#How many men bought that issue of PlayBoy?

[coochiequeens]

“My trans mother, Tigerlily, saw me at 15 years old, she was like, ‘Oh, she could do it.’ I was introduced to her through a friend and I was still wearing my high school uniform at College of St. Peter. Tigerlily saw me and she’s like, ‘You know what, put on this two-piece bikini.’ I put it on and I saw a body, darling. Skin, body, glistening,” Rocero told Interview in May." In other words in order to appear "inclusive" a women’s magazine heard an example of grooming and tried to spin it into something inspirational.

By Genevieve Gluck. November 3, 2023

A trans-identified male model has been named as one of the recipients of Glamour magazine’s 2023 Woman of the Year award, prompting criticism on social media. Geena Rocero, a New York-based fashion model, was previously a beauty pageant contestant from the Philippines who participated in events for women and girls as well as for gay men and teen boys in drag.

On X (formerly Twitter), commenters pointed out that Rocero is male, with some questioning whether Glamour believes that “men are better at being a woman,” or asking whether the magazine had trouble finding “real women” for the distinction.

“How regressive, excluding women from a woman’s award in favour of a man. Almost like the Women’s Liberation Movement never happened,” replied Jane Griffiths on X.

“You’re actively participating in and promoting female erasure. Men pretending to be women are men. You are on the wrong side of history. Shame on you,” responded another critic.

Rocero entered his first beauty pageant, Super Sireyna, at the age of 15 at the behest of an older trans-identified male and beauty pageant manager he refers to as his “trans mom,” Tigerlily. Out of over 40 female contestants, Rocero won second runner-up, best in swimsuit, and best in long gown.

“My trans mother, Tigerlily, saw me at 15 years old, she was like, ‘Oh, she could do it.’ I was introduced to her through a friend and I was still wearing my high school uniform at College of St. Peter. Tigerlily saw me and she’s like, ‘You know what, put on this two-piece bikini.’ I put it on and I saw a body, darling. Skin, body, glistening,” Rocero told Interview in May.

He continued, “That [was] the beginning of ‘I’m not going to college.’ I’m going to make money, I’ll have boyfriends all over the Philippines … I used to join pageants in every barrio all over the Philippines. From Pangasinan all the way to Ilocos Norte and all over Manila — I joined it all.”

Rocero recalled that he had been watching beauty pageants on television leading up to his first event. “I was watching this pageant, the finals on national television, then two weeks later I beat them all,” he said. He used his prize money to purchase female hormones in order to more closely resemble a woman.

Rocero would then go on to take multiple awards and titles at beauty pageants. In 2000, when he was just 16 years old and going by the moniker Gina Garcia, Rocero was named Ms. Gay Universe 2000. The “Miss Gay” series of pageants refers to beauty competitions involving men in drag.

The following year, Rocero joined his mother in the United States and two years later underwent genital surgery in San Francisco.

After relocating to the United States, Rocero pursued a career in lingerie modeling, and has described the experience as “ultimate validation.”

In 2014, he revealed that he was male during a TED talk, telling the audience, “I was assigned a boy at birth based on the appearance of my genitalia.” His speech went viral online, racking up millions of views.

In 2015, he appeared on the talk show TODAY alongside Dr. Michelle Forcier advocating the position that children as young as 2 years old can self-declare a gender identity. Last month, a lawsuit was filed against Forcier by female detransitioner Isabella Ayala, among others, who was given hormones at the age of 14 years old.

At that time, Rocero was acting as the Executive Producer of “Beautiful As I Want To Be”, a digital series which paired young people with an adult mentor who identifies as transgender.

Following the success of his TED talk, Rocero was invited to speak at the White House at an LGBT Innovation Summit, and the 2014 Democratic National Committee’s LGBT Gala, and has worked with the State Department under former President Obama.

In August 2019, he was featured as the Playboy Playmate of the Month in their Gender and Sexuality issue. The Playboy article written by Rocero was nominated for a GLAAD Award.

Commenting on the nomination, Alex Schmider, GLAAD’s Associate Director of Transgender Representation, said, “By spotlighting talented and beautiful models like Geena, Playboy is amplifying a simple fact that other media outlets should echo loudly: trans women are women.”

In addition to speaking at the White House, Rocero presented at the United Nations Headquarters for UN Women in 2020 and at the World Economic Forum on at least two occasions, in 2017 and in 2020.

Rocero was again invited to the White House earlier this year, where he promoted his autobiography, “Horse Barbie.”

The decision by Glamour to award Rocero with the honor of Woman of the Year is part of a larger trend. Numerous men who claim to be women have been presented with similar titles in recent years.

In March, a trans-identified male who drafted a bill declaring Minnesota a “refuge state” for the medical transitioning of minors the title of Woman of the Year by USA Today. Leigh Finke was among 50 honorees chosen by the publication from each state, including such notable female figures as former first lady Michelle Obama and Sandra Day O’Connor, the first woman to serve on the U.S. Supreme court. Finke authored a book for teens which instructed them to “limit contact with any adult” who does not affirm their “queerness,” and suggested that minors should visit “queer sex shops.”

In response to being awarded the title of Woman of the Year 2023, Rocero was profiled for Glamour by another trans-identified male who has been featured at events and employed by publications typically aimed at women. Raquel Willis was a speaker at the 2017 Women’s March in Washington, DC.

In 2018, Willis was named an Open Society Foundation Soros Equality Fellow and began to work as the executive director of LGBT publication Out magazine. In 2020 he was appointed as the director of communications for the Ms. Foundation for Women.

But this is not the first time Glamour has bestowed a male with the title of Woman of the Year.

As previously reported by Reduxx, Brazil’s franchise of Glamour awarded a male social media influencer the title despite him not even identifying as a “woman.” Linn da Quebrada, who had previously come under fire from Brazilian feminist influencers for mocking pregnant women, had previously stated that he does not believe women ‘exist.’

[late-to-the-party-81]

In perfect balance

Request: For the Inspire Me! event, how about Tony/Reader/Stephen lounging around after a few rounds of hot sex? Some fluff, lots of snark, maybe leading into them all going at it again.

AN: Thank you @couldntbedamned for this spicy request, I hope this tickles your fancy!

Beta’d by @navybrat817

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me

Master list

Summary: From the outside the three of you shouldn’t work, but somehow, together, you’re in perfect balance. 

Relationship: Tony Stark X Reader X Stephen Strange

Word Count: 2.6k

CW: Polyamorous relationship, Explicit sexual content (oral sex - M and F receiving, Anal fingering, Anal sex), Brat Tony Stark, Domme Reader, Dom Stephen Strange, Tony has Mommy and Daddy issues, slight Mommy kink, edging, multiple orgasms, aftercare, fluff and snark.

You flopped back on the pillows with a thud, a smile plastered to your sweat covered face as you stared up at the ceiling and inhaled the scent of roses that filled the room. You let the post orgasmic haze suffuse you as you half-listened to the affectionate bickering that was going on over your prone form. What was it about middle-aged, egotistical white men with goatees that made you go weak at the knees?

To be fair, they were allowed to have inflated egos - both were geniuses in their own way - extremely successful and powerful. However, this meant they were caught in a constant game of one-upmanship. 

“I think you’ll find, Tony, that it’s what I did this time that tipped our Angel over the edge.”

“Pphhtt. As if. It was clearly what I was doing with my tongue. I’m very talented, you know.”

You stifled a giggle as you practically heard Stephen rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re super-talented and able to make women come with just a crook of your finger.”

There was the sound of someone shifting across bed sheets and you turned your head in time to see Tony bracing his body over Stephen’s, a gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“Not just women, my dear wizard. As you well know.”

Ice blue eyes glared back, although you could detect the hint of softness there too.

“Alright, you raving ego-maniac. But I still maintain it was my skills this time. And I’m a sorcerer, dammit, not a ‘wizard’.”

“Potay-to, potah-to.”

“Hhmmph.” Stephen gave Tony a light shove, and the self-styled playboy-genius-philanthropist allowed himself to be rolled to the side, landing right next to you.

It would come as a surprise to absolutely no-one that out of the two men, Tony was the more flamboyant in bed. He loved his gadgets and toys, and neither you or Stephen were going to complain about that. He often took the lead, not because either you or your sorcerer boyfriend were submissive, but because Tony was such an endearing brat that you couldn’t help but smile at the glee on his face when he bought one or other, or both, of you to earth-shattering orgasms. 

He didn’t always get his way, though. You’d happily admit that some of your favourite times with the two were when Stephen was in A Mood ™, that special kind of mood where he felt the need to dominate and claim. Wong would have a fit if he knew what kind of things Stephen was using his powers for. You doubted that he’d approve of the Eye of Agamotto being used as an edging tool. 

A shudder washed over your body as you remembered the last time that Stephen had come home, cape swirling, face stern, dragging you both into the bedroom without a word. Neither you or Tony had been able to walk properly for a good three days after - magic demon tentacles tended to have that effect.

Tony also had a soft spot from when you also helped take control of him. The man had so many Mommy and Daddy issues that he’d make Freud’s head spin. It had become apparent in a short space of time that his teasing of you was an attempt to make you snap, make you chastise and punish him.

However, if they weren’t competing and bickering about sex, they were competing about who spoiled you better. Both knew that roses were your favourite flower and if Stephen conjured some for you from the air, then Tony would spend weeks cultivating a new strain, naming it after you. Which was why this room was now full to the brim with different coloured and sized blooms.

“Come on, Angel-cake. Put us out of our misery - which one of us got you to O-town this time?”

As you’d mused, Tony had rested his head on your chest, and was now looking up at you with doe-eyes, while one finger trailed circles around one of your breasts, making your nipple pucker. You threaded your fingers into his thick hair, giving it a gentle tug that made his eye-lids flutter.

“Tones, you know the only answer I’m going to give you is that it was both of you. Keep me out of your juvenile tally game.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

You tapped him on the end of his nose.

“Brat!”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

“I never said that. Just reminding you that I know your game, Mister.”

“And what game would that be?” He raised his head slightly, but kept his eyes on you as he swiped his tongue over the nipple he’d been paying attention to. You arched your brow and tightened your grip in his hair, trying to ignore the zip of arousal that darted from your breast to your pussy.

“Stephen…” You called out to him and turned your head to see him coming out of the en-suite, washcloth in hand. He crossed to the bed and sat down next to you, virtually ignoring Tony as he dropped a kiss to your lips.

“What is it, my divine Angel?”

“Some-one is being a needy brat.”

Stephen allowed his gaze to drop to Tony, who started to squirm in your grip under the intense scrutiny.

“This does not surprise me in the slightest, my love. I don’t think our recent exertions were energetic enough for him. You know how restless he’s been.”

Thinking back over the last few days, you realised Stephen was right - Tony had been in his lab, tinkering, and while that was good exercise for the mind, it wasn’t for the body, and your engineering genius of a partner no doubt had a lot of physical energy to expend. He also probably wanted to have all the thinking taken away from him. He wouldn’t ask for it outright - he’d be too embarrassed, but he knew if he was bratty enough then either you or Stephen or both would understand and take control.

“Hhmmm. And would you be a good boy for us, Tones?”

“Well, that entirely depends on your definition of good.” Tony waggled his eyebrows and you and Stephen gave each other knowing looks, before Stephen addressed Tony.

“We’ll take that as a no. Come on. Up you get. Give Angel some space to work.”

You expected some chat back, but Tony leapt up like an exuberant puppy, standing at the foot of the bed. Stephen moved to stand behind him, wrapping his long arms around Tony’s frame. Tony held onto Stephen’s forearms and the both looked at you expectantly. You sat up and then moved onto your hands and knees, crawling down the bed until you were in front of them before coming up onto your knees. With one hand you cupped Tony’s face and with the other you cupped his cock, which was already trying to make its recovery known. You moved your face towards him, close enough that your breath fanned over his face.

“Are you going to listen, baby? Listen to me and Stephen? Or are you going to be naughty and have to be punished?”

“I thought we’d already established that - ow!” Tony let out a pained shout, his eyes going wide as you gave him a slap on the cheek.

“Try again, baby-boy.” Your voice was low and dark and you gave a firm squeeze with your other hand that made Tony rise up on his toes a bit. You saw Stephen’s icy eyes glimmer with amusement.

“I’ll be good, Mommy. I’ll be good.”

“Aaww. There he is. My good boy. Now, lie down for me, Tony. I wanna sit for a while.”

Tony scrambled out Stephen’s embrace and threw himself back on the bed, bouncing on it before scooting his body up the mattress and patting his cheeks.

“Your seat awaits, m’lady.”

You leant over him, biting down on his lower lip before turning and lowering your pussy over his face.

“I’m warning you now brat, that I’m not getting up until I’m satisfied.” In response Tony just shook his head, worming his tongue deeper between your folds before getting to work. You shifted slightly, and sighed as Tony started to drag wave after wave of pleasure out of you. At least he wasn’t fucking around with that.

The bed dipped and you met Stephen’s smile as he climbed up between Tony’s legs. His lips met yours as you balanced your weight by placing your hands on Tony’s hips. Stephen’s mouth was hot and demanding, sending further jolts of pleasure through you. The kiss was short-lived though, as Stephen pulled away so he could work his ‘magic’ on Tony.

He took Tony’s cock in hand, stroking it a few times to get it to full hardness, before sending a wink in your direction and swallowing Tony down. Tony moaned into your pussy and you rocked against his face to remind him what he was supposed to be doing.

“You don’t get to come until I say you can, Tony. You got that? So you gotta be good to me, baby.”

Tony’s hands roamed over the lower half of your body, digging into your hips and groping the soft flesh of your ass. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down, feasting on you with gusto. Little pants and moans left your lips and you and Stephen couldn’t help but exchange glances and smiles, silently conversing about how good Tony was being.

When Tony jolted under you, you realised that Stephen was breaching him with his long fingers. You knew how that felt and made a mental note to congratulate Tony later on his restraint. For now, you just decided to tease him. “Good boy, baby. Let Stephen in. Just enjoy it, but don’t come yet. I’m almost there. Keep doing that. Mmm… yes!”

Your orgasm was tantalisingly close and it wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge. Tony thrust his tongue as far into your pussy as he could and you rocked back and forth, stimulating your clit on the facial hair covering his chin, and then you were right there. 

Trembling. 

Crying out. 

Covering Tony’s face in your release. 

But you weren’t done yet. You tilted your hips and Tony got the message, shifting his ministrations to gently suck on your engorged bundle of nerves.

However, he seemed to be losing focus, because after a few moments he stopped sucking. You could feel his fingers tensing, digging into your skin and you realised he was close to coming. You reached out, wrapping your fingers in Stephen’s grey streaked hair to get his attention. He sometimes got a little lost when giving oral. 

“Slow down, love.”

Stephen let Tony’s cock fall from his mouth and stilled his hand. His lips were red, and smeared with saliva and pre-come, and he’d never looked so wonderfully debauched. You leaned down and gave him a kiss, squeaking into his mouth as Tony came out of his near-orgasmic stupor and started to work you over again. You continued to kiss Stephen as you ground onto Tony’s face, reaching your second orgasm. Feeling wrung out, you rolled off Tony.

He sat up, hair sticking up, face wet and red and you giggled at the state of him, but no sooner had you done so, Stephen went back to his task of opening Tony up.

“Legs apart, Tony.”

Tony just whimpered, and did what he was told, nodding his head and fisting the sheets.

With the click of the lube cap, Stephen perfunctorily prepped him, working two, then three fingers into him. You watched with a hazy gaze, enjoying your front row seat.  A whine came from Tony’s lips as Stephen pulled his fingers free and swatted at Tony’s flank.

“Up, brat. If you have energy to burn, and you want to cum, then you can fuck yourself on my cock.”

The two men quickly changed places, Stephen lying down and Tony climbing atop him. You passed Tony the bottle of lube and he applied a liberal coating to Stephen, a sparkle in his eye. He was about to ease himself into position when you gripped his chin between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t stop being a good boy, now. Make Stephen cum first.”

Tony didn’t say anything, but he pouted, and you pulled his lower lip into your mouth, sucking on it hard, before letting it go with an audible pop. Placing your hands on his waist, you helped to steady him as he sank down onto Stephen’s cock, his mouth hanging open and his eyes rolling back.

