward the edge of the ridge and in an instant, the halla had disappeared back into the billowing tall grass.

"Of course it does," Davrin replied without thinking. "…they remember."

[cesienthusiast]

Burnt Taste

Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 6.4k Fandom: Mouthwashing (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warning(s): Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Pairing(s): Curly & Jimmy, Anya & Jimmy Tags: POV Alternating, Jimmy's POV (for majority of the fic), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, What-If, Revenge, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Painkillers, Pain, Body Horror, Self-Reflection, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Jimmy Being an Asshole, Warning: Jimmy, Abstract, Graphic Depiction, Unreliable Narrator, Madness, Schizophrenia, Memories, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Character Study, Relationship Study, Delusions, Asphyxiation, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Eye Trauma. Summary: What if Jimmy never left the cockpit after his sabotage, and what if he locked himself inside?

Ao3 Link Here

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Author's Note:

I may not be gifted with the ability of creating fine art, but I'm quite proud of this piece.

I hope you may be of it too.

............

Mouthwash always has the most bitterly burning taste upon the tongue doesn't it?

It's disgusting, but you can't bring yourself to drink anything other than it during your final moments here.

You take a celebratory swig, smacking your lips and sighing as if it's the best goddamn thing you've ever tasted. You feel blood ooze and gurgle beneath your eyes, coughing out some mild dew of it. It's just you, the controls to the ship, and a bottle of the sickly teeth cleaner; the best moment of your fucking life. You consider wandering out as your hand hovers just above the button; the button that will ruin everything for everyone, including you. But then you think to yourself, what's the fucking point? You're still going to die either way, why not die with some quiet and solace to appreciate by your lonesome?

You can feel your breath flow right over your tongue, hands equally shaking when lowering. You're taking them all down with you, to feel all the fire; just like dragonbreath. You never wanted to be the villain, but you also never wanted an unexpected child either, so who could really blame you for taking such an extreme course of action?

You know who could, you know all too well.

Dirty bastard.

.....................

"I hope it hurts."

"Take responsibility."

Those words keep ringing through your head achingly, and they're quite strong too. The ship has stopped flying, it's going down; and with it, Tulpar's miniscule legacy too.

You never wanted it to come to this; wanting to be the hero, the man whom everyone respected and looked up to was the top priority of your list of life goals. But when all else doesn't come to fruition, being the villain can be just as good in a sense.

You get to die and take your entire, beloved crew with you; such a tragically heroic death, the thought of those newspaper headlines soothes you more than when you snuck into Anya's room while she was sleeping one night, getting a taste of her sanctum's divine purity. And as you were stealing from her, she awoke; you simply silenced her until it was over with. It was supposed to just be a quick romp of pleasure, nothing more. But then she came back with the pregnancy test, and you couldn't bare with the horrible feelings that arose from it.

She told you to take responsibility, and you refused to.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. TEN PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

The mechanical voice was loud and irritating on the ears. You thought for a quick second about what it would feel like when you finally crash, the thoughts that run through your head as a result of it making you shudder thoroughly. You picture yourself caught in the explosion's radar, flames engulfing over your skin with a passionate roar as they char your remains. You scream, scream so loudly that your eyes begin to pop loose from your head, dangling sickly down by the vein as they melt. Your lips have already melted, the fat from them seeping onto your teeth as your maw is forced to expand further from the pain. You continue to scream so loudly that your throat becomes raspy, unable to hit the same high pitches they were mere moments ago. You burn and burn, and as you burn and burn, you can only think of few words passing through your head that fit so perfectly for this scenario's unfolding.

"I hope it hurts."

Her voice beckons to you, only when the flames cease. The remnants of hellfire linger for fleeting moments as your charred body begins to crumble to dust. Your skeleton is vile and black, and no matter which way you wear your skin, "vile" is always what you represent. It follows you, the guilt; but it's vastly overcrowded by your manic desire to have a legacy, something for kids to look up to one day with their parents and idolize.

"Look! It's Jimmy of Tulpar!" They'd say, they'd say.

"It's too bad that he died in such an unfortunate fate along with the rest of Tulpar." Another would say, they'd say.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. THIRTY PERECENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

You snap out from your thoughts. It seems you must have gotten carried away in that little dying fantasy of yours.

Who could blame you? It's your death after all, you should spend your final moments as you please.

Right now, you'd give nothing more for a cup of espresso as you perished. But that can't happen, won't happen; not unless you want to screw your whole plan up. Once it gets past fifty-percent, the alarm will begin to blare throughout the spaceship in harsh, unrelenting instances. That doesn't sound very ideal for your plans of a peaceful death, but no death could ever be that perfect sadly.

You think of how sorry your comrades would feel had they survived, woefully wailing for your sacrifice.

"We'll never forget you." they'd say.

But that's a lie, a lie you keep telling yourself as if it would ever come true. Those pieces of shit don't truly care about you, none of them ever have. They go about their day to day lives like the sad, miserable people they all are; completely neglecting you as if you were a ghost in their eyes. It's sickening, how could your own coworkers treat you in such a deplorable manner? How un-excusable they are.

Good thing the ship's finally going down, and they're all coming with you.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. FOURTY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

But no, maybe thinking such awful things about your coworkers...nay, your crew, isn't the state of mind you should be in during your final moments alive and together with them. Well, as together as you can be behind a thick, steel door that is. So he thinks more positively in his final moments, reflecting on many memories that he once shared with his crew. He thinks back to a time when they all had a silly argument over who got to eat some flan, the hilarity of what ensued after bringing somewhat of a joyful smile to his face, minimal as it may be.

And then he thinks about Anya.

"I hope it hurts."

He feels the remnant of a smile fade instantly.

"Take responsibility."

His eyes begin to leak blood, his eyelids now gone as his dry, popping eyes are left to shake violently away while bulging out of their sockets disgustingly. It's foul imagery, and it only gets worse when they start to rot; his skin essentially turned inside-out due to how leathery and seared it's become. He exhales in a state of panic, regretful of his hasty actions towards the state of the ship. The voice, her voice, echoes throughout his head as he tries to find a way to avert his plan from it's original course. He's panicking now, panicking is no good he thinks. But it seems he's already made his choice, and now it's too late to take it back, or at least that's the conclusion he comes to after a brief survey of the cockpit's control panels. He believes he might have given up too easily, but deep down he knows there's no way out of a choice like this once it's been made. The ship's going down, and with it, his crew and him.

He tries to think positively again, his positivity this time.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. FIFTY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

NOW SOUNDING ALARMS.

The blaring repeat of the loud alarm snaps him out of any somber thoughts he may have come to, once again thrown into a panicked haze as his indecisive mind refuses to take a route and stay on it's course. He still has a glimmer of hope, hope that he can fix and make things right here, and the alarm only worsens that feeling. But as much as he tries to push it down, it won't fade, it won't fucking fade. He screams, a cry of the tormented mind as it's put in between crossroad after crossroad for a decision to be made at every turn.

A decision that has consequences, each and every time it has consequences.

"Take responsibility."

For a moment he considers, and as he searches his eyes over the control panels again, it seems he may finally do what he's always known he should. And yet, it still wasn't enough hope for him to fully reconsider. He remains still; full of guilt, but still nonetheless. Not even the voice of her is enough to convince him of otherwise any longer, he's finally settled on his course; no take-backs.

Once your hopes are finally crushed, you feel calm again. It's a sensation that feels eons away from you now, but you feel it. And the alarms, they no longer agitate you so; now sounding like music to your ears as the ship continues taking it's shaky tumble downward. You've accepted this reality, choosing this one above all else. It's the only reality you have full-on control over, the only reality that will make you feel good again. But as the ship continues falling from the endless voids of stars and planets, you internally ask yourself a question.

Am I proud of myself?