“Good boy. Such a good boy.” You poured your praises into his ear, watching him relax as you did, until his ass became flush with Stephen’s thighs. Moving carefully, you shifted your position until you were behind Tony, able to wrap your arms around him peer over his shoulder if you so wished. With his own hands braced on Stephen's chest, he started to move, slowly at first, so he could feel Stephen’s cock rubbing over every nerve-ending within him, but he slowly picked up speed. 

Stephen moaned and closed his eyes, his hands searching out Tony’s hips, either to provide an anchor for himself or to help Tony move - you weren’t sure which.

“Oh! That’s it, Tony. Fuck, you feel so good. Keep doing that.” 

Tony bit his lip and continued to move. From over his shoulder you watched his aching cock bob lewdly. It looked angry and red, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum with each downwards movement. You even realised he was whimpering.

You trailed your hands down his chest, teasing his dark nipples up into stiff peaks, flicking and pinching them, almost cruelly. You knew he was close, but where would the fun be if you didn’t make it at least a bit difficult for him to follow your rules.

“Stephen! Angel! I’m so close.”

“Hold it, baby. Get Stephen there first. You can do it.”

You saw tears start to run down Tony’s face as he battled the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. You kissed some of them away before looking down at your other boyfriend.

Stephen’s face was almost similarly contorted, although without the tears. His eyes were screwed shut and you could see the veins pulsing in his neck, and the way his fingers curled viciously into Tony’s hips. There would no doubt be bruises left by them that Tony would wear with pride for the next week.

“Tony! Yes! I - I’m cumming!” 

Stephen’s body went taut and as he spilt into Tony you wrapped your fingers around Tony’s desperate cock. 

Tony let out a strangled cry as you pumped him, once, twice and then he was spilling over your hand and Stephen’s chest. He sobbed his way through his pleasure, movements almost frenzied in the way he dragged every ounce of pleasure he could from Stephen’s now flagging cock and your hand.

Finally he collapsed over Stephen, body limp. His eyes were closed and he dragged in breath after ragged breath. Stephen threaded his fingers through Tony’s hair, gently petting him, his own eyes closed as he also recovered.

You quickly got off the bed, crossing to the bathroom to wash yourself up and grab a couple more washcloths. On your return you found that in the minute you’d been gone, Stephen had managed to extricate himself from the warm clutch of Tony’s body and rolled both of them on their sides, Tony’s face still nuzzled into his neck.

Stephen took one of the washcloths from you, and wiped his chest and cock clean, while you used the other one to freshen Tony up. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t fully awake either, caught in that nebulous, soft place that can only be reached by an earth-shattering orgasm.

With all of you clean enough for now, you climbed back onto the bed, pulling the counterpane up to cover your three forms as you curled up behind Tony, hooking an arm and leg over him.

You could all do with a small nap after that, and you had no doubt that upon waking properly Tony would be back to his teasing, almost insufferable self. For now, though, the perfect balance of your unusual trio had helped him find the release he needed. Next time it might be you or Stephen’s turn, but no matter what form your collective loving took, it was always just what you all wanted.

The three of you lapsed into slumber, the scent of roses still clinging to the air.

Tag list: @darsynia @xoxoviva @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @goldylions @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel @mrsmischief209

[keyotos]

hoyoverse men as songs on my playlist (pls dont take these seriously)

A LOT ⎯ 21 savage

"how much money you got? (a lot) how many problems you got? (a lot) how many people done doubted you? (a lot) left you out to rot? (a lot) how many pray that you flop? (a lot) how many lawyers you got? (a lot) how many times you got shot? (a lot)"

childe. jing yuan. alhaitham. diluc. blade.

they have problems and they have opps. they are also rich as fuck and they prob have a ton of lawyers. and they have definitely been shot. idk.

CARDIGAN ⎯ don toliver

hotter than the sauna, i met her at salata bought lil' baby prada, she popped it for the dollar don't stick around, you should save yourself (save yourself) but you can hit my phone if you need some help (needed some help)

lyney. wanderer. ayato. sampo.

yeah u really shouldn't stick around. like yikes. run? maybe? just kidding! even if he's a little sus he is hot as freakkkkkk (sampo).

MIRRORBALL ⎯ TAYLOR SWIFT

hush when no one is around, my dear you'll find me on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you

barbara (she's not a man but i feel like she fits yk??). kaveh. also lyney. neuvillette.

um are y'all okay???? like... they are going through it. it is okay to be messy.

BEST I EVER HAD ⎯ DRAKE

sweatpants, hair tied, chillin' with no make-up on that's when you're the prettiest, i hope that you don't take it wrong you don't even trip when friends say, "you ain't bringin' drake along?" you know that i'm workin', i'll be there soon as i make it home

cyno. itto. luka. thoma???

you guys found urself a good one. mmmmmf. one of my fav drake songs. u the fucking best u the fucking best u the fucking best.

KISS ME THRU THE PHONE ⎯ SOULJA BOY

baby, you know that i miss you, i wanna get with you tonight but i cannot, baby girl, and that's the issue girl, you know i miss you, i just wanna kiss you but i can't right now so, baby, kiss me through the phone (kiss me through the phone)

gepard. childe again (he just gives off the vibes). heizou. kaeya.

what little cuties. except for heizou he's ugly.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

FASHION KILLA ⎯ A$AP ROCKY

my bitch a fashion killa, she be busy poppin' tags she got a lotta prada, that dolce & gabbana i can't forget escada, and that balenciaga

ningguang. herta. fu xuan. kafka. lisa. yae miko. yelan.

read the lyrics and tell me that these women don't come to mind immediately.

PAIN 1993 ⎯ DRAKE & PLAYBOI CARTI.

i just want everyone to listen to this song.

LOLL i got bored so i wrote this.

[ejzah]

A/N: I decided to return to this story finally. I hope you all enjoy, despite the late-ish hour.

***

Ain’t It A Kick in the Head, Part 4

“This is not what I was expecting when you said we were doing “research”,” Kensi said, giving Deeks a suspicious look as he pulled into the filled parking outside the Blue Diamond nightclub.

He’d picked her up outside his cover apartment in a Porsche that would

likely make Sam drool. Kensi was only surprised that he didn’t pick a flashier color than black. Thought she supposed that would make illicit meetings a little more difficult.

“Max Gentry is not your typical guy,” Deeks replied, slanting a quick look in her direction. She saw his eyes drift down to her legs and tugged at the short skirt of her dark purple dress.

“I’m still not convinced that this isn’t just your way of tricking me into going out with you.” Normally, Eric or Nell would be commenting on their conversation right about now, but Deeks had requested that they only use comms if absolutely necessary. He didn’t want them to get distracted from their roles.

“Nah, if I was going to do that, I would have taken you to a five star restaurant.” He paused a beat. “Which I would never, ever do of course.”

“And of course it was necessary that I wear this,” Kensi said, gesturing to her outfit. He’d simply specified for a night out, which Kensi had interpreted to mean a tight dress, heals, and flashy jewelry. She was a little worried that it would seem too different from the outfit she’d worn the first day she met Deeks.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “We gotta look the part. Rich and powerful.”

Well, he’d certainly managed that, Kensi thought. He wore a plain black shirt, open at the collar, and black pants that were simple but fit so perfectly they had to be tailor made. His hair looked soft and curly, like he’d just washed it.

Clearing her throat, Kensi pulled her gaze away from the patch of skin at the base of his neck that kept catching her attention. It felt strange with just the two of them and no one in her ear to break up the tension.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Deeks assured her, mistaking her reaction as nerves rather than distraction.

“I know I will.” She lifted her chin, annoyed by his insinuation. “Despite what you apparently think, I have considerable undercover experience. “So who are we meeting and what do they know about me?”

Deeks straightened the collar of his shirt, looking forward as he pursed his lips. Despite his straight face, she had the feeling he was still laughing at her. It was annoying, but making an issue about it would just give him more leverage.

“We are meeting with Andre Simons, a rich playboy who buys for himself and his friends. I just told him I was bringing a…friend today.”

“And he bought that?”

“Andre has a pretty serious problem,” Deeks explained, not seeming worried. “I’d have to do something pretty alarming for him to turn tail. And even then, he might put up with it. Can’t lose his supplier after all.” He made a wry face. “As long as you follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Kensi said firmly. “I just don’t see how talking with this guy is going to be beneficial if he’s not actually a part of any ring.”

“Mm, that is an excellent point, Ms. Mendez. While you’re right that Andre doesn’t hold any power among the people we’re trying to access, he does purchase from them as well. In the past, he even brokered a couple deals and such, but he’s not really cut out for that kind of lifestyle. He’s a little to squeamish, clean-cut if you will, to deal with men who kill people on a regular basis.”

“A clean-cut drug user,” Kensi scoffed. “Well, that’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”

“Ooh, one of my favorite terms,” Deeks joked. “Andre is an excellent source of gossip and he does have some connections. As much as he doesn’t want to be in the business, he’s been gathering information for me.”

“So he’s your big source?”

“He’s one of many. Andre is who I go to for to on upper class news. I’ve got other guys that do the dirty work.” Slipping the car keys into his pocket, he turned to face her. “Over the next week, I’ll introduce you to some of them to establish your cover and also make sure none of them knows the real Bella. Hopefully the information she gave you will be enough for you to fake it.” He paused, his expression mildly concerned. “You ready?”

“Of course,” Kensi said as he opened the door. She waited until he was completely outside to drag in a calming breath. Deeks didn’t need to know how nervous she felt. By the time he reached her door and swung it open, she was completely in control.

Deeks held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it. She saw his eyes drift back to her legs again as she slid out of the passenger seat, though he didn’t linger for more than a second.

He lead her past the long line of people waiting to get in, heading straight for the large bouncer guarding the door. His lips were set in a grim line, arms crossed while an couple argued with him.

“Lenny!” Deeks called out. The second Lenny caught sight of him, he grinned and automatically moved aside, waving them through.

“Mr. Gentry,” he said in a tone that did not match his imposing demeanor at all.

“What exactly did you do to get an instant pass inside here?” Kensi asked, pitching her voice low as they walked down a short, red carpeted hallway. There was a faint pounding beat that reverberated through the walls.

“Mm, you probably don’t want to know,” Deeks said dryly, pushing a second door open and into a filled with people dancing to blaring music under flashing lights in the center of the main floor. The bar was towards the back of the room and tables of various sizer were sprinkled around the borders. There was also a second floor with private boxes, some of which had black curtains to black the view.

“Well, this certainly seems classy.” She eyed a couple making out on a leather booth a few tables away.

“If you’re looking for class, Bella, you’ve come to the wrong place,” he drawled. Following her gaze, he licked his bottom lip, and leaned close enough that to other people, it would probably look like he was kissing her neck. “Seriously, you might see some unpleasant things tonight and you need to be ok with being a part of that. You just have to believe that I know what I’m doing.”

Before Kensi could reply, a tall blonde woman in a short, low cut electric blue dress with Rhinestone studded stilettos approached them.

“Max, so good to see you again. We missed you,” she said, giving Deeks a smile that made Kensi’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. She couldn’t tell if there was something more personal behind her flirting or if she treated all her special clientele this way.

“I missed you too, Marley.” Deeks winked, making her drop her gaze. Oh, there was definitely something there.

“Do you want a table by the bar, or a private room?” she asked, suddenly all business again.

“Actually, I’m meeting Andre Simons,” Deeks told her.

“Of course. Mr. Simons is in room 4. You can go on up and I’ll bring you and your date refreshments.”

Deeks seemed very familiar and comfortable navigating the club and weaved a path through the gyrating dancers around them.

“Let me guess, she’s tonight’s entertainment,” Kensi said as they climbed a carpeted staircase to the private rooms. Deeks snorted and shook his head.

“Actually, she’s the head hostess.”

“And one of Max’s conquests?”

“Meow,” Deeks responded. He linked his arm through Kensi’s, drawing her into his side. “Don’t be jealous, Bella, Marley is way too smart to get involved with a guy like me.”

Though his voice was sardonic, Kensi thought she heard a note of regret as well. Now wasn’t the time to explore whatever issues he might have though. She had to convince Andre Simons that she was a ruthless drug dealer.

***

A/N: Yes, this probably does have certain similarities to the club scene in “Fame”. In these kinds of stories, I always feel the need to show Deeks’ skills rather than just stating that he’s good. Plus, you know, banter and relationship building between him and Kensi.

[plus-size-reader]

Monsters

Halloween Special

Sam Winchester x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1548 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Sam’s girlfriend brings Halloween to the Winchester boys.

——————————————————————————————————

In general, neither of the Winchester brothers had much experience with Halloween.

Growing up, especially after what happened to Mary, John insisted that Halloween was a waste of time. It seemed stupid to him, dressing up like monsters when real monsters were out there.

Still, of all the things Sam and Dean missed out on as kids, Halloween wasn’t really something they cared about.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t imagine even skipping one Halloween as a kid, let alone all of them. Even as an adult, you waited anxiously all year round for spooky time.

...Sam knew that.

However, Dean was about to learn really well just how much you liked Halloween.

You had been adamant, when Dean came in the middle of the night to collect Sam, that you were going to go with them. After all, if their dad was in trouble, you were going to do as much as you could to help.

There was a bit of argument at that but eventually, you got your way. That meant that you were going to be staying in motels with them all over the place.

Anyone else may have been concerned with the blooming world of monsters and danger, and you were. However, one thing was occupying your attention that much more.

Halloween.

Tomorrow was Halloween and you were about to lose your mind with excitement. Without missing a beat, you excused yourself to go down to the store.

You were sure that you’d hear about borrowing baby without asking later but that was why you grabbed an extra bag of snickers just for Dean.

He couldn’t stay mad at you if you brought him candy. Even in the rather brief time you’d been around Sam’s brother, you picked up that much.

You entered the motel with your arms full to the brim with bags of candy and little knickknacks you were sure would elicit some kind of response.

Just because neither male had ever had much of a Halloween before didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy your

festivities.

“I’m back” you called, announcing yourself with a grin. The motel wasn’t all that big, with a main bedroom and an adjacent bathroom, meaning both men knew before you even said anything.

Sam was just finishing up his shower, emerging from the foggy room, his hair wet and a towel around his hips. He smiled at you in greeting, before his expression was replaced with something else.

Before you could ask though, Dean stood from one of the two queen beds, snatching the candy bar you offered him immediately.

“What are you wearing?” Sam asked then, still looking at you with that strange look on his face. It wasn’t until he asked the question that you remembered.

Looking down, you saw the same witch costume you’d picked out in your feverish holiday shopping, then changed into in the backseat of the impala.

In all the excitement, you’d forgotten about it.

It may have been a bit revealing, all things considered, but it was so cute that you just couldn’t pass it up. A little bit of exposed leg and cleavage never killed anyone.

Though, Sam looked as if he may prove that theory false.

“It’s Halloween man” Dean chided, casually shrugging his shoulders, as if he brother couldn’t see him eyeing you up and down as few seconds ago.

Still, Sam ignored him.

He’d seen you dressed up before but that was usually with context and a fair amount of notice. You had just sprung this on him, with that cupcake skirt and corset top.

All with a prop broom and witches hat, as a cherry on top.

Needless to say, you looked incredible. It was just a little awkward with his brother here and all. It would have been nicer to keep that view all to himself.

You were having fun though, and he wasn’t going to make you change. It wasn’t your fault he couldn’t get his act together.

“I thought it would be fun for us to be the monsters for a change. There’s a vampire in there for Dean, and a werewolf for you Sammy” you giggled, thinking back to when you picked them out.

You had tickled yourself pink in the costume aisle, thinking about either male dressed in those cheesy costumes. That was why you bought them.

Admittedly, you were having way too much fun.

Still, you couldn’t help yourself, Halloween was your favorite thing when it rolled around and being on the road wasn’t going to change that.

Besides, the idea of getting all dressed up with the Winchesters was too good to pass up.

“And what are we supposed to do with those?” Dean laughed, taking the bag you handed him. It was just a generic vampire costume with a set of plastic fangs and long cape.

It wasn’t great, all things considered but that was part of the Halloween fun. Costumes were different than clothes, and there was something endearing about that.

Personally, choosing what to be every year had always been one of your favorite things in the world as a kid. You just wanted to give them the experience, and while they hadn't technically chosen these, it would do the trick.

You smiled, hoping he would ask.

"There's a costume contest at the local bar, and I thought we could enter, but you two have to hurry up and get dressed so we don't miss it" you suggested, tossing the bag containing Sam's costume at him as well.

You thought it would be a good time, being a good middle ground between your interests and the boys. It was a bar, offering a pretty good chance for Dean to bond with girls in real short skirts and drinking more than his fill but with the costume contest, there was no way you were going to miss it.

Frankly, there wasn't much room for either male to complain, something they knew right away. So, Sam sighed before returning back into the bathroom to get dressed in whatever was waiting for him in that flimsy plastic bag you'd brought.

He had never dressed up for Halloween, not even for the party you two met within at Stanford. Even for something like that, where everyone was dressed up, Sam had showed up wearing his Stanford sweatshirt and jeans.

It was goofy, but you found him charming nonetheless. However, you weren't going to let him chicken out this time. If you could convince Dean to go out, it wouldn't hurt Sam to also tag along.

Sam finally opened the door, revealing the sight you'd been anxiously waiting for. From his shoulders hung a large torn up flannel, over a hilarious fur chest and claws, a pair of plastic teeth in his mouth.

As soon as you saw him, a laugh erupted from your throat. You couldn't help yourself.

"What? Is it that bad?" he scoffed, looking down at himself with cautious eyes, studying it for any kind of issue. He thought he looked foolish in the mirror but forced himself to come out for your benefit. However, if you thought it looked bad, he wasn't gonna go.

There was no way.

"No, it's cute. Don't worry" you assured, gathering both men and all your things before heading over to the bar. It was only a few miles from the motel, and only took a few minutes to get there in the impala.

Now, all you had to do was get through the night without losing either of the boys. Knowing the Winchesters, Dean would probably sneak away with some girl dressed like a playboy bunny or something.

...But that wasn't gonna hurt anybody, all things considered.

The bar was packed by the time the three of you got there, but the contest hadn't started yet so you didn't worry about it. Instead, you went to find a table for the group of you while Sam and Dean went to get a round of beers for you all.

There were plenty of exciting and interesting costumes all over the place, costumes that you busied yourself admiring as you waited for the men, only focusing in when Sam slid into the booth beside you.

"I feel like an idiot" he grumbled, clearly not having a good time. He felt like he looked insane, and it didn't help that there were so many people here to see it. It wasn't like you just wanted to do this for a night in.

However, across the bar, you found Dean striking up a conversation with a pretty blonde bartender. At least one of you was having a good time.

"Come on Sam, it isn't that bad. You look cute" you grinned, booping his nose similarly to the way you would have a puppy. It wasn't exactly a lie.

The costume was a good one, not at all accurate, but good.

Sam looked like a fluffy little wolf, and you found everything about it to be the most amusing thing you'd ever seen. His little pout only seemed to make it better real, though he gave that up as soon as you uncapped the beer bottle in his hand.

"It's just one night Sam, just try to have a good time and don't worry about the real monsters so much" you begged, knowing that once he did let go of whatever it was he was currently stressing about, he'd have an amazing time.

He may even win the costume contest.

[ericdeggans]

How My Love for Sean Connery and Bond Led to a Serious Case of White Guy Hero Infatuation Syndrome

Like a lot of people all over the world, I have long considered myself a stone Sean Connery fan.

I often recited the juiciest dialogue bits from his Oscar-winning turn as a beat cop-turned crusader in he Untouchables (in addition to the speech everyone quotes, I loved how he told Eliot Ness he knew he was a treasury agent without seeing his badge because “who would claim to be that who was not?”) I watched the painfully clumsy 1986 B-movie Highlander mostly for his charming turn as Egyptian (!) immortal Juan Sánchez-Villalobos Ramírez.

And, of course his work as James Bond always set the ultimate example for urbane cool. Which explains why I often felt the theme song thrumming in my head whenever I wore a stylish suit or hopped off a plane in a cool city. For men from the generation before mine, he practically defined the sophisticated, stylish machismo found in the pages of Esquire and Playboy.  

For these reasons and more, I have always loved the rogueish Scotsman as an actor. And yet, when news of his death at age 90 spread across the world, I couldn’t bear to pay tribute to him on my social media pages, until now.

That’s because his passing highlighted my problem with a particular malady. I call it White Guy Hero Infatuation Syndrome. And I have suffered from it for many years.

Put simply, my fan’s brain knows that Connery’s landmark performances were the stuff of film legend – especially as Bond. Cool, authoritative, suavely menacing and mostly unflappable, his take on a secret agent who knows the best suit designers nearly as well as the best pistol manufacturers set the template for escapist espionage fantasies over the next half century and beyond.

His first line as the character – “Bond. James Bond.” – has become pop culture legend.

But as a media critic, I also have to contend with James Bond’s status as a relentless sexist and a British agent who walked the world as if it was made to be ruled by wealthy, capable white men. Watch him slap the behind of a pretty blonde who was massaging him poolside in 1964’s Goldfinger when CIA agent Felix Leiter turns up for a chat. “Man talk,” he tells her dismissively, sending her out of the scene.

Or check out how he treats Quarrel, the bug-eyed Black man who acts as a “fixer” for him in Jamaica during the first Bond film, 1962’s Dr. No. Scrambling across a beach to avoid the bad guys’ goons, Bond turns to Quarrel and tells him “fetch my shoes” -- as if he were his butler, rather than a local ally helping him avoid thugs with automatic weapons.

And there’s loads of scenes where Bond forces himself on women who quickly succumb to his charms – like Honor Blackman’s character in 1964′s Goldfinger – perpetuating a dangerous myth that a man can earn a woman’s love by pushing her into being romantic with him. (Or that a dismissive, vaguely annoyed tone with women – treating them like impertinent children or misguided simpletons – is also, somehow, irresistible to them.)    

When Connery played Bond, he played a character who was the embodiment of white privilege. He made it look sexy, virtuous and necessary – the natural state of things in a 1960s-era world that, outside the comfortable confines of Bond’s make-believe spy games, seemed to be coming apart at the seams. But in the America of 2020, it’s a symbol of how media can teach you to accept a limiting legend.

And this was a fantasy I bought into eagerly. As a kid, my mom and I bonded over the heroic white guys she loved on film and TV, mostly from westerns. Just this past December, as she was fighting cancer and months before she would succumb to an infection, we sat and watched Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, Kevin Costner and Robert Duvall save the day too many times to count.

As I got older, I’d make fun of all the misogyny, racism and white centering going on in these shows – gibes which my mother, a proud Black woman who loved her people and culture, tolerated with a weary smile. “These are my guys,” she’d say playfully, swatting aside any idea that there was a deeper impact from gorging on stories which treated these virtuous white men as the noble, natural center of every story. I wish the issue were that simple; it often isn’t.

For me, it wasn’t just a problem with Connery. As a kid, I loved Eastwood’s 1970s-era Dirty Harry movies, where the taciturn cop with a Magnum pistol cut through all the nonsense to nab the bad guy. Same with Bronson’s Death Wish films, where the solution to rampant street crime wasn’t better policing, but a taciturn, middle class white guy with a gun shooting down street criminals. It’s a potent fantasy, especially if you’ve ever had to deal with the numbing bureaucracy of real-life law enforcement or the brutal violation of being a crime victim.

It wasn’t until I got older that I realized many of those bad guys Harry Callahan was hunting were young hippies and Black people – the kind of folks who, in real life when Dirty Harry was released in 1971, were trying to get America to face how it was chewing up poor, young men in an unwinnable, unnecessary war in Vietnam. It was a prime example of “copaganda” – convincing the audience that the excesses Detective Callahan committed to nail a person the audience already knew was a serial killer, was justified.

Even now, I wonder: Can I watch these movies and appreciate why they are thrilling, while rejecting the tropes that present a white male-centered world as just and appropriate? In my work on race and media, I’m often telling audiences that people who insist they are not affected by media subtexts are often the most affected by them. Couldn’t that be true for me, when it comes to heroes like Eastwood, Bronson and Connery?

(One caveat: Sitting in an arena in Tampa, watching Eastwood give his infamously strange “empty chair” speech at the Republican National Convention in 2012, broke me of my affection for his work. I have avoided watching new Clint Eastwood films since then. Click here to read my report on the empty chair speech for the Tampa Bay Times.)

In his later years, Connery denied or walked back quotes where he seemed to approve of physically hitting women in real life. His roles in films like Highlander, The Untouchables, Hunt for Red October, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen often featured him playing the older mentor to younger white guy heroes portrayed by the likes of Harrison Ford, Alec Baldwin and Kevin Costner.

And so, as the question of Connery’s legacy in show business arises, the fanboy part of me is at war with the media critic. One side of me is lost in the absolute coolness of the suave masculinity he so often symbolized, particularly as the world’s most successful secret agent.

The other is painfully aware of the inequalities and oppression such portrayals enabled, and how much they may feed our real life fantasies for a powerful white male savior to set things right, even now. 

Especially now.

And saying these characters were a product of their flawed times somehow doesn’t seem enough.

This is a tough column to write, and not just because there are so many fans who want to focus on the best moments of Sean Connery’s life now that he’s gone. It’s difficult because he was a personal hero of mine for a long while – and remains one of my favorite performers – even as I acknowledge the terribly male-centric and white-superior ethos he embodied in so many roles.

This may sound like disrespectful nitpicking to hardcore fans and family. It’s never easy to sit with the more uncomfortable aspects of a great artist’s legacy. And the time after his death has been filled with heartfelt tributes to Connery, a man of great talent and no-nonsense sensibilities who was respected and loved by a great many people who worked with him.

Sometimes the media critic’s job requires being a buzzkill; insisting the public pay attention to troubling aspects of a film or TV show that we would all just rather sit back and enjoy. Because part of unwinding the effect of past portrayals is acknowledging their power in the present day.

Which means, every time I watch Connery stride to a baccarat table in Goldfinger, Dr. No, or Diamonds Are Forever, archly demanding a precisely constructed alcoholic beverage, I also have to remind myself of the damage done by too many characters like that offering too constricted a vision of what a hero looks and acts like. And I suggest you do the same.

It's the only way to balance a comforting myth with the reality of how that legend can, unwittingly, teach us to cling to ideas that ultimately hold us back.      

[msjr0119]

Cordonian Wags

Part 18- A new day has come

In a world full of Professional footballers and their demanding wives- can their football team nicknamed the ‘Cordonian Apples’ succeed? An American female physiotherapist joins the club. Will this cause issues with the footballers wives?

*This series is based on The Royal Romance characters who belong to Pixelberry - AU Plot switch*

Tags: @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @whenyourheartskipsabeat @jovialyouthmusic @nz1091 @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty

*****

Breaking News- Apples star, Drake Walker arrested on suspicion of... More news to follow.

Drake thought back to a few hours ago, when he was forced out of his cabin by the police. Once arriving at the station, he was given one phone call- Riley.

“Baby, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Book a room at the hotel we stayed at- text me the room number. I’ll see you there when I get out. I love you Riley. Always.”

Sitting at the table, he crossed his legs- leaning back into his chair with his arms above his head.

“Now Mr Walker, we need facts. You plead your innocence, but Mr Rhys is adamant that you caused him to collapse.” Drake was losing the will to live deep down but not showing it- he could potentially kill Bastien and Lindsey at this moment in time.

“I didn’t do it. I have two alibis. Liam and Leo Rhys. As I’ve already said. I’m innocent. You do know that Connie has a dodgy ticker anyway. He’s a big drinker in general. How do you not know that was the cause of it all? Besides I wasn’t the only to visit him- I spoke to him asking him to reconsider Xavier being our head coach/manager. I had a drink with him and left.”

“I think the hospital staff would have done all the tests- his drink was spiked, purposely. Until we have solid proof you may go home for now.”

“THANK YOU!” Drake waved his hands in the air, as he stormed out of the police station. Ignoring the paparazzi- his priority was to get to Riley.

*****

Riley was pacing up and down the hotel room, hoping that Drake was okay- she knew that Bastien and Lindsey did what they did for her. However she was furious that Drake had been punished for it. Drake stormed through the door, scaring Riley- she had been thinking about handling this situation herself instead- thinking of all the possibilities to save her lover and family.

“Drake, what happened?” She asked softly. Handing him a whiskey she knew he would need it- if not he would definitely need a few shots instead.

“I could kill your uncle and sister- the police are sure that I did it.” Punching the wall, making her flinch, he soon regretted his actions. Pulling her close to him, he kissed her on the forehead- hoping she wasn’t scared due to his outburst.

“But you didn’t - we can work through this. I’ll have a word with Constantine. Drake you mean the world to me- I wouldn’t let you get punished for something that you didn’t do.”

“Ri, I’m sorry. I’m not going to ruin this night with you.”

******

The morning after, Riley knew Constantine was back at work- she intended on confessing to a crime that she didn’t commit just to save her families and Drake’s necks. Knocking on the door to his study, she was shocked to see Xavier sat at his desk. Fuck.

“Hello beautiful.” Shooting up from the chair, he pulled Riley in for a hug. Shit the finalised divorce papers obviously haven’t reached him yet.

“Hi, erm... is your father around? I need to speak to him urgently. I should have rung before to make sure.” Xavier ignored her question as he saw the locket around her neck. Riley locked eyes with him, knowing that all familiar look- that expression that always made her become injured or hurt. Following his gaze, she realised she was still wearing Drakes locket.

“I should go.... it’s... not important... I’ll see you around.” Yanking her arm, he forced her bag off her shoulder- locking it away in the desk.

“You’re not going anywhere Riley! You are talking to me.” Turning around, she needed to get out of the room- she could replace the belongings in her bag. But she couldn’t replace new wounds- she was still suffering for the past scars he had caused. Grabbing her hair, as she tried to escape- she began to cry, fear that she hadn’t felt in a long time began to return with an immediate effect.

“Xavier you’re hurting me!” Crying, she regretting coming in the first place- she could have provided a fake confession in many different ways; text, phone call, written letter, even an email.

“Who got you the locket? Tell me now!” He growled, with anger in his eyes.

“Lindsey.”

“You’re lying! She wouldn’t be able to afford this.” Riley stood frozen, not knowing how to get around the lie, he had confiscated all of her belongings including her phone, there was no way to gain any help- this was the only time she had lied during their relationship. Maybe this time she deserved it, she kept thinking.

“How dare you lie to me, all for what? To protect him?” Before Riley could respond, she felt the sting across her face- before her head was smashed against the picture frame loosely hanging on the wall due to the force of the punch into her jaw. Constantine stormed through the door, hearing the commotion. Immediately pulling his son off of her- he truly did believe that he was a changed man before now. How wrong was he. Feeling guilty, that he had potentially caused this- he needed to make amends.

“Xavier! What have you done?” Helping Riley stand up, Constantine held her, as her body shook uncontrollably - wiping her tears away he noticed the blood drip down her neck.

“Riley... baby I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Don’t ever touch me ever again!”

“You’re my wife, I’m sorry. I’ll be a better husband. I just became jealous. Jealous that I didn’t buy you a present that you deserved.”

“Not anymore arsehole! You stupidly signed the divorce papers on my birthday- it was the best gift you could have ever given me. Oh by the way Sir, I spiked your drink. I’m truly sorry for doing it- I wanted revenge for you bringing this monster back into my life.”

“Xavier, I think you should leave NOW!” Xavier swiftly exited the room, knowing he was in the wrong- knowing he was back to his old ways using his ‘wife’ as a punch bag.

“Riley, I know you didn’t do it- I know who did it.” Passing her some ice that was wrapped in a towel- he gently pressed it on her head, before moving it to her jaw. Riley suddenly forgot about Xavier, her main objective was to convince him that she hurt him- whilst also wondering why the playboy chairman was being so kind and sincere.

“It wasn’t Drake! It was me.” Please believe my lie.

“It wasn’t either of you. It was Bastien.” Riley stood frozen, not knowing what to say- her mind couldn’t function or string a sentence together to respond to his confession about knowing the truth all along.