Not yet, not quite yet, but you will be. You have high hopes for this, your confidence boosting the closer you get to crashing. This will be your deciding legacy, how you will be remembered by people all over. Whether it's as the villain, or the hero; ultimately, it doesn't matter, as long as you live in another's head somewhere. And if that happens, you hope you will continue to live on in their head for the rest of their life.

Are you so certain that this will work out for you?

No time for doubts, you have to try and focus on the positives of this. No one wants to spend their final moments living in negativity, after all.

But you can't stay positive, how could you? You've never once been labelled as "a positive individual" before right?

You're wired to be negative, and you know it; painfully aware of it to be exact. Common sense won't fix your state of mind, even if you were to miraculously find a way to stop this from happening. This is what they want, it's too late for them all, none of them enjoy living; they all just wanna give up.

Just like you, how typical of the one and only group quitter.

But what about Daisuke and Curly? They don't seem to want this!

That's not true, deep down you know it, are aware of it. Everyone's exactly like you when it all comes down to brass tacks, they're all selfish, abhorrent, sad little individuals. You know it, because you've seen it, partaken in witnessing it. And most times, it feels like you're the only one who has seen it. Nobody understands you, not a single goddamn thing about you, such a misunderstood image; it would drive anyone to this point if given enough time, you're certain of it!

Even someone like good-old, two-shoes Curly would go nuts if he lived under all the pressures you have to go through on a daily basis.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. SIXTY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

This message brings you out of your heated rant of collective thoughts. What a joke; your last, supposedly peaceful moments, and you still spend them stewing in complete bitterness.

Typical, how very, very typical you are.

You hear a loud banging on the door, at first you assume it isn't real; just another bought of your schizophrenic thought process. But then you hear Curly's screams muffled by the face of the door, and it all feels too real for your liking now. You try to focus on whatever it is he's screaming out, trying your absolute best to shut out all the noise around you so you can do so. You can make out what he's saying, but only a little bit.

"Jimmy!! Jesus Christ, Jimmy what happened?!"

And that's all you heard, before the sounds of pattering footsteps grew distant. And back you are, back to the solemn of your final moments. It was nice of him to come and check up on you, even if he was far too quick to leave, abandoning you to the front of whatever comes next. You see all of them, the Tulpar crew envisioned within a reddened glow, their eyes thoroughly gouged. They're all looking at you, you wish they would stop. But you figure that maybe you don't have that right do you? After all, even if they secretly want it, you still didn't ask if they felt like dying today. But who cares what they want, it doesn't matter, nothing fucking matters if you can't get what you want. And there it is again, that bitterness that makes their judging gazes towards you lay all the more terrifying. You try to act like you don't give a shit about how other people perceive you, but deep down you do, and you're painfully aware of it at that. It's a part of your system you wish you could just cut out, feeling another panic attack coming in strong as you clench your head tightly.

You close your eyes but that doesn't help, they're still staring at you.

Somehow, their gazes all feel increasingly present when your eyes are shut; something that should have the opposite effect from what you're getting. Even though you've made up your mind, the guilt has returned with a dying vengeance, and it's not planning to let you off the hook in the slightest. You scream out pointless nonsense of "stop it" and "no", but they aren't listening, they don't want to listen to what you have to say to them.

"I DID THIS FOR US!! FOR OUR LEGACY!!" you shout out, head tilted in pain.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. SEVENTY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

They don't believe you at all, having such little faith in your words that their stares grow evermore haunting to your sights; both external, and internal. Your breath quickens, you're most certain that you're fated to pass out very soon from how fast your heart is beating. You didn't have an assault of your mental stability quite this bad earlier, why was it only getting worse?? You tried to think, tried to shift your mind into focus on reasons for why you were so guilty over this. And then...it hit you, everything finally made sense at that point.

Curly. Fucking Captain Curly.

His reaction to the alarm and the ship's disrepair, followed by his great concern for you, was the real reason behind all of this guilt you were having. Of course, as if you didn't have enough problems on your mind to deal with because of that bastard already; it's not like you think enviously about him on a daily basis now is it?

You scream, louder than ever before. Your roar reeks of fury, loathsome fury towards your "best friend". How could he do this to you, he's always been holding you back, keeping you from being as perfect as you've always hoped to be. You hate him, you can't stand the image of him in your head, your vengeful feelings of wrath towards him are so powerful that you haven't even noticed that they're all gone; no longer staring at you. Your starting bitterness towards your captain has evolved exponentially over the course of your period working as a member of the Pony Express, now it's basically a primal instinct deeply rooted inside of you to think devilishly of him. He always thinks he's so perfect, that he's such an amazing captain, you can't stand it. He's a goddamn disgrace that's what he truly is, had he properly controlled the ship himself instead of letting you do it, this wouldn't have even happened to begin with.

"Take responsibility."

It's Curly's fault. It's all fucking Curly's fault.

"I hope it hurts."

Not yours, never yours, how could it be yours. No, it can't be, they all want this, they're just too cowardly to admit it.

"Nighty-Nine Percent Kills."

Curly is a disgrace of a captain, an even worse failure than you turned out to be. At least you have that to thank him for, making you feel so much better about you, making you think oh-so highly of yourself.

"...Lately I've just been thinking. Is this enough? Should I stay here because I've been successful at it?"

Your face freezes up, and you're absolutely certain of how dumbfounded you must look in that current moment.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. EIGHTY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

Your ears start ringing a highly-pitched hum, it's horrible; yet somewhat calming in a sense. You close your eyes, visions of memories long since passed returning to you...

.....................

It was a hot, sunny day; you had just gotten out of school for the day. The final bell rung throughout the hallways of lockers as students came excitedly barging and rushing through the front door, all happy to be going home to rest and relax. But not you, you were still angrily rubbing at your fractured arm's elbow to soothe it. You can't quite remember what his name was, "Brad" or "Hank", something like that. But what you do remember is what he did to you during PE. You were exercising, same as everyone else, and yet this wise guy had the grand idea to pick on you a little, because why wouldn't he? It's not like you were minding your business or anything. He came up to you, talking down on you in a condescending manner, so condescending that you couldn't help but give him a mean side-eye. He didn't like that from you, not one bit; and he certainly let you know how much he didn't like it. He gave you a quick shove, pushing you to the ground as you tumbled funnily; landing on your arm in a weird enough way that it felt disjointed. You yelped in immediate reaction to the agony it's pain presented, while those boys just laughed at you like you hadn't sustained a serious injury.

They finally left you alone after that, and later? No punishments to be had for them, no responsibilities taken.

Taken responsibilities.

"Take responsibility, please, take-"

It pissed you off, so much so that you sat on the curbside directly in front of your school's entrance; stewing in your own miserable train of thought for so long that you managed to miss the next and final school bus. You sat there for what felt like hours, lost in your own head still as the sky only grew less and less bright above you. You just couldn't fathom how ridiculous it was for them to get away with doing that to you, did they have rich parents or something?

Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

The only thing that finally snapped you out of your thoughts was a couple droplets pouring from the sky. You held your hand out, it felt wet very quickly. Great, now it was about to rain; as if this day wasn't shitty enough, now you're were going to have to walk home completely sopping wet. What a joke, your life felt so miserably unbearable at that time that you wondered if you could get away with just staying under the rain as it poured down over you. You hung your head low, that thought sounded nice; just you, the rain, no yelling, no insults, and no smacking, just peaceful tranquility. For the first time in possibly weeks, you felt a genuine smile creep onto your face in that moment, the rain getting progressively worse as you were rendered just as soaked as you had imagined yourself being from it's downpour. You felt good though, supremely so. In fact, shortly after your first heartfelt smile in literal weeks; you began to cackle, laughing profusely from the hilarity of this day so far. The grey skies, the heavy rain, your nonstop cackling; it all collectively made for a very depressing atmosphere.

And yet, despite all the torment you've endured those past few weeks, it didn't stop that one amazing thing from happening to you.