“I’m so sorry for all the hurt I’ve caused. I’ll drop the charges- can we start over? I’ll sort Xavier out. He won’t ever hurt you again. I hope you’ll attend the charity event tonight?”

*****

Riley stared in the mirror whilst getting ready with Lindsey- she had updated her on what happened with Xavier. Lindsey grit her teeth, whilst clenching her fists- as Riley attempted to cover up the damage that he had caused with make up. The usual thing she constantly did back in Manchester.

“When are you going back to New York?” Riley asked, trying to change the prior subject based on her pasts poor decisions.

“I was due to go back tomorrow, but I can’t leave you- not after what he’s done.”

“Or you can’t leave because of Leo?” Riley said winking- attempting to change the morbid atmosphere.

“Well yes, that too. I love you Riley. You’re my sister. I just want you to be happy and live the life that you deserve. With someone that you deserve. Someone that will make you feel like life if worth living.”

*****

Drake noticed that Riley wasn’t her usual self- all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and comfort her. Keeping his distance- he needed to avoid obvious affection until Xavier was aware that he was divorced.

“For fuck sake.”

“What’s up Drake?”

“Connie and that arsehole are heading this way.” Maxwell, Liam and Leo looked up- all Shaking their heads.

“Walker, I’m sorry for the hurt that I have caused. I can’t remember who did it to me. I’ve dropped the charges, hopefully the police will accept that. Xavier has something to say to you too.” Nudging his son, he knew this was an awkward situation. After what had happened with Riley, Constantine persuaded Xavier to let her go- if you love her you’d let her go. At least until you can prove you are the man she once fell in love with. But if she has moved on, you have to respect her decision. I’m saying this as your father, please think about it.

“Drake, I’m sorry for hurting Riley again. The best man won in the end. Don’t lose her like I did.” Constantine smiled at them all before walking away. Xavier turned facing all of the men, putting his hand out to Drake- he hesitated not knowing how sincere he was. Pulling Drake closer to him.

“Did you like my little ‘publicity’ stunt? This isn’t over- just because we are now officially divorced, it doesn’t mean that I’ve lost her for good. I’ll be watching you like a hawk. You may have bought her a locket- but I bought her so much more in past. See ya.” Drake felt anger build up inside him, watching Xavier walk off smirking. The men noticed how their friend remained calm- possible for the sake of Riley.

“Drake? What did he mean hurt her again?” Maxwell wasn’t the brightest spark of the group, but in the whole conversation he had picked up those words- panicking for Riley.

“She’s been quiet. That bastards touched her again.” Ignoring the men’s advise for him to remain calm- he walked over to the women, interrupting their conversation.

*****

“Ri? Can we talk?”

“Sure what’s up?” Guiding her into the corner of the room, he wanted to ensure that she was okay- if not he wanted to convince her that he was always going to be there to support her.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit off.” Shit he can see straight through me. Lie to protect him, or at least white lie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just not feeling well. I keep feeling sick and I’ve got a headache. That’s all. Don’t worry about me.”

“Do you want me to take you home? Xavier said he knew about the divorce so we don’t need to hide anymore.” Remaining silent, she was happy that he knew the truth- but also regretted how she informed him- not knowing what else he was capable of doing. Drake noticed her mind working overtime.

“Ri? Did he do something to you?” Coming out of her trance, her baby blues fixated on his brown eyes that were gradually forming tears.

“Don’t go mad. Promise me that you won’t go mad.” Drake nodded, not knowing how he would react to whatever she was about to confess. “He slapped me across the face, then punched me- I banged my head due to falling backwards into the wall. But I’m fine. I forgot to take the locket off. He knew you bought me it. Constantine walked in before he could do anything else.”

“That son of a b-” Wrapping her arms around him, she could feel that he was tense.

“Drake, please just ignore him. I don’t want any trouble. I love you. My future is with you.”

“I love you too. My place or your place tonight?” Feeling his cock slightly twinge, he just wanted to the escape the charity event- spending time with just Riley.

“Either, I better get back to the ladies. Hana was talking about her and Maxwell’s sex life- I doubt that you’d want to be part of that conversation. Neither do I for that matter but I’ll just blank the details out.”

“Yeah, I’ll leave you to that one. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

*****

Riley had found out that Maxwell and Hana had an impressive sex life- she still couldn’t comprehend why they kept their relationship a secret from the press. Asking the waiter for a glass of water, Lindsey eyed her sister suspiciously- knowing there was something wrong.

“Linz, can you come to the toilet with me? Something isn’t right, I’m supposed to be going home with Drake- but I really don’t feel well.”

“Of course. Quick, go in to the bathroom. What’s up?”

Madeleine followed the girls into the toilet, overhearing them- her eyes widened. Interesting, she whispered to herself before making a phone a call and sending a text.

******

BREAKING NEWS- Lindsey and Riley Brooks spotted at the family planning clinic, thanks to our source informing us of the women’s plans- we followed them there. Is one of the girls pregnant? More Apples news to follow!

Walking out of the clinic, the girls saw the press snapping photos of them. What the fuck? They both said in unison. Not understanding why they were being stalked by the paparazzi. Before they could react, Leo’s Ferrari pulled up screeching to a halt outside the clinic entrance- Drake had a text message from Madeleine prior to them arriving at the clinic- Hi Drake, I just thought you should know something. I’ve just overheard the Brooks’ sisters in the toilets. Riley said ‘I need to go to the clinic as soon as possible, and get rid of it. Linz please don’t tell Drake.’ I think she’s pregnant and is going to terminate the pregnancy. I hope you’re okay? Maddy xo A while after that text was sent, it was breaking news all over Twitter.

“Riley!”

“Drake? Leo?” Drake ran up to Riley, holding her hands- holding in the tears.

“Riley, I will look after you both. I’ll provide for you both. Please don’t abort my baby.” Riley looked at the broken man in front of her- not knowing what to say- he had his wires mixed.

“Drake, I’m not pregnant. I don’t know why you’d think that?”

“Madeleine text me saying she overheard your conversation in the toilets- then breaking news on twitter.... you were complaining of a headache and feeling sick....”

“Drake. I’m not pregnant. Do you really think that I’d terminate a pregnancy after my last one? My arm swelled up, I wasn’t feeling well, they’ve removed my implant immediately because the area around it became infected. That’s what I needed to get rid of. I asked Lindsey to not tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. We were going to sneak back in. I’m sorry. Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Drake nodded, suggesting going back to his cabin. Leo drove them back there before leaving with Lindsey.

****

Drake and Riley arrived at his cabin, she noticed that he was extremely quiet- regretting not communicating with him before the Chinese whispers began. Wishing she had been upfront about where they were going, rather than just leaving abruptly. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he held his head in his hands- feeling a dickhead for blurting out what he did.

“Drake?” Placing her hand on his shoulder, she looked down on him with sorrow in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. For a split second I believed that you was pregnant. That I was going to be dad. I should have ignored Madeleine’s text- I knew you wouldn’t terminate a pregnancy with your past.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I’m sorry.” Sitting next to him, he remained silent- in a daze. “Drake, I know we haven’t been together long. But if I was pregnant- I’d be thrilled.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I fell in love with you instantly. You are my saviour- and I know you’d protect our child. You’d make a brilliant dad.”

“I’d protect you both until I take my last breath- you’d make a brilliant mom. I can’t wait to be a dad in the future- I’d do everything my dad did with us- camping, teaching them how to make s’mores, basically turn them into a Boy Scout.” Riley smiled at him reminiscing about his childhood.

“What if it was a girl? She wouldn’t be a Boy Scout- she would be a girl guide.”

“I’d do the same with her. If we had a daughter she will beautiful like her mom.” Cupping her cheek, he looked into her eyes. Noticing her blush he laughed.

“Charmer.”

“heh, I can be. I suppose we need to go to a shop soon.” Riley looked at him confused. “You’re not on the implant anymore. We will need other protection.”

“Or...”

“Or?”

“Do you see a future with me Drake?”

“Of course I do. Why do you ask?” Gulping she didn’t know how to explain what was running through her head.

“I know this is really premature, considering the amount of time we’ve been dating- and you don’t have to give me an answer... or if you don’t agree that’s fine... I’m happy just being your girl... but...”

“Ri?” Wishing she would spit out what she needed to say, he wondered why she was asking about their future.

“If you can see a future with me and I can see one with you... we both love each other... it was instant... I broke your heart making you think that I was pregnant... how about we make that reality?” Riley saw the vacant expression on Drake’s face- regretting immediately saying what she had said. She sighed, before standing up making her way into the bathroom.

She wants to try for a child? Did I hear her right? Is it too soon? Not too long ago I thought she was pregnant anyway- and I said I would look after them both. What if she changes her mind about us? What if she thinks I’ll do to her what I did to Kiara- I wouldn’t but it wouldn’t surprise me if that doubt would be in the back of her mind. Could I be half the father, my father was to me? I hope they look like Riley- she’s too good for me, what does she even see in me? What would people think about us planning a family this quick? In fact fuck what they think- Savannah became pregnant after a one night stand with Bertrand. At least myself and Riley will have made this decision together. Every time I see her my heart flutters, knowing that she chose me when she first arrived. I know I said to her on her birthday that I’d marry her as a joke but was it a joke? Maybe that was me testing the water. I love her. If she wants to start this journey with me who am I to turn her down.

Riley you idiot. Why did you put him in that predicament? I bet he thinks I’m desperate- using him as a replacement for Xavier and Luis. But I’m not. I love him. I thought I loved Xavier even with the abuse- that was until I met Drake. It doesn’t matter how long you date someone, when you know you know. Or in my case I do. We have both had poor relationships, which both made us heartbroken. Are we each other’s saviours? Can we be a family? What would other people think? I hope I haven’t pushed him away with this idea. When I’m curled up in his arms I feel safe, he would protect us both. I love him more than anything at this moment in time.

Walking into the bathroom, he noticed her staring into the mirror. Placing his arms around her waist, he looked directly at her reflection.

“Do you think we’ll make good parents?” Looking at his reflection in the mirror- she noticed him look at her adorably with hope in his eyes.

“I believe so. What are you saying?”

“I want a future with you- and if that includes a little one, my life is complete. I’m ready for this new chapter, if you are.” Holding her stomach, leaning down into the crook of her neck, he placed light kisses there- they looked at each other through the mirror. Both feeling nervous and anxious about the commitment they had both decided on. Turning her around, he lift Riley up on to the sink.

“Are you going to seduce me then Mr Walker?”

“Damn right I am Miss Brooks.”

[sciencespies]

How the First Sports Bra Got Its Stabilizing Start

https://sciencespies.com/history/how-the-first-sports-bra-got-its-stabilizing-start/

How the First Sports Bra Got Its Stabilizing Start

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | March 18, 2020, 12:48 p.m.

It was 1977, and Hinda Miller, Lisa Lindahl and Polly Smith were doubled over with raucous laughter. They say their very clothing was in jeopardy.

“We were literally peeing in our pants we were laughing so hard,” chuckles Lindahl. The object of their amusement? Lindahl’s then-husband and his shenanigans with his jock strap.

“He put his jock strap on upside down across his chest, and put it on like a one cup bra,” Smith remembers as the others giggle in the background, “and all of a sudden we looked at him and thought, ‘Hmmm.’”

Frustrated by the bras on the market, the three co-inventors of the sports bra (from left: Polly Smith, Hinda Miller and Lisa Lindahl) made a prototype using a pair of men’s jock straps.

(National Inventors Hall of Fame)

The three told CBS News Radio that they had spent the summer going to a plethora of stores trying on bras. They were looking for comfort in the midst of the jogging craze that struck the nation after the release of incredibly popular book, The Complete Book of Running. If one looks at ads for bras in 1977, one can see there isn’t a lot of construction that would keep a woman’s breasts from bouncing painfully while running. But the jock strap looked like it could work, especially after Lindahl took it from her husband, pulled it over her own head, and pulled the pouch down over her own breast so that it worked like the cup of a brassiere.

“It made sense to me because I said, ‘Oh, that’s something you climb into,’” Smith remembers, seeing through the eyes of the costume designer she was. “It will stretch, it eliminates all the hooks, and it is nice, soft elastic. So, after that, I was on board.”

Miller, who was also a costume designer, says the whole situation was really funny because they knew nothing about bras. “We had no limitations. We didn’t know you couldn’t sew jock straps together because in costume design, creativity is the highest value and you do things out of the box. And as everyone said, that was out of the box,” says Miller.

“It was a joke during a phone call with my sister, who said, ‘What do you wear when you’re running to make you comfortable and make your breasts not bounce uncomfortably?’” Lisa Lindahl recalls

(Jogbra Inc. Collections, Archives Center, NMAH)

The whole project got started because Lindahl and her sister, Victoria Woodrow, were among the many women who took up running (they called it jogging then) in the 1970s, and their brassieres were falling down on the job.

“It was a joke during a phone call with my sister, who said, ‘What do you wear when you’re running to make you comfortable and make your breasts not bounce uncomfortably?’” Lindahl recalls. “She said,’ Why isn’t there a jock strap for women? Ha Ha Ha!’ We both laughed . . . and it’s the same idea for a different part of the anatomy.”

Lindahl says she wasn’t a jock herself, nor was she athletic. But she started running to loose weight in an era where Charlie’s Angels was on television, and women wanted to look like the stars of the show.

“And I kept running because it became really my first spiritual practice. It made me feel good. It made me feel empowered, and I came up with the idea for the bra to solve my own personal problem,” Lindahl says. “And then I thought, If I want this, I bet other women do too.”

But first, they needed to come up with a prototype, and the fabric used to make jock straps was not quite right. The garment needed a firmer fabric and a much firmer elastic. So, Smith went to New York City, bought sample yardage, and made a prototype for Lindahl to try out. Lindahl went running, and Miller ran backwards in front of her, to see if the bra worked.

Prototypes are now in the Smithsonian collections and will go on view in an upcoming exhibition “Picturing Women Inventors.”

(Jogbra Inc. Collections, Archives Center, NMAH)

“I’m going, ‘Oh no that’s really going to inhibit my run,’” Lindahl says, laughing. But she says not only did it work, it felt great. “I thought, ‘This really makes a difference.’ . . . And Hinda said, “It looks like your breasts aren’t moving so much.’ And we knew we had a winner!”

Miller adds that the run taught them a lot. For one thing, she says, you can’t stop the breasts from moving. You can only minimize that. “What we figured out that everyone does now, is we pulled the breasts closer to the central line of gravity,” she says, referring to the plethora of products that followed their lead. “When the breasts go up and down without any support, the Cooper’s ligaments stretch, and that’s not good if you want to breastfeed your baby, or all of us are quite vain and we don’t want things to hang. So, we supported the breast by pulling the breast close to the chest wall.”

“We had no limitations. We didn’t know you couldn’t sew jock straps together because in costume design, creativity is the highest value and you do things out of the box. And as everyone said, that was out of the box,” says Hinda Miller.

(Jogbra Inc. Collections, Archives Center, NMAH)

Smith gave the prototype to Lindahl and went to New York City to mount an off-Broadway play. Miller went to South Carolina to teach costume design. Lindahl formed a corporation and issued shares to the three of them, then sent the garment to Miller. At that time, they were calling it the Jock Bra. Miller showed it to the owner of a small franchise called Phidippides, where the owner’s daughter ran a 5K and offered some suggestions for alterations. Miller hired an unemployed sewing supervisor named Carolyn Morris, who worked out the sizing for what all of the women felt was an athletic garment. But in South Carolina, women didn’t like being called jocks.

“So, I called Lisa, and she said, ‘Well what about Jogbra?’ and that’s how the name came about,” Miller says, adding that her father loaned then $5,000 to get everything started. “Carolyn made 60 dozen bras. I sent half to Lisa, half to myself, and we sold them in these small running stores . . . and that’s how we started our first sales history!”

But there was a lot to learn about the marketing process, even though the Jogbra was so popular they made a profit in their very first year. They say they don’t remember how much. By 1979, they went to their first sporting goods show in Chicago. They had a small booth, and a blow-up photo of a Playboy Bunny wearing the bra. It cost $4 to make, $8 wholesale and $16 retail. Lindahl remembers that there was a line of customers ready to buy it, and a line of sales representatives who wanted to work with them. At the time, she says, they didn’t even know what a ‘rep’ was.

Marketing was at first a challenge with sporting goods stores uncomfortable with selling women’s bras.

(Jogbra Inc. Collections, Archives Center, NMAH)

“I came in from a run one day and my phone was ringing. I answered it and a man said, ‘Y’all looking for reps?’ I went, ‘What’s a rep?’” Lindahl laughs. “There’s this long pause and this lovely gentleman said, ‘Y’all new to the sporting goods industry?’ And I said, ‘Yeah.’”

Lindahl says he spent an hour and a half on the phone with her, explaining how the industry worked, what a trade show was, and what they should and should not do. She hired him on the spot, and the company did so well they sold it 12 years later to Playtex Apparel. They won’t say for how much. Other sales followed, the brand got subsumed by Champion Sportswear and the rest is history.

The “Jogbra Inc. Collection,” including the prototypes, some sketches and early advertising and marketing materials, is held in the Archives Center of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History, though it is not currently on display. The three women just did a panel discussion sponsored by the museum’s Lemelson Center for the Study of Invention and Innovation, and they have been inducted this year into the National Inventors Hall of Fame. They will also be featured in the museum’s upcoming exhibition “Picturing Women Inventors.”

But all these years later, with women everywhere sporting Jogbras, Polly Smith has to smile at the fact that she created the very first prototype.

“When I’m in the gym,” Smith says, “and these women are strutting around in it and I’m like, laughing to myself.”

The exhibition “Picturing Women Inventors,” sponsored by the Lemelson Center, is scheduled to go on view May 22, 2020 at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History in Washington, D.C. Currently, to support the effort to contain the spread of COVID-19, all Smithsonian museums in Washington, D.C. and in New York City, as well as the National Zoo, are temporarily closed. Check listings for updates.

#History

[esttian]

Attire

@ironstrangehaven ‘s gift exchange.

Summary: After saving half the universe from the Mad Titan, Tony is sent to recover to Kamar-taj under Stephen's watch. There, Tony discovers his affinity to magic and raises in the ranks exponentially quickly. As he obtains the title of Master, the arrangement for Tony's personal robes are tasked to Stephen.

Notes: I signed as a pinch hitter for the Ironstrange gift exchange. Rating: Mature

Prompt: Stephen teaching Tony magic/showing him around the sanctum/dressing him up robes

For @sondercurse  (I can’t tag them) Hope you like it.  Read in AO3

A length of carmine cloth floats along his left side hip, like a smooth river kissing his skin in its wake. The material twirls around, caressing along his lower back, to circle over to his front and up his chest, making him squirm slightly as he tries to contain the laughter trying to erupt.

“Stephen,” Tony calls out, fisting his hand against his sides, trying his hardest not to squirm. Cladded only in his boxers on top a circular pedestal, an inch or two high, making him look taller than Stephen for once.

Rolls of different colored fibers dancing around him in a magic show should be disconcerting, but his attention was focused on a bigger issue other than his naked state, which he didn’t mind, or fairytale dress up. What ticked Tony off was the detached and uninterested look on the ex-doctor’s pale blue eyes, his gaze shifting from cloth to cloth floating over them, nonchalantly touching one before turning to another, looking at everywhere but Tony.

Tony wasn’t pouting. He was not.

“I don’t need a dress for the ball,” he teased, seeing another meter of cloth a shade darker of Stephen’s annoying cape (It’s a cloak, Tony) pass his side. He almost confused the floating material for the sentient ca-cloak. It wasn’t around it’s master, perhaps jealous of the attention Stephen was giving to all these cloths. Tony could relate.

The sorcerer merely provided Tony with a tiny noise, as if that was enough to make note that he was somewhat paying attention to him. But not enough. Almost as if reading his thought, Stephen extended his reply: “You have reached the level of Master, Tony. Every single Master wears their uniquely designated robes. As the Sorcerer Supreme, and the only one willing to deal with your attitude, I will see that your robe is agreeable to your taste.”

“How noble,” Tony mumble dripping with sarcasm, trying to get Stephen’s usual reaction, the start of a small bantering, but the same upset feeling came back when Stephen gave him his back as if to shut him up. Ignoring him.

Tony was sulking now.

Yeah, sure. Ironman was not at the peak of his ripe years anymore and maybe, the years had been harsh with him; alien invasions, a Terminator menace, civil wars and a nihilist grape titan could do that to you. But he would call himself still quite eye-catching.

He worked out almost daily, Captain made sure of that. His lungs were not what they used to be, years of smoke and alcohol taking their toll. But his body was better, his skin had faded scars, but the visible muscles and lines that framed him were enticing.

Either way, Stephen refused to linger on him no more than the necessary. As scarred fingers beckoned a maroon cloth over, Tony glared at the sorcerer. “Even if you try, you can’t set me on fire with your scowling, Tony,” Stephen brushed him off, voice loud in his ear at the silence and small space, without even looking.

“I can certainly try,” Tony quipped back. Stephen’s luscious lips pulled up into a small smile, his cheekbones standing sharper in the soft light of the room. His features seemed dangerous and more defined beneath the illumination, turning the already sharp bone structure into a truly breathtaking angle.

Stephen let the roll of cloth float up with the others. His moment was slow, like a musician singing off the notes of his symphony onto existence for the world to relinquish in. There had been a moment where Tony didn’t believe such a man could exist. He wondered if Thor lied to him when they presented Strange, and he was the god amongst men. He truly acted as one.

His body shivered when those piercing galaxies turned to him, calculating and sizing him up. The mirth in them making those eyes hooded with delight.

Finally.

Tony perked up internally at him, those bluish greens ran down and up his body. He felt acutely aware of the gaze and ever inch of tanned skin it skimmed over without shame. It left him tingling, making his heart pick up its pace, his mouth and throat suddenly dry and a growing heat settling on his ears and nape. Stephen didn’t move, he merely watched him.

 The Sanctum was warm, he had felt the room warming up slightly for him when he undressed from his suit, perhaps to sooth his vulnerable state. But right now, he felt too hot, his blood boiled, his guts were amid a war under the Sorcerer Supreme’s gaze. His chest raised and got abruptly stuck, forgetting how to function for a second when Stephen stepped closer.

Like a trapped animal. Defenseless at his mercy.

Shit. Fucking erotic.

“Don’t,” was Stephen's only command, his voice low and dangerous, and Tony wanted to move just to see what laid after that threat.

But, didn’t.

He didn’t want to break this spell. Exhilarating and so goddamn good.

Stephen circled around him humming in thoughtful manner, Tony held his breath until Stephen was back in front of him, at arm reach, so close he could extend a hand, grip that tunic and drag him over to slam their bodies together. He wanted to feel Stephen towering over him with that handsome smirk on his face, shading him from the light and world with his broad lithe body, and relieve the maddening heat coiling inside him.

“Tony”

Tony snapped out of his feverish thoughts, his brown eyes looking up from the floor to Stephen’s eyes that crinkled to the genuine fond smile that ignited many unwilling responses in his body. “What-” Tony asked breathless with a loss for words, stolen by Stephen.

“I said,” Stephen prompted finding Tony scattered self rather cute instead of rude, the jerk knew very well he was the reason, and that made him attractively smug. The bastard. Thin lips tugging at one side with amusement. Tony’s heart skipped a beat. “Turn around. I will take your measurements.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. Why not simply walk around him like before? Stephen seemed to like that very much, like a predator playing with his next meal, ready to pounce him. Still, he complied. Forcing his tense muscles to move, his legs felt heavy, Stephen sole focused on him now. His brown eyes opening slightly in surprise at the sight of his reflection.

A full-size mirror floated in front of him, not moving a lot besides a little swaying. He could see his blush running down his neck, his shaky breaths as his ribcage raised slowly, the scar at the center pink and nostalgic, but most of all, he can see Stephen behind him. His dark hair looking ebony black, contrasting his silver strikes at the side more intensely, crystal sea foam eyes catching his chocolate ones with that smirk. Oh.

Tony had been an active lover in his youth, he got the title -playboy- for a reason. He was open to any and every experience, trying to grab and eat all the world could offer in his life span. But, becoming Ironman and saving earth, the universe, and sometimes, reality; took away that part of his sexual life. Tony Stark’s libido had been tucked away forgotten in a chest with several locks, not by choice, but there was always something to do, he had people to save and alien’s asses to kick.

He was alone, no one was going to come interrupt them, all the time in the world with a sexy wizard behind him, holding each other’s eyes with electricity coursing through. The locks are rattling.

Click

“Is there a problem, Mister Stark?” Stephen mused, his voice a tone too low to be called appropriate. Back at that donut spaceship, Stephen had mentioned in their argument how he didn’t work for him. At this moment, he would love Stephen as his personal assistant. He could imagine him wearing an expensive suit, provided by yours truly, just to please his boss, saying those professional word in a lewd and enticing manner. He would love to comb those soft black and white locks back, looking sharp enough to kill a man; Tony would order a pair of reading glasses with framed royal blue edges to compliment those ice-cold cyan eyes.

Imagination was a dangerous thing, Stephen started taking his measures as his mind wandered. Being Stephen’s boss, an office affair, Tony was too much into roleplay, but he could just imagine the possibilities. Stephen cornered against his desk, pointing how this was a very bad idea but still summitting to his ministrations. Tony would sooth his worries, he would whisper sweet promises to ravage him while wearing the suit he bought him, because Stephen was his to reverent and enjoy. He would enjoy ripping those layers of expensive cotton off his body, to reveal the tender marble skin underneath, asking to be marked and claimed. Watching Stephen look outraged at the way he discards the suit, that most likely, would cost a year salary for some.

Clank

Tony felt a hand grazing his hips, to cup them, thumbs rubbing circles in his lower back. His mind was so far away that the touch made him jolt and send shivers down his back and right into his crotch, which was already strained by his line of thought. Stephen hummed, ignoring the delightful noise he managed to rip from Tony when he pulled him back so his naked back pressed against his clothed chest.

“Where did you go?” Stephen asks softly into the shell of his ear, lips crushing against the skin with each word. Tony let out a whimper, throwing his head back, trying to get closer to the body behind him. Stephen chuckled, the motion allowed him to let feathered kisses down his neck, each managing a shudder out of the smaller man.

“Thinking…” Tony said in a breath, his mouth opening to let out a long sigh of pure heat. Stephen hummed in question, moving his attention back to Tony’s ear, nipping tenderly on the earlobe. Tony gasped, clenching his teeth as his whole body trembled at the assault.

Stephen allowed Tony to breath for a second, letting the ear go, “You must be tired,” Stephen said, his words teasing and husky, smiling when Tony grumbled at him. He could stay like this, holding Tony by the hips, feeling him heated warm from pure attention against him, exploring the ripples and tides those muscles created that had been tempting him since the moment he laid eyes on that sun kissed skin. But he could do all that in the confinements of his room.

Later.

“Your robe is ready,” Stephen told him after a moment of self-indulgence. He stepped back, basking on the angry groan of complaint Tony made when their bodies separated, before chanting lowly the spell.

Tony gasped as soft warm robes appeared, covering his body from head to toe. The chest cut resembled Stephen's, but he had a hoodie hanging on his shoulders. The Robe fell gracefully around him, the edges barely touching the floor. The knee boots and pants were exposed since the robe opened in the front to allow mobility. No sleeves, he was wearing gloves though. The gloves reached his elbow, the fingers were cut at the first knuckle and they felt sturdy, packing a punch. He flexed his fingers, testing them, seeing how some sparks glimmered on the knuckles. Magic gloves, of course.

Tony liked it.

It was an array of reds he could barely identify, shades of maroon and carmine. The belt that held his robes was golden, and there was an opening for his arch reactor on his chest. The length may have been too much, but he enjoyed the sway when he moved his hips, and if Stephen’s stiff clenched jaw was any indication, so did he.

Tony smiled at the sorcerer, stepping down from the pedestal to be chest to chest with Stephen. Leaning up on his toes to land a chaste kiss on his jaw and whispers on his pale skin, “Thank you, Godmother”. Stephen grunted, Tony could feel the rumble on his hands over Stephen’s chest, making him laugh. Stephen looked down at him with a small smile and he replied with his own.

The Sorcerer Supreme lowered his head, warping his arms around Tony’s waist, and pulling them flush together. Tony shivered, the heat on his guts coming back, asking, begging and yelling for relief that could only be obtained by the man who conquered his heart. Stephen kissed his cheek before moving his lips to his flushed pink ear, as if to share a secret even though they were alone. “Allow me to show you how to remove them,” and Tony let out a moan, the words went straight through him and he couldn't do much but nod, eager and needy. Already breathless, he managed to make out one word, one word that crumbled Stephen's control.

 "Please "

[spn-meanttobe]

Spn Meant To Be Masterlist - 2016

Here is the roundup from the last spn_meanttobe challenge! The entries were wonderful and stay tuned for details regrading a brand new challenge coming this way soon!