From above, you felt the rain cease; it perplexed you, until you looked up. You immediately saw the source, an umbrella carefully positioned over your body to keep you shielded from the wetness; the one wielding it meeting your eyes with a gentle demeanor and glint behind them. You stared at him with a dumbfounded awe, surprised that some random person you've never seen before has offered you more kindness than you've received this entire day. You looked him up and down, he seemed to be around your age, possibly older. He gave you a reassuring smile as you stared at him, and you felt a sparkle radiating from your eyes while looking up at this positive boy with the blonde, messy curls all throughout his hair. It was an instant connection, you didn't know what or even why, but you just knew that this moment would be one you would surely remember for a long time. His mouth opened to speak, some mouthwash pouring from it.

"Name's Curly, how about you mystery man?" he politely inquired.

You hesitated to speak, sometimes you forgot what it means to be a person who can speak with others, given how often you were ignored by everyone around you.

"J-Jimmy." you shyly answered.

.....................

You were leaned against the wall, sunlight from the windows pouring brightly down over your shoulders. Your foot was tapping the ground impatiently, as your sights picked up on Curly's visage from the distance.

"Alright Jimmy; so I had a couple words with some superiors for the express, and they say you're fit to go!" he said, with great enthusiasm.

"Mhm." you reply.

"Oh man, isn't this great mate? You and me, traveling the stars together. Not just as friends anymore, but as partners!" Curly stated, as per usual with the positivity engrained within each word he uttered.

You "tch"ed, while opening the can to the soda he had brought you, taking to drinking it immediately.

Cue Curly staring over at you, his curiosity aimed directly towards your body language; most notably the expressions your face makes.

You take almost instant notice of this.

"What? You want me to make you some sort of overly-dramatized speech or something?" you bitterly remarked.

"No. I just thought-, don't you wanna save that for later? For your welcoming party?" he questioned.

That stupid, dopey grin on his face irritated you.

"Curls, it's a goddamn soda. I want to drink it, I drink it. Nothin' else to it." you coldly reply.

You practically chug the can after the fact, nearly draining the whole thing in one fell-swoop.

"C'mon Jimmy, no need to be like that. This will be a good thing for us, I promise! Trust me. When you see how awesome getting to be part of a team is, I'm sure you'll change your tune shortly after!" Curly claimed.

His eyes were brimming with that naive glimmer again. Ugh, so fucking annoying.

"Right. You gonna finish that soda?" you bluntly question.

Curly's clutch briefly tightened around the cold, sweating can.

"Isn't there still plenty in the one I got for you, mate?" he asked.

You take another glug of your own can, which ends up being the final one. You quickly crush the can in your palm and toss it from afar directly into the nearby bin.

"Not anymore. Now can I have it or not?" you repeated.

He's staring again, making direct eye contact with only subtle glances made away from your sights to read and study your body language some more. What an annoying habit, you wish he'd eventually stop doing that.

After reading you, a confident smile creeps onto his face. There's that positive shimmer in his eyes yet again, what a cheeseball.

"Nope, I'll be saving this for later." he states, wiggling it around as if to jest.

"After all...what else can I make a toast to you joining the Tulpar Crew with?" Curly declared, his teeth so pearly-white they nearly shine when he flashes them.

You sigh prolongedly; your fingers intertwining with your eyelids in a damn near agitative motion.

"Curly-, just-, achhh..." you grumbled, stumbling one word over the next internally.

He's staring at you, setting his full, undivided attention solely upon you. His eyes pop out from his skull, and suddenly he's asking you things.

"Why...why?...why Jimmy?"

.....................

"Curly listen, I appreciate this. But...I'm unsure if this, was really the road I wanted us to go down together." you inform.

He listens very thoughtfully, he's always been good at listening.

"You did want something new, possibly different, in your life. Right?" Curly asked, harking back on words that were stated quite a long while ago.

You shrug, unsure of how else to physically react to his words.

"Definitely. But-, you know how I am with people. Not to mention your crew seems like a bunch of sadsack chucklefucks, no offense." you explain, bluntly as ever.

Curly laughs.

"Yeah, I won't deny that they have quite a lot going on in their personal lives. But they're good people at heart, just like you. I'm sure you'll get along great with all of them once you get to know each other enough!" he replies.

You turn your head, crossing your arms together in a focus while staring down to the floor.

"Get to know each other enough, huh?..." you mumble to yourself.

The sheer stupidity of such a concept nearly makes you laugh, Curly knew all too damn well how "nicely" you played with other people.

It truly was absurd of him to think that you could have ever gotten along with anyone other than him. And even that wasn't enough, you still hate his guts after all.

He smiles, walking over to you to place a reassuring hand over your shoulder. He gives it a comforting pat, you can already tell what he's going for here.

"We're going to be alright, I can just feel it." he claims.

Oh boy, here it comes.

Within an instant, you're pulled into a tight, affectionate expression of kinship; which is a fancy way of saying you've been hugged, during this point. He grunts joyously while squeezing you, while you merely stood there scowling as he crinkled your new shirt with his affectionate arms. You roll your eyes as he pulls away and chuckles heartily, knowing for a fact this won't go as easily as he thinks it will.

And it didn't. In fact, it never went easier than expected.

DESCENT ACCELERATING. NINETY PERCENT CLOSER TO CRASH-LANDING.

The alarms hastened as you were pulled out from your thoughts, the heat from being on the verge of crashing making you sweat profusely. Once pulled away from these slightly happy memories, staring into the crust of the planet you'll all perish upon, you realize something...you're terrified. You aren't ready to die, you never were, you were just lying to yourself to give yourself enough confidence to actually go through with it. But now that you're here, it's too much to handle. You don't want him to die, and you don't want to die either, and maybe you also don't want the rest of them to die at that. You hurry away from your seat, trying desperately to pry the heavy steel doors open with your bare hands. But when caught in the heat of a dire situation, one that arises great panic, one is bound to receive a slippery touch; which is exactly the course that befalls you, simultaneously spelling your doom.

CRASH INCOMING. PLEASE EVACUATE TO SAFEST REGION IMMEDIATELY.

Oh shit.

.....................

The pain was just as bad as you thought it would be, possibly even worse. You have no mirror, but you can tell based solely off your own helplessness just how disfigured you are. Internally, there's a storm raging within you, as always; but no longer a physical outlet to express it from. You've plunged yourself into the physical equivalent of rock bottom. But oh well, even if you die an unfortunately slow, painful death; at least all your comrades are now resting well, waiting for you to come join them in the basking radiance of the light...

"Jimmy? Hey Jimmy?" Curly said to you.

...But no, it turns out there's not even that comfort for you during these trying times. In fact, not only have you mangled yourself beyond any semblance of saving, but everyone else is perfectly fine and ordinary; unlike you. That angers you, so much more than the rage you felt before. And yet, this time there's no way for you to express it, not even through voice.

"Jimmy! Can you hear me? Talk to me!" Curly once again said to you.

You could stare at him, your singular pupil shaking around crazedly in a boiling fit of bloody rage towards him. If you could do anything, absolutely anything right now, regardless of the price or whatever it took, you would spend this moment choking the complete life out of him right now. How dare he, how dare he ruin your plan to give everyone aboard the Tulpar the fates they deserved; he, who cowardly hid behind those steel doors to safety while you were fighting for your life trying to escape. And what's even worse, his most horrid offense by far, he didn't even let you die after the fact. He instead found your body, and opted to keep you under living conditions in this hellish form. Failure and death would have been far more alluring of an option than failure upon failure ever could have been, yet he sadistically chose the ladder; what a fucking monster.

Your groans and grunts have a slightly agitated hissing noise imbued within them, a sound that emits a sigh of relief from the worried captain.

"Sheesh, I thought we lost him there..." Curly remarked, turning to face Anya.

She stood at the backend of the room, leaning against the counters of medical supplies.