RPS

Title: Butterfly in a Glass case Author: all_the_damned Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 5K+ Warnings: dollification, spanking, rimming, indentured servitude, prostitution, BDSM, dubious consent/non-con, hurt/comfort, mental atrophy, body modification, control collars Prompt: "Captured": Lifelong best friends James Laird and Lola Caraway are reunited when Lola moves to LA after college. Lola is starting her new life, new job, and a new romance with a successful lawyer--a relationship which forces James to question the nature of his feelings for Lola.James has always been a master at pleasuring women, so it was an easy transition to play a Master on-screen in a series of BDSM videos which have brought him fame and the promise of a lucrative career. The films have also brought him the attention of hardcore producer Eva Satana, who wants James to be a ruthless Dominant -for real- in her brutal and extreme BDSM scenes.James soon finds himself caught in a contract he cannot break and compelled by threats to the woman who's stood by him through everything.Summary: When you’re a doll, there’s not much to do other than dream. Jared can barely remember a time when he wasn’t a doll. On the best and worst days, he gets to be with Jensen. Link to fic: Ao3 (Must be logged in to read) Title: Can a Girl Ever Have Too Many Cowboys? Artist: beelikej Pairing: Danneel/Jeff/Jensen/Jared Rating: PG-13 Medium: Photoshop Warnings: Polymory Prompt: 33. The Trouble With Texas CowboysNo sooner does pint-sized spitfire Jill Cleary set foot on Fiddle Creek Ranch than she finds herself in the middle of a hundred-year-old feud. Quaid Brennan and Tyrell Gallagher are both tall, handsome, and rich...and both are courting Jill to within an inch of her life. She's doing her best to give these feuding ranchers equal time-too bad it's dark-eyed Sawyer O'Donnell who makes her blood boil and her hormones hum.Link to art: LiveJournal Title: Home of the present Author: crimsonepitaph Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: R Word Count: 32K Warnings: language, mentions of depression Prompt: A man in need of a comeback…A woman in need of love. Off the court, tennis star Jason Cartwright's playboy image is taking a public beating. On the court, he's down forty-love. A comeback is in order, but the makeover he needs is in the hands of the woman he loved and left fifteen years ago. While single-mom, Izzy Connors, sees people for who they really are through the lens of her camera, even without it, she knows Jason isn't the star he appears to be. All she sees is his wasted talent and playboy lifestyle. Will the click of her camera shatter his world as well as his heart? Summary: Jared Padalecki is a failing tennis legend striving for a comeback. Jensen Ackles is the unwitting photographer co-opted in the makeover project, a biography meant to change the game. Single dad, definitely not a fan of Padalecki's, and a cynical human being in general, Jensen takes the job out of necessity, and gears for a year long charade. But what happens when Jensen discovers more than he signed up for - not just about Padalecki, but about himself?Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Jensen's Choice Author: zara_zee Artist: amberdreams Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 44K Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, torture, minor character deaths, dubious consent*, rough sex, light kink (bondage, spanking, edging/orgasm delay,cock cage, slight D/s), crime, discussions of child abuse, smoking, drug use, addict in recovery, bad language and homophobic insults.*For the purposes of a dark romance, I’ll say dubious consent, however it should be noted that in the beginning, Jared has all the power and Jensen’s consent is definitely coerced. In the real world, I would classify that as rape. On the whole many unhealthy attitudes to consent are conveyed here.Prompt: An ex-pool hustler must fight her attraction to a sinful, sexy biker when she's kidnapped by the Dragons MC and sold to the club's Vice-President. Summary: Seven years ago talented pool hustler Jensen Ackles fled LA for his home state of Texas—with a price on his head and HellSpawn MC on his tail. Now, Jensen’s past has finally caught up with him. His debt has been bought out by the Vice-President of HellSpawn, Jared Padalecki, who expects Jensen to satisfy his dark sexual appetites. But even worse than life as the VP’s beck-and-call boy is the very real possibility that Jensen just might be falling for the sinfully sexy biker. Link to fic: on LiveJournal Link to art: on LiveJournal Title: Pranking the Padalecki Author: whiskygalore Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 9K Warnings: younger Jensen, older Jared, spanking, bad language, schmoop with a happy ending Prompt: The Brat Next Door Tessa Randall has loved playing practical jokes on her brother's best friend, Trace Samuels, for as long as she can remember. But when she pushes him too far one day, she finds herself getting her long-overdue comeuppance over his lap. When Trace follows this treatment with a kiss, Tessa's confused emotions take an unexpected twist. Has she been menacing the boy next door her whole life, just to get closer to him? Has it been her motive all along to simply get his attention? And if so, where does she go now that she unquestionably has it? Summary: Jensen Ackles has loved pranking his brother’s best friend, Jared Padalecki, for almost as long as he can remember. But when he pushes Jared too far one day and finds himself on the wrong end of a spanking, Jensen lets slip a secret that might change things forever.Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Up Against Your Will Author: amypond45 Pairing: Jared/Jensen, past Jared/Genevieve, past Jensen/others Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 17K Warnings: reference to past rape/abuse (not graphic or specific) Prompt: Blind Wolf: Julia has never been on a date in her life. She's a curvy girl with no money, no education, and no way out of the town she works in as a library assistant... until Damien shows up. He's just like the prince charming Julia always imagined would sweep her off of her feet. There are just a few things standing in the way of true happiness: he's blind, he's dating someone, and he's WAY out of her league. Oh, and he's a werewolf. Damien lost his eyes two years ago in a wolf battle. Ever since then, the straggler pack of disabled wolves he leads has been searching for a place to call home. One house seems like the perfect choice, but Damien realizes too late that the person who lives there is the girl he met at the library. The human girl. Damien is torn between loyalty to his pack and raw lusting desire for the girl who haunts his dreams day and night. She's a human. How could she be his true mate? Summary: Jensen wasn’t planning to rent out the apartment in his basement. But when a tall, handsome stranger offers him a deal he can’t refuse, Jensen puts aside his natural shyness and lets Jared move into his home. Now Jensen’s having intense dreams, hearing strange sounds in the night, and one day he sees a wolf in his backyard. Can Jensen regain his carefully ordered life (and his sanity) before it completely unravels? Or will he give in to his passion for the beautiful blind man with all the wildness in his heart? Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Dead men do tell tales Author: siriala Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 18K Warnings: mildly creepy and supernatural stuff surrounding death (which is not made into a major issue in this fic), shady but friendly Chad, voyeurism, judgmental and mean people Prompt: Her Ladyship's CompanionIn the Scottish countryside of Selkirk, Lady Isabella Stirling resides at Bowhill Park, serving penance for a sin that nearly ruined her family. For five years she has been condemned to a loveless marriage and confined to the estate where she does little more than tend her rose garden. With her husband absent for months at a time and few visitors, Bella lives a lonely existence, denying the passions that burn within her very soul.Then her cousin comes for a visit and makes an outrageous suggestion: what Bella needs is a lover. A hired lover. Despite her need, Bella says no. But soon Mr. Gideon Rosedale arrives-and he is at her service for two weeks. Indulging in what she intends to be a harmless flirtation, Bella is overcome by Gideon's intoxicating presence. And when she at last permits him to satisfy her desires, she discovers she's done the unthinkable-she's fallen in love.Summary: Jared has been alone most of his life. Good thing dead people can't be picky when he talks to them. Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: The Roommate Author: ashtraythief Artist: beelikej Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 for fic, PG-13 for art Word Count: 12.6K Warnings: ummm… there’s porn? And description of unhygienic storage of clothes? Unhealthy amounts of cereal consumption? Idk, this is just really schmoopy and floofy. Prompt: One Night With Her RoommateEver since her former roommates deserted her, Meg has had to share an apartment with a lazy, obnoxious ass. He won’t pick up after himself, and he refuses to get a good job. Plus, he doesn’t always wear enough clothes—which is really a problem, because he’s hot. Maybe he’s occasionally funny. And every now and then he can be sweet. But mostly he’s just annoying. It doesn’t matter how much he’s starting to flirt with her—Meg is going to resist. She’s way too smart to fall for a guy who never takes anything seriously. But then everything changes in only one night.Summary: When Jared moves in with Jensen, Jensen’s life is turned upside down. Jared is a terrible roommate; messy, loud and entirely obnoxious. Unfortunately, he’s also pretty hot and even kinda nice when his socks aren’t clogging up the sink. Not that Jensen would ever do anything about that, because Jared is straight and a giant slob. Or so Jensen thinks. Link to fic: on Ao3 Link to art: on LiveJournal Title: My Wicked Pirate Artist: kinkajou Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: G Warnings: none Prompt: Azure-eyed Alanis was by far the most exquisite treasure ever claimed by the black pirate known as the Viper, but his motives went deeper than his silken promise to ravish the feisty Yorkshire heiress. Commanding the waters of the Caribbean was his means to an end: reclaiming his birthright—and his blood debt against those who had betrayed him.Then he gave her nights of wicked pleasure...Comfortably betrothed to a nobleman, Alanis never imagined the heady emotions involved in the true games of seduction—games this blackguard seemed to thoroughly enjoy playing with her. Swept up into an adventure that soon revealed a gentleman and kindred spirit beneath the ruthless veneer of a privateer, Alanis began to soften towards her enigmatic captor, as her pride and her heart fell under his erotic spell.Link to art: on Ao3 Title: After All This Time Author: safiyabat Artist: vilabelle Pairing: Jared/Jensen, Gen/Danneel, Jared/Stephen, J2DG Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 7K Warnings: Internalized homophobia, het sex, Chad Prompt: Kinky Neighbors: The Mitchells and the Harts have been next door neighbors and friends for the past year. They have loads in common; double incomes, professional careers, no kids...and a kinky streak. Now they're about to become very good friends...with kinky benefits. The sex between them all is hot, naughty, and unbearably exciting. It isn't merely swapping partners and moving to another room; it's true foursome sex, same room, same bed, all four involved. For Drew and Cat Mitchell and Logan and Alexis Hart, it's about barreling through boundaries none of them have ever crossed before, doing kinky things they've only fantasized about. But when they begin to exchange not just sex but emotional connection, the problems start; a little jealousy, feeling left out, wanting more from the wrong partner. Can two couples really share everything without losing it all? Summary: Jensen's a pretty happy guy. He's happily married to his hometown sweetheart, Danneel, and he's got a thriving law practice in Austin. He lives next door to his lifelong best friend, Jared, who is married to his and Danneel's girlfriend, Gen. When Danneel and Gen suggest bringing Jared into the bedroom, though, things get weird. Jensen thought Jared had gotten over his schoolboy crush on Jensen, but it turns out that Jared isn't the only one with lingering feelings.Link to fic: on LiveJournal Link to art: on LiveJournal Title: The Lost Author: phoenix1966 Artist: amberdreams Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 93K Warnings: swearing, murder (off-screen), violence, m/m, top!Jensen, bottom!Jared, bottom!Misha (offscreen) Prompt: Al King is a rock singer and selfish stud extraordinaire. His brother and manager, Paul King, gets Al whatever he wants and boy does he want a lot. Dallas is a former hooker gone beauty queen/actress. Everyone wants a piece of her and she plays hardball like the best of them. What happens when the plane they are on crashes in the middle of the Amazon jungle? Summary: Big screen star Jensen Ackles was on his way to Brazil to continue filming his latest project. He was glad to lose himself in the role and bury the pain of his broken heart by slipping on a stranger’s skin. Because of his manager’s twisted attempt to help, he found himself on a private jet with a high-class rent boy. Before he could figure out what to do with that, a bolt of lightning sent them tumbling into the rainforest. Link to fic: on Ao3 Link to art: on LiveJournal Title: The Other Wesson Author: firesign10 Artist: milly_gal Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 8K Warnings: none Prompt: Beth Bradley has a problem. Everyone is expecting her successful music executive boyfriend, Charlie, to be her date for her best friend’s wedding. There’s one hitch: Charlie doesn’t exist. Unless she can think of something fast, she’s headed for the most humiliating weekend of her life. Alex Tanner has a problem. The former Navy SEAL's search for a double agent lands him at the Kensington Hotel, and he needs a cover to finish the job. When the sexy maid of honor blackmails him into pretending to be her lover, he thinks he's been handed the solution. Except Beth has a way of stumbling into trouble, and when the man Alex is hunting starts targeting Beth, Alex has to decide between solving the mystery or protecting the woman who has stolen his heart. Summary: Jensen Ackles has a problem. Everyone is expecting his successful accountant boyfriend, Sam Wesson, to be his date for his best friend’s wedding. And Jensen is the wedding planner! There’s one hitch: Sam doesn’t exist. Unless he can think of something fast, Jensen is headed for the biggest humiliation of his life. Jared Padalecki has a problem. The government agent's search for a possible sex trafficking ring lands him at the Isla Grande Resort on the Gulf of Mexico, and he needs a cover to finish the job. When he meets the sexy wedding planner while planting a bug in his room, Jensen blackmails him into pretending to be his boyfriend. Jared doesn't mind--he thinks he's been handed the ideal cover. Except Jensen stumbles into trouble, and Jared has to decide if this resort romance is just play-acting—or the real thing! Link to fic: on Ao3 (art embedded in fic) Title: These Violent Delights Author: dimpled_sammy Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 82K Warnings: Violence, gangsters, minor character death Prompt: Romancing the Mob Boss. Trina Hathaway is a waitress in a Las Vegas strip joint who spends a romantic evening with a good looking hunk she met at the club. Hoping to see him again, but not disappointed when she doesn’t, she goes on with her life. But a week later, when she interviews for a job at the renowned PaLargio Hotel and Casino on the Vegas Strip, and discovers that the owner of the hotel is the man she had slept with, a man who very much wishes to rekindle what they had captured that passionate night, her entire life spirals into a new and dramatic world where family ties and ever-increasing violence ropes them in. Summary: Jared Padalecki has only ever wanted to get out of Sin City. Trapped by extenuating circumstances, he works as a waiter in a Las Vegas strip joint, doing what he can to get by, including spending a romantic evening with a handsome stranger who wanders into the club one night. Hoping to see the stranger again, but not disappointed when he doesn’t, Jared moves on with his life. A month later, Jared interviews for a job as a financial consultant at one of the largest and newly made over Hotels on the Vegas strip. Jared gets the job, only to discover that his new boss is the same man he slept with: Jensen Ackles, the enigmatic and ice cold business man. Jensen Ackles, the city's biggest mob boss. Torn between his longing to get out of the city and his yearning to be closer to Jensen, Jared finds himself being sucked into a new and dangerous world where loyalty is everything, passion exists on a knife-edge, and the ever-increasing violence makes it impossible to escape. Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Heartstrings Author: madebyme_x Artist: quickreaver Pairing: Jared/Jensen Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 7.5K Warnings: Language and references to drug and alcohol abuse Prompt: Heartstrings. As Julia prepares to settle in for another typical 12-hour shift in the ER, she's ready to handle anything...That's before Slade Hale rolls into her life...on a stretcher surrounded by 15 doctors and nurses. To her he's just another patient, and a cocky asshole Rock Star with an ego. Or at least that's what she thinks. When she's assigned to be his personal nurse, Julia suddenly feels out of her comfort zone. Slade is the most beautiful man she's ever seen in person and even in his vulnerable condition he seethes of raw sex appeal. When he starts to wake up, that's when the real trouble begins...Julia desperately attempts to fight his charm and wit, to stay professional, to keep the upper hand. Summary: Washed-up rock star Jared is rushed to hospital, and it's up to uptight nurse Jensen to fix more than broken bones. But what is it that they say? Opposites attract, or something like that... Link to fic: on LiveJournal Link to art: on LiveJournal

Supernatural

Title: Behind Glass Author: museaway Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Teen Word Count: 21.3K Warnings: Temporary Character Death Prompt: Life as he has known it is over for Adan when his mother tells him she has bought a mansion in an exclusive community high in the redwood mountains. There are no other young people living there except one, a girl named Chrystal who has never been outside the community before or known anyone her own age. But Adan can only admire Chrystal from afar, she is beautiful and he is covered in scars. Summary: Castiel has spent his life secluded in the woods. At his father’s warning, he’s never left the property. He has no memory of his mother, and his father doesn’t come above twice a year with supplies now that Castiel is grown. But when he befriends a boy named Sam who trespasses on his land, and Sam's older brother, whose face and arm were maimed in an accident, he begins to doubt everything his father has told him. Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: The Trouble with Benny Author: angelus2hot Pairing: Dean/Benny Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 2K Warnings: none Prompt: Can a girl ever have too many cowboys?No sooner does pint-sized spitfire Jill Cleary set foot on Fiddle Creek Ranch than she finds herself in the middle of a hundred-year-old feud. Quaid Brennan and Tyrell Gallagher are both tall, handsome, and rich...and both are courting Jill to within an inch of her life. She's doing her best to give these feuding ranchers equal time-too bad it's dark-eyed Sawyer O'Donnell who makes her blood boil and her hormones hum.Summary: It took awhile for Sam to realize even though Dean could have almost anyone he wanted, his brother only wanted Benny. But when he did he and Garth devised a plan to get Dean to finally go after what he wanted. Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Happenstance Author: stonenumberone Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 18K Warnings: Pre-series AU, underage sex, underage drinking, complete lack of listening to the concept of Stranger Danger, swearing and just a little bit of angst and sibling incest. Prompt: Colin Hartman can now add college to his list of failures. On the coast-to-coast trek home from California, Colin stops at a gas station in the Nevada desert, and can’t help noticing the guy in tight jeans looking like he just stepped off a catwalk. When he realizes Catwalk is stranded, Colin offers a ride. Riley only intended to take a short ride in Colin’s Jeep to the Grand Canyon. But one detour leads to another until they finally find themselves tumbling into bed together. However there are shadows in Riley’s eyes that hide a troubled past. And when those shadows threaten to bury the man whom Colin has fallen in love with, he vows to get Riley the help he needs. For once in his life, quitting isn’t an option… Summary: Dean’s never been really good at that whole “accomplishment” thing. Drifting is the one thing he really knows how to do, and a trip after his latest failure—college—with just him, his car, and the wide open road is exactly what he needs. Running into a boy with legs longer than the California coastline was definitely not on the agenda, but hey, it’s not like Dean has anywhere else to be. When the trip becomes more of a series of detours, Dean finds himself more and more drawn to the young Sam, who seems to be carrying more baggage than Dean originally thought. A secret revealed threatens to shatter everything they’ve built together in this short time; will they make it through or crash and burn like every other thing Dean has ever touched? Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Sunrise Cove Obsession Author: smalltrolven Pairing: Sam/Dean Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 9K Warnings: Beyond Awful!John Winchester Prompt: Naomi Bowes lost her innocence the night she followed her father into the woods. In freeing the girl trapped in the root cellar, Naomi revealed the horrible extent of her father’s crimes and made him infamous. No matter how close she gets to happiness, she can’t outrun the sins of Thomas David Bowes. Now a successful photographer living under the name Naomi Carson, she has found a place that calls to her, a rambling old house in need of repair, thousands of miles away from everything she’s ever known. Naomi wants to embrace the solitude, but the kindly residents of Sunrise Cove keep forcing her to open up—especially the determined Xander Keaton. Naomi can feel her defenses failing, and knows that the connection her new life offers is something she’s always secretly craved. But the sins of her father can become an obsession, and, as she’s learned time and again, her past is never more than a nightmare away. Summary: When the boys are forcibly separated at twelve and eight by a father gone mad their lives take very different turns. When they are then reunited fifteen years later, they don’t recognize each other. Dean’s promise to stay away from Sam even though unwittingly broken brings a danger back that may kill them both. Link to fic: on Ao3 Title: Indelible Author: dare_darcy Pairing: Dean/Sam Rating: M Word Count: 25K Warnings: Light BDSM Prompt: Leni Brewster should have been disappointed when her twin sister had to bail on holding her hand during her first tattoo, but going to her appointment solo means time alone with the sexy-as-hell tattoo artist who falls into the Do Not Touch category. Only Jamie Rodriguez isn't as off-limits as Leni thinks. Privately single for months, Jamie finds himself more than looking forward to having the hot little librarian in his chair. And when she accidentally reveals a naughty secret about herself, he can't get his hands on her fast enough-he has to know what else she's hiding under that buttoned-up exterior. What he discovers sets his blood to boiling, igniting a burning determination to test every single one of the boundaries, both personal and physical, that she's set for herself. Summary: Dean Singer is a tattoo artist, single and unhappily so. Sam Winchester is the sexy librarian who has been feeding his secret book habit. When Sam walks into Dean's shop, will Sam break through Dean's walls and see the man beneath? (Summary to be fixed when I'm not sleep deprived.) Link to fic: on Ao3

[realcleverissues]

In a 1990 Playboy interview, Trump said he liked George H.W. Bush, but added, 'I disagree with him when he talks of a kinder, gentler America.'

Trump Refused To Say Whether He Regrets His Attacks On The Bush Family

Btw, the playboy interview (available here) is fascinating and terrifying, especially since this took place before we found out a lot more about him, like how he greatly exaggerated his wealth and its source. And it’s a long interview, but so fucked up I literally couldn’t stop. Anyways, highlights include:

He bought a super yacht that actually once belonged to Jamal Khashogi’s uncle! (And later lost $9 million when he eventually sold it - x).  

“At the age of eight, little Donald borrowed Robert's cherished toy blocks, glued them together into one giant skyscraper and never returned them, thereafter exercising his fantasies about changing Manhattan's skyline.”

“His father, who harped on the importance of "knowing how to make a buck," regarded mop-haired Donald as "rough and wild," shipped him off to the New York Military Academy in Cornwall-on-Hudson and, some say, forever instilled in him a gnawing sense of inadequacy that fueled the boy's ambition” [Trump’s reaction to this claim: “He adored Donald Trump and I've always known that. But I did want to prove to my father and other people that I had the ability to be successful on my own.” And yes, he spoke of himself in the 3rd person.

"Trump was also recently shaken when, last October, three key executives died in a helicopter crash; the boss reportedly narrowly missed death, deciding at the last minute that he was too busy to travel. 'I never realized,' says Trump today, 'how deaths outside the family could have such a profound effect on me. It's a tragic waste.'“

“Rich men are less likely to like me, but the working man likes me because he knows I worked hard and didn't inherit what I've built.”

“I like the challenge and tell the story of the coal miner's son. The coal miner gets black-lung disease, his son gets it, then his son. If I had been the son of a coal miner, I would have left the damn mines. But most people don't have the imagination--or whatever--to leave their mine. They don't have ‘"it.'”

“People are too trusting. I'm a very untrusting guy. I study people all the time, automatically; it's my way of life, for better or worse... I enjoy testing friendship.... Everything in life to me is a psychological game, a series of challenges you either meet or don't. I am always testing people who work for me... I instinctively mistrust many people. It is not a negative in my life but a positive.”

PB: How large a role does pure ego play in your deal making and enjoyment of publicity? DJT: Every successful person has a very large ego. PB: Every successful person? Mother Teresa? Jesus Christ? DJT: Far greater egos than you will ever understand. PB: And the Pope? DJT: Absolutely...

“I was very unimpressed [with the Soviet Union]. Their system is a disaster. What you will see there soon is a revolution; the signs are all there with the demonstrations and picketing. Russia is out of control and the leadership knows it. That's my problem with Gorbachev. Not a firm enough hand... When the students poured into Tiananmen Square, the Chinese government almost blew it. Then they were vicious, they were horrible, but they put it down with strength. That shows you the power of strength. Our country is right now perceived as weak..."

"I predict [Gorbachev] will be overthrown, because he has shown extraordinary weakness. Suddenly, for the first time ever, there are coal-miner strikes and brush fires everywhere--which will all ultimately lead to a violent revolution.”

“I've always thought about the issue of nuclear war; it's a very important element in my thought process. It's the ultimate, the ultimate catastrophe, the biggest problem this world has, and nobody's focusing on the nuts and bolts of it... I believe the greatest of all stupidities is people's believing it will never happen, because everybody knows how destructive it will be, so nobody uses weapons. What bullshit.”

“He [a potential president trump] would believe very strongly in extreme military strength. He wouldn't trust anyone. He wouldn't trust the Russians; he wouldn't trust our allies; he'd have a huge military arsenal, perfect it, understand it."

“I think power sometimes corrupts--"sometimes" has to be added.” - i.e. it corrupts others, but not him. 

“I know politicians who love women who don't even want to be known for that--because they might lose the gay vote. OK?”

 PB: What is marriage to you? Is it monogamous? DJT: I don't have to answer that. I never speak about my wife--which is one of the advantages of not being a politician. My marriage is and should be a personal thing.

“Ten years ago, bad publicity was much harder for me to take than it is now. It is almost irrelevant.”

“We're here and we live our sixty, seventy or eighty years and we're gone. You win, you win, and in the end, it doesn't mean a hell of a lot. But it is something to do--to keep you interested.”

“I truly believe that someone successful is never really happy, because dissatisfaction is what drives him.“

“Statistically, my children have a very bad shot. Children of successful people are generally very, very troubled, not successful.”

“There's something about mother earth that's awfully good, and mother earth is still real estate. With the right financing, you've essentially invested no money.“ 

“I'm very fair and I have had the same people working for me for years. Rarely does anybody leave me.” 

PB: Is there a master plan to your deal making or is it all improvisational? DJT: It's much more improvisational than people might think.

[acsversace-news]

For months during the filming of American Crime Story, Ricky Martin found himself back in the closet—this time playing Antonio D’Amico, the longtime lover of the late Gianni Versace. In the pilot episode of the FX series, a detective with the Miami Police Department interrogates D’Amico after the designer is murdered. Unsure what D’Amico means when he refers to Versace as his “partner,” he questions the nature of their relationship, invoking the young men D’Amico would procure for him, some of them duly compensated, and asking, “Did he pay you?”

“To love him?” responds D’Amico, still covered in the blood of his boyfriend of 15 years, though he seems more wounded by the detective’s callous assertion—the idea that two men could ever be in a committed relationship is completely foreign to him. Yet the moment illustrates one of the overarching themes of the second installment of American Crime Story, based on Maureen Orth’s 1999 book Vulgar Favors, and adapted by British author Tom Rob Smith. Just as The People v. OJ Simpson before it offered an all-too-timely commentary on racism, The Assassination of Gianni Versace promises to tackle issues like homophobia, gun violence, and the dark allure of fame.

“I believe that the story of injustice this series will bring to the table will spark a lot of conversations about things that we, as the LGBTQ community, were dealing with in the ’90s, and that we’re still dealing with,” says Martin, though he shies away from revealing too many details about The Assassination. “At this point in our lives, there shouldn’t be stigmas over the things that we are going to be talking about.”

The show, another jewel in showrunner and creator Ryan Murphy’s television crown, will examine the lives of two gay men and their radically different paths: Gianni Versace (played by Édgar Ramirez)—the Italian designer who injected the world of fashion with a wild dose of ostentation, sensuality, and celebrity glamour—and Andrew Cunanan (Glee's Darren Criss), the 27-year-old Versace fanboy who left a trail of death and devastation in his quest for fame, ultimately finding it, and landing on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, by murdering the man he so idolized.

Cunanan was born in National City, Calif., on August 31, 1969, to a mostly absent, class-conscious Filipino-American father and a deeply religious Italian-American mother. He was a brilliant child with a reported IQ of 147. Growing up in a strict Catholic household, he struggled with his sexuality from a young age, so that later in life he was open to some, but closeted to others. He also had a reputation for being a pathological liar. After dropping out of the University of California, San Diego, he tried his hand at hustling, drug dealing, and petty robbery—anything to avoid a traditional nine-to-five. He charmed his way into a meeting with Versace on the evening of October 21, 1990, in San Francisco. Versace had designed the costumes for Richard Strauss’s opera Capriccio and was in town for the premiere. It was a brief encounter—Orth dedicates just three pages to it in Vulgar Favors—but for Cunanan, it was significant. Versace was the only celebrity he claimed to know with whom he had any ties, no matter how tenuous. According to Orth, when the FBI asked Philip Merrill, a friend of Cunanan’s, where the wanted murderer would go and whom he would try to contact, Merrill said: Florida and Versace.

By the time Cunanan gunned down the 50-year-old designer on the steps of his palatial estate, Casa Casuarina at 1116 Ocean Drive in South Beach, Miami, on the morning of July 15, 1997, he had already killed four men, including Jeff Trail, a 28-year-old Navy veteran, and David Madson, a 33-year-old architect, three months earlier in Minneapolis—both men were gay and at least one of them, Madson, was a former lover. But the nation didn’t take any real notice until Cunanan had traversed thousands of miles over several months. By then, Versace was dead.

“The whole city of Miami was in shock and never recovered,” says Martin, who was living in Miami but touring Europe at the time of Versace’s death. “Obviously what was happening in fashion was massive, but there was also what was happening in the film industry, with all these great actors moving to Miami because it was the Riviera of the United States. After Versace’s death, everything stuck because everybody was afraid. It has taken many, many, many years for Miami to return to where it was and maybe it will never be the same.”

On July 7, eight days before Versace’s murder, Cunanan visited the Cash on the Beach pawn shop to sell a gold coin he had stolen from his third victim, Lee Miglin, a 72-year-old married real estate developer he had killed and tortured on May 4 in Chicago, which eventually led to the FBI adding Cunanan to its infamous fugitives list. As required by the pawn shop, the serial killer had signed his name—his real name—and had even given the address where he was staying. Vivian Olivia, the owner of Cash on the Beach, turned over the identifying paperwork to the Miami Police the following day, yet no action was taken. Meanwhile, the red pickup truck of William Reese, the 45-year-old caretaker Cunanan had murdered in Pennsville, N.J., just days after Miglin, sat in a parking garage for weeks. The FBI, insistent that Cunanan’s sexual orientation was irrelevant to their investigation, refused to distribute Most Wanted posters of Cunanan or to work with local gay organizations and publications.

“For a number of reasons, the authorities at the time never considered Cunanan to be a public threat because he was only killing homosexuals,” says Ramirez, the Venezuelan actor whose startling resemblance to the late designer helped secure him the title role in ACS. “The word assassination has a political and a social overtone because Versace was targeted. In a way, this was a tragedy that could have been prevented. Basically, homophobia killed Gianni Versace.”

Giovanni Maria Versace was born in Reggio Calabria, Italy, on December 2, 1946. The region’s Hellenic heritage—it had been part of Magna Graecia (Latin for “Great Greece”), the coastal areas of Southern Italy populated by Greek settlers—had a lasting influence on Versace and his work, most notably in the Medusa head and Greek keys of the label’s logo. His mother ran a dressmaking business, so fashion was a part of young Gianni’s DNA. He briefly went to work for his mother after graduating high school but fled the nest for Milan in 1972, bringing his formidable talents to the Italian ateliers Genny, Complice, and Callaghan. With his older brother Santo and younger sister Donatella, he launched his own company, and in 1978 debuted his first collection.

Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, Versace elevated sexy to an art form. As the adage, at times attributed to Anna Wintour, goes: Armani dressed the wife and Versace dressed the mistress. His looks were brash, bold, and sometimes delightfully tacky, rendered in luminescent metallics, sadomasochistic rubbers, and industrialized plastics that pushed the boundaries of fashion and “good taste.”  More than any other designer, before him or since, Versace permeated then all but defined the zeitgeist: from Elizabeth Hurley’s iconic safety-pin black dress (recently reappropriated by Lady Gaga), to Elizabeth Berkley’s doe-eyed infatuation with “Versayce” in 1995’s Showgirls, to rap group Migos’s 2013 breakthrough hit “Versace.”

Versace’s South Beach mansion was a monument to his grandeur, outfitted in Grecian opulence. Built in 1930 by trust-fund playboy and retired architect Alden Freeman, Casa Casuarina is now a hotel and popular tourist destination. Versace was enamored by the house’s Kneeling Aphrodite statue and bought the property for $2.95 million and the old Art Deco Hotel Revere next door for $3.7 million, which he promptly demolished, angering the Miami Design Preservation League—the neighborhood had been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1979. Versace invested an additional $32 million in renovations to realize his palace, decorating every inch with his exacting eye. In the opening minutes of The Assassination, Ramirez, in a resplendent pink robe, greets his army of servants with a measure of benevolence and unquestioned authority. The effect is that of an emperor surveying his mighty kingdom. From there, the series plays up the Greek-like tragedy of Versace’s life and death.

“His life was fated in a way,” says Ramirez. “There is something very classic about this real-life story that was captured by Tom: the characters, the archetypes, their relationships. You have Gianni as an emperor, and then you have his prince, Antonio, and you have his sister, Donatella, who is the empress-to-be. Sometimes there were scenes that really felt like we were doing theater, like Macbeth or Madea.”

Versace used his majestic property to entertain, and occasionally shelter, his circle of VIPs. In awe of the power of celebrity, he cultivated a loyal, glitzy following that included Princess Diana, Elton John, Madonna, Cher, and the supermodels he regularly employed, and in whose rise he was instrumental: Naomi, Cindy, Linda, Claudia. These famous clients and friends populated his front rows, appeared in his ad campaigns, and frequented his homes around the world. And his ambition wasn’t limited to the runway—Versace expanded his empire, designing costumes for operas, films, ballets, and concert tours.

“We basically live in the world that he created,” Ramirez says. “Before Gianni, glamour and sensuality were on two separate planes. Somehow he glamorized sexuality. He had a rock ’n’ roll approach to couture, and he essentially laid the ground for celebrity culture. From then on, for better and for worse, we’ve had this obsession with it. The sociopath who killed him was seduced by fame and by luxury.”

Versace was also one of the few openly gay celebrities of his day, having been with D’Amico, a former model, since 1982. Though, according to Martin, there was a limit to their openness.

“For many months in this series, I kind of went back into the closet,” the 46-year-old says. “They were not completely out. The fear of being seen holding hands in the streets is not an issue for me anymore, but I relived all of that, and it kinda set me back and gave me a lot of discomfort. But I was playing a part, and I used it. I used that anger and I used that frustration.”

The Assassination of Gianni Versace is the gayest thing FX or Ryan Murphy has ever done. And for anyone who’s seen Popular, or Glee, or the last few seasons of Nip/Tuck, or the musical number in American Horror Story: Asylum, that’s saying a lot. But it’s also a profound statement. Murphy, an openly gay showrunner and one of the most powerful and successful visionaries in Hollywood, has produced a series about an openly gay fashion designer (who was killed by a gay serial killer), featuring an openly gay pop star playing his boyfriend. Martin, who came out publicly in 2010, hadn’t even considered this level of out-and-proudness, but he’s acutely aware of how the show’s themes resonate in today’s terrifying political climate.

Ricky Martin has been in the public eye for the majority of his life—first in the popular boy band Menudo, which he parlayed into a successful music career in Latin America and a featured role on the long-running soap opera General Hospital. But it was a 1999 Grammy performance of “The Cup of Life,” the official song of the previous year’s World Cup, and the subsequent release of his U.S. breakthrough single, “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” that skyrocketed him to superstardom and ushered in the so-called “Latin explosion.”

With increased exposure, however, came increased scrutiny, and for years rumors regarding his sexual orientation persisted. Male pop stars have rarely been allowed to be openly gay, and those that were, like Elton John and George Michael, waited until relatively late in their careers to come out. For Martin, consequently, The Assassination of Gianni Versace offered a unique and personal challenge because, to paraphrase executive producer Brad Simpson, it’s about the politics of being out in the ’90s. Today, Martin is much more comfortable in his own skin. Not only is he in love (he’s been in a relationship with Syrian-Swedish painter Jwan Yosef since 2015), but he’s a father of two—and adamant that his family be an inspiration for other nontraditional families.