"Yes, that could have gone awfully." she sheepishly replied.

Curly approached Anya, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

"Anya, I-, I'm really sorry about this. Making you go through all this, for a man you must loathe looking at. A man who did such terrible things to you...and almost, to the rest of us." Curly apologetically stated.

Anya turned her eyes towards him, her expression purely melancholic.

"He did do a terrible thing to us. We're stuck, with no hopes in sight for how to get out..." Anya replied.

Curly placed a hand over her shoulder, his face full of regret.

"I'm truly sorry...this is all my fault. I promise, I don't know how yet, but I promise; I, will get us all through this." he declared with misty eyes.

She placed her hand atop his, a light smile making it's place between her lips known.

"Thank you, captain. But this is a conversation we can have later, when we get back to the company. For now, try to figure out that plan of yours you have in mind, okay?" she requests.

Curly nods.

"You got it Anya. I'll see you later..." he says.

But as he walks through the doorway, he halts.

"Oh, but one more thing before I go. Please try to take good care of Jimmy, as you would any other regular patient. I know it's insensitive of me to ask, but we should keep him living." Curly politely orders.

Anya looks hesitant to agree, but ultimately nods in acceptance.

"Alright Curly, I'll do my best." she says.

Curly smiles.

"Thank you, Anya."

With that, he leaves. And now it's just the two of them, alone together; an insatiable beast and his victim. For the first couple moments she stares silently towards the wall, avoiding direct eye contact with him. But she knows that she can't keep ignoring him all day, captain's orders after all. With an exhausted sigh, she turns herself around to rearrange some medical supplies strewn across the counters. She can't ignore him all day, but goddamn it will she try. Once she no longer has any supplies in sight left to organize, she's once again unfortunately reminded of her responsibilities when hearing his spine-curdling wheezes of agony.

Over her shoulder, she looks back towards him. His eye is on her, of course it is. His gaze is one she's unfortunately all too familiar with, one that almost sends her into a fit of PTSD just witnessing it. His pupil on her always feels like it's dilated with lust, that carnal attraction that's driven him to do unspeakable things with her. She almost cries, frozen terrified in place by the sheer glance into his filthy, deranged soul. She can tell what he's thinking, and she can tell even better exactly what he'd do right now if he wasn't so completely helpless currently. She takes some calming deep breaths, continuing until she's good enough to at least go near him to give him the medicine he requires; which is only a few painkillers.

When she's close enough, his harsh breathing disturbs her even further when hearing it up close, rather than from afar. She breathes again, trying to ignore it, she just has to take care of him during this brief instance and then it'll be over for now. But as she opens the bottle, popping out a couple pills to stick down his throat, her eyes happen to wander; briefly glancing towards him.

Is he...smiling?

It was hard to tell given his lack of lips, but she knew. It was hard not to recognize that same face he had given her time and time again during their "intimate" moments together. The expression worn oh-so proudly upon his face sent a shot of disgust jittering violently beneath her skin. She was overcome with that horrible feeling of terror, another moment of PTSD.

But strangely, it took her significantly less time to get over it; only mere seconds passing before she felt something...different, inside her. Her feelings of terror were so easily washed away by a simple thought that had swiftly passed through her mind. And when she resolved to process the thought, she felt an indescribable amount of anger beginning to fester deeply within her. Once she finally found it, and processed it; the feeling spiked.

'He's no longer the one in control here.'

That singular thought made her turn her face, made her wish for him to see the violent urges hidden beneath her already intense expression. And just as she had hoped, when looking at her infuriated face, he started shaking. That damned smile of his subsided, thank god. And now, as she looked down at the pills resting atop her palm, a glorious idea came to her. She turned to face him again, slowly inching closer while leaning down towards him.

"It's time to take your pills, Jimmy." she said, ominously calm.

You stared up, not at your timid crewmate Anya, the woman you so graciously gave the gift of life to. But instead, it was a demon, one whose eyes were filled to the brim with a burning hatred fueled by pure disgust. You try to fucking move, but your limbs don't even wiggle pathetically, that's just how helpless you are. You gag and splutter when you feel the sudden presence of a hand tightly wrapping around your throat, just tight enough to keep you breathing. Her eyes are full of something you'd never want to see in a situation like this, especially directed at you. She terrified you...no, whatever that thing was before you, it was not Anya. Anya would never do something like this, she was too much of a sweet, timid girl to want to do something like this, right?

Slowly, you felt her hand creep it's way up to the underside of your jaw, her fingertips tickling your seared flesh. Suddenly, they clutched harshly onto it, a sound that made you emit several wheezing grunts of surprise and discomfort. What made those noises of yours only grow louder was when she shoved the pills down your throat, her fist jamming into your mouth as your body finally starts to flail helplessly in place. You struggle as best as you can, but you're clearly no match for her physical superiority in your current state. You start to choke on it, gagging desperately for some oxygen to prevail over the fistful of pills lodging down your throat, but little air arrives to your aid. You try shrieking, but even that's too weak to properly alert anyone's attention.

Anya's teeth grind together viciously as she drowns you, drowns you into yet another pit of agony.

"You really ought to stay still Jimmy, I can't give you these painkillers if you won't stop moving...how else are we gonna make you feel better after all?" she said, with a slight mocking aspect to her tone.

Her words betrayed her false purpose, more so conveying her true one.

"You nearly killed us. All of us. You're lucky we didn't send you out to meet the stars by now..." Anya snarled.

'Nighty-Nine Percent Kills.'

It hurts. Dear god, it fucking hurts.

"I hope this hurts." she growls, her voice lilted by a mix of deranged sorrow.

'I hope it hurts.'

You feel as though you're dying yet again, or at least on the verge of it once more. But thankfully, it stops. You watch as Anya backs away slowly from you, guilt vastly present upon her current expression. You cough and pant for air, sweet sweet oxygen entering your throat with a warm, fuzzy comfort. You swallow, and there's no longer anymore pain, you feel almost at peace yet again. But then you look back at Anya, whose sights lay directly back onto you. It doesn't even matter how meager of an expression she's dawning is, you've now seen what she's truly capable of doing to you, and it terrifies you beyond belief.

As you cower and quiver in your bed, Anya's guilty expression fades. In fact, she now looks glad, proud even; it sickens you so. Without speaking another word to you, she heads for the door to leave. But just before doing so, she turns to look at you from over her shoulder one, final time.

"You really should take more responsibility for your actions Jimmy. After all, our worst moments don't make us monsters...right?" she says, that blithe hint of mockery welded maliciously beneath her present tone.

'Take responsibility.'

With that, the demented she-creature leaves. And you're alone, again. Only this time, the feeling is far more haunting than it ever, previously was.

............

Author's Note: This project was originally started on October 24th; only now having been uploaded.

[turneradora]

Here is a new press article promoting "Rivals" !

Thanks to Emma Jones for the info and for the written version ! 🙏🌺

TV Times

12-18 October 2024

RIVALS

FROM FRIDAY 18 OCTOBER, DISNEY+ DRAMA

Dust off your shoulder pads! A racy, rip-roaring adaptation of Dame Jilly Cooper’s novel Rivals is whisking us back to the 1980s, where deals are sealed in the boardroom and the bedroom in the heady world of independent television... Landing on Disney+ this week, the eight- part romp is based on the second story in the author’s hit Rutshire Chronicles collection and follows the feud between power- hungry TV boss Lord Tony Baddingham (Doctor Who’s David Tennant) and rakish show jumper turned Tory MP Rupert Campbell-Black (His Dark

Materials star Alex Hassell).

Tony plans to expand his media empire and hires brilliant

chat-show host Declan O’Hara (Poldark’s Aidan Turner) and hotshot producer Cameron Cook (Code Black’s Nafessa Williams). But when he spies an opportunity to publicly destroy his arch-enemy Rupert, can Tony finally get revenge on the man who has it all?