“A lot of people tell me, ‘Well, your kids are on the covers of magazines and blah, blah, blah,’ and I'm like, ‘Yes because I want to normalize this,’ ” he says. “I want people to look at me and see a family and say, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ It's part of my mission. It’s part of my kids’ mission as well. My kids ask me about having two daddies and I tell them we are a part of a modern family. This is a beautiful sense of freedom.”

By taking on the role of Antonio D’Amico, the singer-actor had to conjure those years of hiding who he was, but in doing so he knew he was paying tribute to the love that Versace and D’Amico shared. Martin’s first day on set and his very first scene were also his most dramatic. “They didn't even let me warm up—I went straight into the murder,” he says. “I went straight into the moment where I find the body on the steps of the villa outside. It was a really long day. I was locked in this room for many hours just to be there in the moment when I looked out the window and saw Édgar’s feet. I went crazy and said, ‘Let’s shoot now! Please let’s shoot now!’ ”

After seeing production shots of Martin cradling a bloody Ramirez, D’Amico derided the tableau as “ridiculous” and a product of the “director’s poetic license.” In an interview with The Guardian last July, he also contradicted Martin’s assertion that he and Versace ever had to conceal their love. Martin then reached out to the 59-year-old D’Amico, whom he says was “incredibly generous” and “really honest.”

“The first thing I said to him was, ‘Antonio, I just want you to know that we all are working on this story with the utmost respect to what Gianni Versace represents to the world, and then we go to love,” says Martin. “ ‘My role here is for people to understand you, and see what the love you guys had was made of.’ They were together for 15 years. It’s a lifetime. And like Antonio says, there was no end to this love. There is no end to this love.”

“There are two love stories,” Ramirez adds. “One with Antonio, Ricky’s character, and the other with Penélope Cruz’s character, Donatella. Gianni was very devoted to both of them. Ricky and I wanted to be respectful of their relationship and open about how supportive they were of each other. According to everyone I talked to, Gianni was very protective of Antonio, and Antonio was very protective of Gianni.”

There is, however, no love lost between D’Amico and Donatella Versace. The two always had a contentious relationship. In his will, Versace provided D’Amico with a $30,000-a-month lifetime allowance and the right to live in any of the late designer’s homes, but because of a feud with the Versace family, D’Amico received a portion of what he was owed.

Family was of the utmost importance to Gianni Versace, but his own didn’t want to be involved in the show’s production. Ramirez, no stranger to playing biographical characters—he earned an Emmy nomination in 2011 for his portrayal of Venezuelan revolutionary Ilich Ramírez Sánchez in Carlos—approached the series with immense compassion, but out of respect (and for legal reasons) he chose not to approach the designer’s surviving family members.

“Whatever hesitations or reservations they have about the series, I understand,” Ramirez says of the Versace family. “This is a tragedy. It should have never happened. We want to enforce our own empathy. I hope that in the end they will be satisfied.”

What is a historical or cultural moment for the rest of the world is a story of intense personal tragedy for the family and former partner of Gianni Versace, so a production of this scale and caliber—this isn’t, after all, the Gina Gershon Lifetime movie House of Versace—is bound to reopen old wounds and draw renewed scrutiny. And yet: That’s fame. One’s life—and death—are no longer one’s own. But what made The People v. OJ Simpson so successful was how it took a tragedy and articulated its significance to the world we live in: a world with a 24/7 news cycle, a world of continued racial animus, a world of keeping up with the Kardashians.

While LGBTQ people have more rights and freedoms than in any other time in U.S. history, the rapid progress of marginalized communities over the previous years has revealed the cracks in this country—ugly truths barely hidden just below the surface have been exposed. This America abets white supremacists, bolsters an accused pedophile who believes homosexuality should be illegal, and neglects the victims of a mishandled natural disaster because they’re not quite “American” enough.

“We've been taking four airplanes with 150,000 pounds’ worth of basic necessities,” Martin says of the relief effort in Puerto Rico, of which he’s been a part. “It’s been very difficult because four million US citizens are still without power or clean drinking water. My family is there and luckily, I can bring them out to take a break, but there's a very intense passion about where we come from, and they don't want to leave.”

And, of course, it’s impossible to deny that if homophobia killed Gianni Versace, so did a gun. On June 12, 2016, Omar Mateen opened fire at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Fl., killing 49 people and wounding 58 others. The overwhelming majority of his victims were queer people of color in what was, until 15 months later, the deadliest mass shooting on American soil. “I want to be very respectful about this because I am not American,” Ramirez begins, cautiously. “But I have a very hard time reconciling how easy it is to gain access to guns here. And I come from one of the most violent countries in the world.”

Though mass shootings remain a uniquely American phenomenon, the conversations around gun control and mental illness have ultimately gone nowhere. For 35 years, the United States has rarely gone a year without a mass shooting. In 1997, the year of Andrew Cunanan’s murderous spree, more than 32,000 people were killed by guns. That number has remained stable, so that on any given day, 93 people are shot to death.

After Versace was killed, speculation ran wild regarding Cunanan’s motive. Some claimed an HIV-positive diagnosis triggered his murderous streak, but an autopsy debunked that theory, itself a form of homophobia. In 1997, homosexuality and AIDS were still inextricably bound so that a gay serial killer was automatically linked to the disease—as if Gregg Araki’s The Living End had come to life. But whereas that 1992 film glamorized its killers, the Andrew Cunanan in The Assassination of Gianni Versace is a pitiable figure—a lost soul grasping at a fantasy embodied by his final and most famous victim. Cunanan, too, was a victim—of homophobia, both internalized and externalized; of his own desires; of his upbringing; of the world in which he lived. Through his detestable actions, he finally got what he wanted: It’s now impossible to discuss the legacy of fashion’s one-time emperor without also remembering the man who cut his life short that July morning.

[duanecbrooks]

She Made It After All

 "I'm not a great actress who can create a character. I play me."             Those were the words of the television icon Mary Tyler Moore, who, as you surely know, recently died of cardiopulmonary arrest with complications from pneumonia, to a journalist, summing up what, as she saw it, was her acting technique. Not only were said words incorrect by and of themselves as, as the TV-interviewing legend Dick Cavett pointed out, they represented a leonine misunderstanding of what comprises a believable and effective performance, they were an entirely unjust minimization of what she gave us television viewers these many years. And what she gave us television viewers these many years was unvarnished gaiety and laughter, not to mention, quite often, heart-tugging moments.             It all started, for me as with everybody else, when she portrayed the housewife/mother Laura Petrie on the classic TV sitcom The Dick Van Dyke Show. Like everybody else, I have fond memories of her strutting about in those tight black capri pants--which would alternate with a light-colored skirt--and looking quite scrumptious (The renowned cinema director Rob Reiner told a Playboy Magazine Interviewer a very humorous story concerning those pants. One day while Reiner was on the Van Dyke Show set--his Dad, of course, was the head honcho of the show--he became so turned-on looking at Moore in the aforementioned pants that he reached up and literally touched her ass. Moore, need it be said, was shocked and, need it be said, immediately told Reiner's Dad what his son had done. Which prompted the following dialogue between the Reiner father and the Reiner son. Father: "Did you touch Mary Tyler Moore on the ass?" Son: "Yeah." Father: "Well, don't do it again").             There are two scenes Moore was in during her time on that show wherein she most fully showed what she could do, wherein she best displayed her monumental comedic-acting chops.           .Sally (Rose Marie, of course), who usually did the typing during the Alan Brady writers' sessions, was--for a reason that, alas, has completely escaped my memory--unable to come to work. So Rob (Van Dyke, of course), after quite a lot of prodding from her, consented to allow wife Laura to fill Sally's place at the typewriter. During Laura's day on the job, she made a number of suggestions regarding the writing, some of which were quite good (Example: Rob and his colleague/friend Buddy [Morey Amsterdam, of course] had written a script wherein it was asked: "Why should we [Americans] want to go to the moon?" To which Laura piped up: "To find out whether it's chewy or chocolate cream"). Rob, however, rather than welcome his wife's input, was downright savage toward her, rather crudely telling her that she wasn't there to assist in the writing but to type and to stick to that. This behavior, sad to say, repeated itself several times. Naturally Laura became frustrated but when she tearily protested, Rob carved into her yet again ("You've been nothing but trouble ever since you've been here"). This of course was for Laura the straw that broke the camel's back and, after telling hubby off in kind ("The purpose [for my coming here] was to help you"), she stormed out, proclaiming: "I'm fired!" (Which caused Rob to yell after her: "You can't fire! I quit you!").       It was Moore's effortless charm during the office-writing scenes and, later, her deftly summoning just the right amounts of vulnerability and hurt in reacting to Van Dyke's verbal abuse that made that episode work, that were wholly responsible for its winning humanity.             .A teenage girl with whom Rob had become good friends--I, alas, have forgotten just what her position was in the episode--had developed a fervent crush on him, going so far as to openly tell him that she wanted to marry him. At first Laura was bemused by this but, as time wore on, she understandably became pissed. Which caused this dialogue between the Petries.                                                   Rob: "I'll tell [the girl] that if I marry her, you'll kill yourself."                                                 Laura, sardonically: "No, if you marry her, I'll kill you both."                                               (After a bit more dialogue)                                             Rob: "Well, I'm not going to marry [the girl]."                                                 Laura, with equal sarcasm: "Well, that's good news."         It was the unforced sass and pointed wit Moore displayed in this scene that had you watching, that kept you laughing.                 And Moore got even better when she got her own namesake television sitcom. The Mary Tyler Moore Show to this day stands as one of the most thoroughly stylish, most firmly adult sitcoms in network-TV history--indeed, there is considerable evidence to support the argument that it's the best such program in network-TV history. It was TV Guide that reported that when the show was being put together, CBS executives sent memos urging that there be "block comedy" scenes, like Moore being trapped in a roomful of monkeys and that "to jazz up the story," Moore "should date a visiting European prince." Happily, there were no--no--such times on the show. At all times--at all times--The Mary Tyler Moore Show grounded its humor in the recognizable and the believable. Also: Said program's episodes were always, always filled with what Moore herself would call "articulate, witty humor," never, ever devolving into the kind of televised hollering matches that were a staple of the "groundbreaking," vastly-overrated All in the Family--and, come to think of it, all of Norman Lear's prime-time sitcoms (One Day at a Time being the sole--the sole--exception). And while the Moore Show often dealt with topical subjects--anti-Semitism, the rise of the "happy-talk" television-news programs during the 1970s, the inequality in pay women experience in comparison with men--there was never, never the kind of self-applauding, look-Ma-we're-Dealing-With-An-Issue air that the Lear sitcoms--again, One Day being the only exception--took on when they did the same. Au contraire, the Moore Show's issue-exploration was always marvelously matter-of-fact, always blissfully devoid of self-indulgent chest-thumping.                 There were two episodes of the Moore Show, in particular, wherein its lead player best showed off her enormous talent, were the best frames for her towering ability.             .One episode--which was written by David Lloyd, who, come to think of it, wrote the vast majority of the funniest Moore Shows--began with Mary Richards (Moore, of course) happily working in front of a typewriter. We soon find out that she's written a short story, which she eventually gives to her boss/buddy Lou Grant (Ed Asner, of course), fervently urging him to read it and give her feedback. When Grant demurs on the grounds that if he tells Mary he doesn't like it, she'll resent him, she earnestly assures him that that won't happen ("Rather than hate you, I'll love you that much more"). Well, Grant agrees to read Mary's story and, after he does, gives her his honest reaction, which is quite negative. Despite the facts that Grant's negativity is given 1) very hesitantly and 2) very tactfully, Mary, as the man himself warned her she would be, is quite resentful ("You're really having a good time, aren't you, Mr. Grant?"). Being intensely pissed off, Mary storms toward the door, first telling off Grant ("[The fact that you don't like my story] doesn't mean that you're wrong and I'm right. It does mean, however, that you can do your own damn baby shopping"), then storming out, indignantly slamming the door behind her. We next see the two of them at a gathering at Mary's apartment, with Grant assuring her that he'll have her laughing again--by tickling her (Mary, with mega-intense sarcasm: "My, is there no limit to the realms of your expertise?"). Grant tickles her, but no dice: Mary doesn't even so much as crack a smile ("Would you like a feather?" she asks him). Naturally Grant gives up, repeating his view that Mary's story is inferior and telling her that she knows it. Here Mary, livid at him, blatantly lies, telling Grant that a major publication has bought her story. Grant, being chastened, backs off from his initial reaction ("I've never been so glad to have been proven wrong in my life"). Yet in time Mary confesses to him that she was lying--a fact, we find out, Grant knew all along. Here Grant throws down the gauntlet ("Mary, I don't know how you want to be treated...Do you want me to puff up your ego?...Treat you like some boob?"). To which Mary replies: "God, yes!" Knowing when he's licked, Grant at last finally tells our Mary what she wants, and has wanted from the start, to hear: "Mary, I loved your story."To which she smiles beatifically, coos: "Thank you, Mr. Grant," and, still smiling rather vapidly, leaves.               The comedic brio Moore showed in that episode, going from comedic earnestness to comedic disappointment to comedic manipulation to, at last finally, comedic satisfaction with stunning ease, powered that episode, gave it heft and spice.             .Through a series of events that would take too long to detail, Mary discovers that Grant had a one-night stand with Happy Homemaker Sue Ann Nivens (Betty White, of course). Grant of course demands that Mary sit on this information, not tell anybody for fear of how Sue Ann will react, an insistence that sends Mary into gales of laughter ("What are you afraid [Sue Ann] will do, hold a spatula to your throat?"). However, Grant persists and Mary, solely to pacify Grant, crosses her heart--as Grant demands she do. Yet in a very brief time Mary, in an act of damnable--and entirely uncharacteristic--insensitivity, breaks her vow and freely tells news writer Murray (Gavin MacLeod, of course) of Grant and Sue Ann's one-nighter. When Grant finds out about Mary's betrayal, he is of course deeply hurt and, displaying admirable maturity here, breaks off the friendship he had with her "I still respect you as a producer. I still want you to work here. We're still a business. But we're not friends any more"). Mary, fully distraught at this, breaks into tears, pleadingly urging Grant to reconsider. Her boss and former friend, however, is having none of it ("Have you finished crying so we can get on with business?"). In time, though, Grant hooks back up with Sue Ann, there's some business--sad to say, I've wholly forgotten what it consisted of--and then Grant returns to his office, where he discovers an anxious Mary. She after a while tells him about what she claims was a one-night stand, similar to the one Grant had with Sue Ann, with a leading TV-news person. And that leading TV-news person was, she dramatically claims: "Walter Cronkite." She sees Grant struggling to suppress a smile, so she goes at it a second time: "Roger Mudd?" She witnesses Grant struggling even harder to keep from smiling, so she bores in: "If you smile, that means we're friends again." The episode ends with Grant not only freely smiling but freely hugging Mary--clearly saying that he's fully forgiven her and that the close and deep friendship they shared is back on track.           It was in this episode that Mary fully, fully shined, being charmingly bemused upon hearing of Grant's assignation with Sue Ann, being charmingly gossipy when going against her crossing-of-the-heart and spilling the beans to Murray, and, at last finally, confronted with Grant being justly hurt by Mary's insensitivity and his ending the friendship he had with her and her struggling--successfully, as it happily turns out--to regain that friendship, being deeply moving and appealingly human.         It is all this great work, spanning not just one but two decades, that brings on prodigious regret and prodigious sadness that this girl who could turn the world on with her smile has been forever taken from us. However, we're compensated by the fact that, being able to catch her uber-deft comedic acting in not one but two television sitcoms thanks to DVD, we can savor her applying her stupendous talent and her stupendous professionalism--and, again, thanks to DVD, see with the Moore Show in particular that, in regularly bestowing upon us that talent and that professionalism, she really and truly did make it after all.        

[moschinocap06-blog]

Optometrist: Training and Occupation

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