TV Times met the cast in a central London hotel to chat back-stabbing and bed-hopping in the fictional county of Rutshire, where you seemingly can’t move for quarrels ...

LORD TONY BADDINGHAM

PLAYED BY DAVID TENNANT

The controller of Corinium Television and Rupert’s narcissistic nemesis has clawed his way to the top with support from his steadfast wife, Lady Monica (Sherwood’s Claire Rushbrook).

‘These are the days when ITV was split into regional franchises and Corinium is the Rutshire TV franchise,’ explains David, 53. ‘Owning one was a big deal, and Tony is motivated by wealth and power, but also by the fact that he doesn’t come from the upper echelons of society, like Rupert.’

David says he has his actor wife, Georgia Tennant, to thank for his role in the adaptation.

‘Georgia knew Jilly’s books and was convinced I had to be involved, and that it would make sensational television,’ he shares. ‘She said, “It’s exactly what the country needs, exactly what the world needs!”’

RUPERT CAMPBELL-BLACK

PLAYED BY ALEX HASSELL

The ex-Olympic showjumper and Minister for Sport has Rutshire’s eccentric locals under his spell... Well, all except Tony, his ruthless adversary...

‘Tony can’t stand Rupert because, from his perspective, he’s effortlessly privileged,’ says Alex, 44. ‘People throw themselves at Rupert’s feet and Tony is jealous, but Rupert thinks Tony is mean, cold and selfish.’

As one of the executive producers on the drama, Jilly searched far and wide before casting Alex as the story’s irresistible rake.

‘Jilly gave the seal of approval for me as her Rupert,’ says Alex. ‘I’m not blond and blue-eyed like in the books, but I’d managed to portray some essential “Rupertness” that she was pleased with. I hope viewers think so, too.’

DECLAN O’HARA

PLAYED BY AIDAN TURNER

The BBC’s star journalist moves his family from London to Rutshire when he signs with Corinium Television.

‘Declan is selfishly career-driven but he’s neglected his family life, which is undoing his marriage,’ says Aidan, 41. ‘He’s dealing with guilt and shame, and in brilliant 1980s-style, he’s burying it.’

Aidan says ‘many things’ spoke to him about Declan...

‘I had that feeling, which I never really get, but I knew I had to play him,’ he smiles. ‘We all had a blast filming it, too. Jilly set the tone from the top down. She’s cheeky!’

TAGGIE O’HARA

PLAYED BY BELLA MACLEAN

Declan and Maud’s kind-hearted daughter is trying to find her way in the world. She’s overwhelmed by her demanding family, but after being uprooted by their move to Rutshire, she finds a distraction in local lothario Rupert."

As much as people push her around and use her, Taggie has a strong moral compass,’ says Sex Education star Bella, 23. ‘She’s disinterested in Rupert at first and confronts him on how he treats women, which makes him look in the mirror for the first time. He likes that.’

ALSO IN RUTSHIRE...

FREDDIE JONES

PLAYED BY DANNY DYER

The self-made millionaire is an outcast among the old-money families, but his wifeValerie(Mum star Lisa McGrillis) longs to be accepted.

‘Freddie has found himself within this elite world and he doesn’t fit in,’ says ex-EastEnders star Danny, 47. ‘Then he meets Lizzie and they really get each other.’

Rivals also reunites Danny with former EastEnders producer Dominic Treadwell- Collins: ‘It was a no-brainer,’ smiles Danny. ‘And we had a ball shooting in big manor houses, all dressed up in 80s clobber.’

LIZZIE VEREKER

PLAYED BY KATHERINE PARKINSON

The romantic novelist is neglected by her TV presenter husband, James (Miss Scarlet and the Duke’s Oliver Chris), but sparks fly when she meets Freddie Jones.

‘Even though her books get rejected, Lizzie keeps doing it because she loves it,’ says Here We Go’s Katherine, 46. ‘Freddie is in this world due to his talent, so that’s why they’re a good meeting of minds. It’s not just about fancying each other.’

MAUD O’HARA

PLAYED BY VICTORIA SMURFIT

Declan’s glamorous wife sets her sights on seducing Rupert.

Will the former actor’s daughter, Taggie, get in her way?

‘Oh, Maud is a terrible mother!’ laughs Bloodlands star Victoria, 50. ‘She’s a self-obsessed applause junkie, who needs validation from any man who’ll tell her she’s fabulous. But she’s decaying after moving from London and takes it out on her greatest rival – her hotter, younger and better daughter.

[grieving-angel-hopeful-demon]

Have you ever?

(really long poem under read more)

Have you ever stopped to smell the flowers?

Have you ever looked a crow in the eye and wondered how it saw the world?

Have you ever caressed the pedals of a flower blossoming under your care?

Have you ever ran like your life depended on it because someone thought it would be a great idea to chuck rocks at a hornet's nest?

Have you ever spent time picking worms off the sidewalk after a rainstorm?

Have you ever felt the spray of mist as you stood on your tiptoes leaning closer to the roaring water cascading down the cliff face?

Have you ever watched a scorpion crawl out of the drain and had your first thought be "I want to take care of you"?

Have you ever laid awake at night listening to the choir of frogs and symphony of crickets?

Have you ever held your breath as mama bear wandered closer only separated by a thin pain of glass?

Have you ever rolled down a dewy Grass Hill until you were dizzy and laughing at the bottom?

Have you ever had to close up shop early because there was a moose?

Have you ever seen a hawk pluck a squirrel off a fence?

Have you ever tasted fresh herbs from the garden?

Have you ever been stuck sitting on the monkey bars as a herd of deer with sharp hooves and sharp antlers got way too close?

Have you ever mastered the art of catching snakes?

Have you ever been mesmerized by the moths dancing around the porch light?

Have you ever studied an ant hill?

Have you ever stood on the Lakeshore long enough that you were certain you would grow roots and never walk away?

Have you ever stared at a squirrel wandering what it thought of you?

Have you ever been going somewhere and then stopped to wander through fields of flowers?

Have you ever called back to an owl?

Have you ever painted eyes on the back of your shirts and hats to ward off mountain lions?

Have you ever run fingers along the hedge like fingers through hair as you walked past?

Have you ever stolen apples from your neighbor's tree?

Have you ever romped through brush and bramble to pick wild raspberries?

Have you ever gathered dandelion heads to make into jam?

Have you ever lagged behind because you stopped to study the flowers?

Have you ever watched bats dance through the night?

Have you ever had to be pulled out of a snow bank taller than you?

Have you ever walked through a forest and known to the very core of your being that the trees were alive?

Have you ever had a bumblebee tickle its way up your arm?

Have you ever watched a lizard eat a praying mantis?

Have you ever held a bird so small and delicate you feared you would break it?

Have you ever loved your home so much that the thought of hurting her was unbearable?

[thelenazavaroniarchive]

21st June 2025.

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟒. The Daily Record reported on the civic reception held by Rothesay Town Council for Lena.

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟒. In the Dutch magazine “Story”. there was a two page article with photographs about Lena.

Translation:

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬.

Only ten years young, very cute to see and a voice that roars like a hurricane. That's Lena Zavaroni the new singing prodigy. The record business has already thrown itself at her with full force, because gold can be earned with such a natural talent.

Father and Mother Zavaroni really thought about it for a long time. And only when it was assured that their little girl would not be plunged headlong into the music business, did they give their consent. But from that day on, it was a normal childhood for Lena. She was soon the world's sweetest child prodigy.

A record was quickly made in the record studio, "Ma, He's making eyes at me" and 300,000 copies flew out of stores within a few days. The British record boys rubbed their hands in delight.

By the way, Daddy and Mommy Zavaroni weren't dissatisfied either, because through the booming voice of their ten-year-old offspring the money started pouring in. Lena flew in and out of the studio, made one television program after the other and was allowed to make sweet trips to European countries in between. After all, this great talent should not only be saved for England, no, the mainland also had to kneel before the endearing prodigy. And so it is that from now on you will regularly see and hear dear little Lena on the tube. And now you should start shouting impatiently for hall performances, because our labor inspectorate is not so generous with that for prodigies. Just think of Hein and Wilma.

In England this is seen somewhat more broadly. The little girl can also be seen on television all the time. But because you can't immediately tear such a cutie out of the familiar world of her dolls and skipping rope, the English labor inspectorate has determined that Lena is not allowed to perform more than forty times a year. Furthermore, the little darling is also not allowed to hang out in the studios after ten o'clock at night.

And that's where the aftercare stops, because of course you can't keep going. After all, Lena also has her sweet caring parents.

"A special talent"

"The big problem for Mr. and Mrs. Zavaroni was how to publicize their little miracle without harming her upbringing in any way. Rightly so, for they were extremely concerned about the development of Lena's career, " wrote Phonogram in a biography of the Scottish prodigy. However, Lena's parents got in touch with Philip Solomon, a manager who is trained to keep very young talents on the right track, Solomon said. "At first I didn't feel like starting something with such a young girl, but when I heard Lena sing, I realized I was dealing with a very special talent. I will guide her further."

She is indeed special, because the simple Lena, who says very sweet things about the Netherlands during a conversation, that she likes being here and things like that, the same Lena becomes a creepy personality as soon as she is behind the microphone.

There is no longer a girl who would much rather play with her dolls and romp in the street with her girlfriends, but a real star! A creature that blindly imitates what the grown-ups have pumped into her. Professional movements, mischievous steps behind the microphone, a lot of working with the arms and the occasional almost comical, but certainly not intended, mischievous look into the camera.

𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧

The future looks healthy for Lena - financially at least - yes. But the commercials and record guys won't spare her, because she just happens to be ten. Multitudes of records will have to be filled from them and she will be dragged from one unit corner of Europe to another, living within the shackles of success.

On the other hand, there is a rapidly growing bank account belonging to papa Zavaroni, a man who used to have to be frugal as a sales representative. Lena never had to nag for a new doll for a long time, such a little extra is also welcome because Lena's golden voice made it possible for father and mother to buy a very expensive house in London. London has become their new base: that's where the studios are and that's where the big world begins for Lena.

Meanwhile, Lena's spiritual formation is not neglected either. Papa has sent her to the Italia Conti School, a famous London institution for rich kids, where she is taught the necessary knowledge through private tuition. After all, the ten-year-old prodigy cannot remain stupid...

𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Playing with balloons, blowing fun bubbles or just doing what she likes is no longer an option for little Lena. The balloons and soap bubbles can only be used in front of the photographer's camera. For the rest, Lena can forget that, prodigy as she is.

Photographs by Peter Mazel.

𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖. In The London Evening News, the Odeon chain advertised Lena's Saturday show at The Woolwich Odeon.

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗. In The Stage, the Jictar ratings had Lena Zavaroni and Music at number nine in the Central Scotland television region.

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗. The Liverpool echo had an article about Lena and her new haircut.

[the-emerald-wyrm]

Imagine #4

The wind flutters over your wings, which are spread under the weight of the sky. You bank left when your vision finally spots what it is you are looking for. Not too high in the sky, your wings glide you downwards, easily helping you land, your clawed toes sinking into the sandy beach.

Waves crash against the shore, roaring as the surf pulls back just to flood the sand once more. You perch yourself where the beach meets the sea, letting it flow over your shining scales. You could easily romp in the waves, splashing and catching fish to eat. But right now you just sit in the shore, feeling the ebb and flow of the waves.

[bolinity]

zuko casually watching a pro bending match bolin happens to be in

The roars of the crowd that had regularly gathered from all walks of life within the Jewel of Yue bay, the Pro-bending Arena, echoed and intensified under its glass roof as the excitement of the upcoming match buzzed through the air.

A small bit of crackle brought the PA system of the venue to life before the familiar voice of the city's most well known radio personality Shiro Shinobi took to the mic in the commentator's booth.

"Goooooooood evening, pro-bending fans! We're comin' at you live from Republic City's beautiful Pro-bending Arena right on the edge of Yue Bay! The crowd's going wild from anticipation and, boy, do we got a line up for you folks tonight!" Shiro continued to build the excitement as he listed off the names of the teams they had lined up for tonight's games, giving each of them fun alliteration-filled introductions before continuing. "How are we feeling about tonight's match-ups, folks?" He pulled back from the mic to capture the sound of the audience cheering and whooping for their favorites.

"Again, first up will be the fearless Fire Ferrets, who have been blazing through their opponents despite it being their debut season, going up against the long-time lean, mean Laogai Lion Vultures — while it's not their first rodeo, they're always ready to rally and romp round by round. Another classic case of old-timers versus new-timers as these two teams go head-to-head as our opening match of the night!"

Shiro paused as he scanned the crowd and his face lit up as he spotted a familiar face. "And what a night we've got here, folks! For instance, if my old eyes aren't deceiving me, we've got the Fire Nation's very own Looooooord Zukoooooo here in one of our viewing boxes! Hope our matches will be hot enough for you! If anything, they'll definitely be as hot as our sponser's Flame-o Instant Noodles —" Shiro continued on as he read copy for the conveniently transitioned-into ad before resuming other announcements before the games started.

In the locker room, Bolin was already suited up, sans his helmet, as he was rolling his head to stretch his neck muscles before the game before moving onto some lunges to hit those hamstrings and hip flexors (and it made his butt look good for his fans).

The sound of Shiro's voice was easy to drown out as one got used to hearing it after three years of living in the Pro-bending area. However, he paused in mid-squat as Lord Zuko's name bounced off the walls of the locker room and Bolin gasped loudly. "MAKO," he shouted in the direction of his brother while charging toward him then shook him by the shoulders, which Mako had to stop mid-drink as he held his waterbottle away from the two of them. "Didja hear that? THE Lord Zuko is watching us! Tonight! Here! AH!"

"He's here to watch pro-bending, Bo, not just us," Mako pointed out. He was used to his little brother's high energy and was well aware of how big of fan he was of Avatar Aang and his close friends. It wasn't often they got to brush against living history like that, especially two boys who lived on the streets for most of their lives — even if celebrities came to see pro-bending matches all the time.

Bolin let go of him before holding his own face. "YesIknowbut, HE'S HERE. HE'S GONNA SEE US PRO-BENDING. We gotta kick butt. We gotta do this. Should we pull one of our specials out? Should Pabu do an extra three flips? Is my hair okay?" Bo continued to ramble.

Mako finally took a drink of water since he was freed. "Your hair's fine and and will be half-hidden by your helmet anyway. And just do what we normally do; no need to get super fancy."

"You're right. I gotta chill. I gotta focus." He breathed in deeply then noisily exhaled as his shoulders dropped. "He's just another audience member in the crowd. We've got this."

Before their introductions were finally made by Shiro to signal the start of the game, Bolin managed to calm down. Once the bell rang, he quickly got into the groove and rhythm of the match and was so deep into the game itself that he forgot who was watching as he was used to tuning out the crowd.

The game resulted in their victory as the earthbender roared in celebration as he removed his helmet in the middle of the ring, hyping the crowd up again as he welcomed their energy with open arms. It was intoxicating each time and was basically enough fuel for him to train more for their next game.

"I'm starving; let's go to Narook's to celebrate," a familiar thing he said after most matches as the Fire Ferrets retreated back to the locker room. Mako was half-expecting Bolin to bring up tonight's special guest again, but his brother already had most of his street clothes back on, almost half-way out the door.

[mordenheim]

The Big Pickup

A fun rampaging romp commission for @ask-twizilla

================================================

Applesauce hummed to himself as he posed and preened in front of the mirror. Nothing would ruin this day, he was sure of it. His crush was finally coming back to town to pick him up for a date and he was going to make sure everything was perfect.

On the far side of town, a low rumble could be heard. The ground started to shake as a shadow fell over the small houses on the outskirts of town. Something was rising slowly out of the Everfree Forest, something truly massive. A cloud of dust rushed through the streets followed by the sound of a low, guttural growl.

As Applesauce spun and hummed and danced, his roommate had been preparing a sandwich for himself. He blinked down at the ground as he felt a slight tremor run through the earth beneath his hooves. He shrugged a bit at first before hearing a loud crash off in the distance. Rushing to the front door, he threw it open.

His jaw dropped as he saw a huge cloud of dust and smoke rising from the far side of town. Something was moving in that cloud, something massive. He could hear loud crashes and shouts of panic in the distance as he turned tail and rushed back inside the house, “SAUCEY!! YOU BETTER SEE THIS!”

A giant orange hoof emerged from the dust cloud and rushed downwards with a rush of wind. It came crashing down onto a small cart, the wood cracking, splintering, then exploding from the sheer pressure exerted on it. There was nothing left when the hoof lifted but a few splinters of wood poking up out of a huge round crater in the earth.

Meanwhile the tan earth pony with his handsome blonde mane stood preening in front of the mirror still. Brush firmly in hoof, he was running it through his luxurious locks as he tuned out hie roommate who was running around, screaming about some sort of disaster on the other side of town. As if. There couldn't be a disaster! Nothing was going to ruin this perfect day.

The rest of the giant pony slowly emerged from the cloud. Bright orange fur an a mane so glaringly green it almost seemed to glow. A permanent scowl seeming to be etched on her face, she lowered her huge head to sniff around at the earth as though searching for something. Giving out a low growl of annoyance, she lashed out with a hoof, smashing into a cottage with enough force to rip it from its foundation and send it flying halfway across town where it crashed down into the town square, sending ponies running and screaming for help!

She lifted her head high once more, narrowing her baleful yellow eyes to glare off into the distance. Her ears twitched at the sound of screams and she seemed drawn towards it. She let out a roar as her huge, lumbering form began to make its way towards the center of town, crushing anything that stood in her way.

Huge, round holes were stamped into the hard earth by her gigantic hooves. Gardens were trampled, carts overturned and crushed, homes simply kicked out of her way or stomped right into the earth as she made her way to the center of town.

Applesauce meanwhile diligently ignored the tremors shaking their home and the screams of his roommate, babbling about something coming, clouds of smoke, even flying houses. He actually paused at that last one, picturing a house with wings. How convenient would that be? He let his mind drift into a daydream of him and his love, floating along together in a flying home.

The giant mare, having finally reached the center of town glared at the Ponyville town hall. Gritting her huge teeth and growling for a moment, she opened her maw wide, letting out a roar before lifting ho a hoof and lashing out. It smashed through the big building as if it were made of tissue paper, tearing through wood, brick and plaster and sending the entire structure collapsing downwards into a pile of rubble.

She gave a bit of a vicious grin, admiring her handiwork before she let out a soft yelp as something poked her right in the rump! Turning around, she saw a squad of town guards throwing spears at her rear as hard as they could. While they couldn't penetrate her thick skin and fur, clattering uselessly to the ground far below, they were an annoyance that needed to be dealt with!

She reared up on her hind hooves, towering up high enough to blot out the sun as she let out an ear- piercing roar that shattered windows for blocks around. The guards scattered and fled just in the nick of time as her huge fore-hooves came crashing down.

Buildings all around the town square were leveled in an instant from the force of her stomp. Huge fissure opened up into the earth, cracking out in all directions from the point of impact. One of them raced along the ground towards the town fountain, which tipped into the giant crack and pitched down into the abyss below.

She snorted, seemingly satisfied as she watched the guards scatter and flee. She snarled as she started to chase after them and stopped. Something drew her attention towards a house on the outskirts of town. Snarling in annoyance at first because her fun had been interrupted, she turned and began making her way towards the strange force calling to her.

Applesauce groaned as he shoved his panicking roommate out of his upstairs bedroom and slammed and locked the door behind them. The poor pony had clearly lost their mind, raving about death coming for them all. He listened for a moment longer, hearing their hoof-steps clattering down the stairs and out the back door. Breathing a sigh of relief, he trotted over to the front window to take one more look at the town before his date arrived.

A wall of bright orange fur completely obscured his view. Dust and grime started to rain down from the ceiling as his ears were assaulted by the sound of hundreds of nails being slowly torn free from their wooden beds as thick oak beams warped and splintered. Daylight came streaming down upon him as the roof was slowly ripped from his home as if it were a gingerbread house.

Two yellow eyes the size of wagon wheels gazed down at him as he froze in place. The rooftop was flung aside to crash into a neighboring home, reducing both to so much firewood as a massive orange hoof descended towards him, lifting him out of the house. His nose was overwhelmed with the sweet scent of citrus fruits as he was snuggled gently against a huge, soft cheek, comforted by soft growls and roars before being lifted higher still, settled into the middle of the titan's bright green mane.

“Oh, Orangey! I knew you were coming today, I just knew it! Now let's get out of here…”

Grinning and growling out a response, the giant mare turned away from the ruins of the house and made her way back towards the Everfree, smashing through anything that might happen to be in her way.

[doomedandstoned]

Albuquerque’s BLUE HERON Reveals Gnarly New Music Video “Dinosaur”

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Get ready for gritty heavy rock from Albuquerque with a new album from BLUE HERON. Raspy, terrifying roars meet brooding, turbulent low end. "Dinosaur," the band's latest music video, comes midway through the new 9-tracker, 'Everything Fades' (2024), their second full-length, which is just about as down to earth as you could ask for.

"Dinosaur" begins ominously with a dank, questioning riff that leads into a mysterious cool-of-the-morning desert-stoner metal groove, with bittersweet bluesy touches throughout the song. Jadd Shickler's vocals are reminiscent of those epic early High on Fire tracks, somewhat cleaner than Matt Pike's singing approach but no less gravelly and fearsome. Meanwhile Mike Chavez on guitar and Steve Schmidlapp on bass rustle up a storm of gut splitting heft, driven by a fierce and determined rhythm from drummer Ricardo Sanchez.

Towards the 4 minute mark things get slow and doomy like the steady advance of pregnant rain clouds draping across the sky, perhaps an omen of whatever great and mysterious calamity befell the alpha predator's of planet earth's past (and a warning that we too may go the way of the dinosaurs).

Blue Heron's Everything Fades is rooted in the mood and verve of the High Desert. The band's sound on this record has a tangible feeling of mass, weight, and depth. It comes out on September 27th on Blues Funeral Recordings and can be pre-ordered on vinyl, compact disc, and digital formats right here. Stick it on a playlist with High on Fire, Egypt, Lamassu, Forming The Void, and Red Messa.

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Blue Heron expand on their unyielding desert sound with a new slab of propulsive, sun-scorched riff-heaviness. 'Everything Fades' (2024) finds the band reveling in low-tuned roil and amplifier hum, churning out swerving grooves as if the primordial spirit of the desert itself compels them.

Balanced between laid-back, meditative atmospherics and heavier, more aggressive lunges, Blue Heron’s cruising jams and gritty stoner romps call to mind echoes of Kyuss, Clutch and Monster Magnet, as well as modern contemporaries Valley of the Sun and Greenleaf.

Full of rhythmic intensity, sledgehammer riffing and vocals ranging from clean and moody to howling and raw, 'Everything Fades' covers a wide expanse of musical ground that shows how familiar influences can always be molded into inventive, exciting new forms.

Surrounded by endless horizons, Blue Heron formed in 2018 out of a compulsion to fill the vastness with massive volume, saturating their piece of desert with rolling, thunderous riffs, drums that pummel and swing, deep, thrumming tones and vocals that rip and roar.

Everything Fades by Blue Heron

Blue Heron’s guitarist and singer were founding members of Spiritu, possibly Albuquerque, New Mexico's first desert rock band, whose brief burn in the early aughts included a Jack Endino-produced LP, a European tour with Clutch, Spiritual Beggars and Dozer, and a compilation appearance alongside Entombed and Mastodon.

Their debut LP "Ephemeral" arrived in May of 2022 via Kozmik Artifactz in Europe and Seeing Red Records in the USA. Substantial appreciation in the underground led to performances at Ripplefest Texas and Monolith on the Mesa and opening slots for The Well, Elder, Black Mountain, Ruby the Hatchet, Howling Giant, Heavy Temple and The Obsessed, along with a swath of positive reviews throughout the heavy media.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[curiositeath]

now I Gotta know about Jason and the technicolor dye job

😈 hhhehehe lizard dot jpeg

like so many things I try to write, this started as a silly romp of an idea—a multipov 5 + 1 fic where several of the batkids dye jason's lazarus skunk fringe various colours—that rapidly pivoted into knife territory a la the batkids navigating Emotions.

predictably and perfectly purple, it all begins with Steph.

The video jerks as if from an involuntary twitch. “Allow me, Master Jason,” Alfred intercedes smoothly, stepping into frame and holding up an antique hand mirror worth more than Steph’s entire apartment building. Absolute silence, and then—  “Where is she.” An actual roar: Timberlina wasn’t exaggerating!  “Well I think purple really suits you, Little Wing,” Dick says off camera just as the video cuts. Steph giggles, wriggling in her bed with victorious satisfaction, and shoots Tim a quick series of emojis—the laughing while crying one, the kissy face, and the purple heart—before flopping onto her stomach to scroll through instagram. She’s got at least another 10 minutes of fucking around before she has to do the 5 minute race to get ready and 9 minute run to make it to class 3 minutes after it starts. Her plan changes drastically at the sound of the fire-escape window opening and a heavy boot doing nothing to hide its owner’s entry.  “How could you leave without seeing your handiwork, Blondie?” Steph does what any good vigilante would do and gets the fuck outta there.  ~ When Steph joins the Bats for dinner at the Manor later that week, she catches Jason styling his vivid purple fringe in a window. His expression looks softer, relaxed, like when he does his rounds at the orphanages in the Bowery. Warmth fills her chest and she heads to the dining room before he can spot her and switch to his usual smirk or snark. 

and, as promised, a poem:

a heartbeat of light sings so sweetly in the night brightest when in flight

wip ask game og post

[heylittleriotact]

Open Invitation - Chapter Seventeen (Is Smut)

In which:

Astarion’s plan to seduce Echo finally pays off

Both of these idiots get more than they bargained for

To the hells with sticking around for watch while everyone else sleeps and there are goblins and myriad other dangers prowling the night

 Pairing: Tav (High Elf Feylock) x Astarion

Rating: Explicit (This chapter in particular contains explicit sexual content)

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Cycle Breaking, Happy Ending (but not without a lot of pain first), very involved archfey patron.

Disclaimer: Complex trauma delving with direct and implied reference to various forms of abuse, including rape/sexual assault, as well as implied self-harm, including suicidal thoughts/behaviour. Explicit violence. Smuuut.

She’d given herself to many people over the years, each with their own unique talents and memorable qualities, but as Astarion laved his flat tongue over her borderline overstimulated clit again while making deliberate eye contact, she willed her knees not to buckle and she struggled to remember a past romp with a lover that was so… capable. It was as though he knew exactly how to conquer her because he already knew every inch of her - like he’d already slept with her a hundred times before. “A–Astarion…” She exhaled heavily, relaxing some of her weight into his sturdy grip on her thigh.  At this he moaned roughly against her. “Again...” He murmured. “I want to hear you…” His fingers curled inside of her, grazing the tight bundle of nerves within her with each confident stroke of his hand. His tongue flicked over her clit again and Echo’s walls clenched around his perfect touch. She felt her thighs begin to quiver, and her toes curled into the soft grass beneath her. “Unnngh – Astarion!” She groaned pleadingly, her voice cracking, starving for release as he tongued her relentlessly, working his fingers within her and sending her vision white as her orgasm roared towards her.  “Again.”  His voice was rough and he stared up at her as he added a third finger and drove her mercilessly to the brink: hearing her name chanted from her lips continued to intrigue… he wondered idly if he’d tire of it.

[operationmorewhitecollar]

We interrupt our regular White Collar chatter to recognize another show that premiered forty (wow, forty!) years ago today.

Hardcastle and McCormick roared onto our screens way back in 1983, entertained us for three years, and then mostly faded into obscurity. But while Peter Burke might have a thing for smart, leggy brunettes, we've always been partial to odd couple friendships, especially if they come from opposite sides of the law.

And this odd couple story goes like this: Judge Milton Hardcastle (Brian Keith) is just about to retire from his illustrious career on the bench, but he's a law and order type guy with no tolerance for bad guys getting away on technicalities. So for a retirement project, he's got a load of old cases he wants to sniff around and see if the bad guys are still out there being bad. But he can't do it alone, and he figures it takes one to catch one, so he's willing to recruit a criminal to help him out.

Enter Mark McCormick (Daniel Hugh Kelly), ex-racecar driver, ex-con on parole. He's a basically good guy with a list of questionable skills, and he first met Hardcastle when the judge presided over the case that got McCormick sent to prison for auto theft. Now McCormick's in trouble again, and he'll be the judge's last case before retirement, but Hardcastle thinks he's got a better use for the kid than sending him back to the big house.

Of course, shenanigans and friendship ensue. Sounds familiar, right?

Sadly, at least here in the US, the show doesn't warrant streaming anywhere (it didn't last long on Crackle) or even late-night cable syndication, but at least some of the episodes can be found on Dailymotion, and maybe YouTube. It's definitely a product of its time, and hasn't aged particularly well on the 'political correctness' spectrum, but if you can get past the ubiquitous car chases, scantily clad (for 80s television) women, and a lot of Lone Ranger & Tonto references, it's a fun romp back in time.

And we really do have a thing for felons teaming up with the guy who put them in prison!

[s-o-n-de-r]

Tennis Courts treats us with party rock anthem in “Jamie’s Party”

Review by Travis Boyer

In spite of its raucous, jangly melodic exterior, “Jamie’s Party,” the new single by Brooklyn indie rockers Tennis Courts, is dedicated to when the last party of the season is winding down, everyone’s heading out, but you’re staggering home in a mixed up, inebriated and lovesick stupor. Miraculously, you reach your humble abode, only to faceplant in the front yard after a long night of wallowing in your own self-pity. From the indie rock quartet’s upcoming, full-length debut LP, “Jamie’s Party” is a party rock anthem for when you’re desperately hung up on a summer crush who doesn’t even know you exist.

At first, “Jamie’s Party” eases in with a tempered, but driven guitar, but that’s only the wind-up. Before long, it will occasionally rumble to life with tumbling drums kick starting the festivities. On the surface, it’s the roaring, untameable life of the party that sweeps away your inhibitions and reservations for a shining moment in time.

However, as is the case with nearly every gathering, there’s someone stewing in the corner, wishing they were anywhere else. In this track, it’s someone who’s been pining away all summer long after someone, presumably Jamie, but time is running out. Instead, they’re drowning away their sorrows in a self-fulfilling prophecy of eternal loneliness. Before they know it, summer’s over, Jamie’s gone, and she never knew that you existed. Altogether, “Jamie’s Party” is about the type who will hold their torch, but never works up the nerve to have someone share in the glow.

What Tennis Courts has in “Jamie’s Party” is a classic tongue in cheek, indie rock romp about being so wrapped in your feelings that you’re never able to let loose. Aside from that, “Jamie’s Party” is a killer summertime tune that is guaranteed to bring life to any party.  

—

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