#actually it's james so just g would be more appropriate

[weedle-testaburger]

i just wanna preserve some of the biggest bangers from james somerton apology video 2: plagarised boogaloo

and of course:

[rlyehtaxidermist]

fuck it, midgley discourse in my notes, we ball.

Time to talk about one of my favourite regulatory archdevils, Dr. Robert Arthur Kehoe.

I love that this is his Wikipedia photo. The slightly raised eyebrow. The faint but noticable cheekbones. The level, slightly superior expression. Even just the angle of the shot. This is a man who’s about to give a gloating monologue to James Bond.

Kehoe was a medical doctor with a specialty in toxicology and one of the early lions of what we now call “occupational health” - that is, what does and doesn’t make a workplace a safe place to work in. At the time, this was basically an open question - the first worker’s compensation laws only went on the books in the 1880s, and were often scrambling to respond to health risks. OSHA isn’t even a twinkle in the eye of the ten-year-old and politically uncomplicated Richard Nixon, whose family lemon plantation just failed.

The Background

This lack of occupational health standards is rapidly becoming a big problem for a “little” company called the Ethyl Gasoline Corporation (actually a corporate chimera of General Motors, Standard Oil of New Jersey - who you now know as Exxon, and DuPont - who you now might still know as DuPont but is also a few other companies, it’s complicated). Workers at Ethyl’s plants were suffering from neurological disorders, which culminated in the deaths of five workers, injury to many more, and at least one worker, Joseph G. Leslie, being secretly committed to a psychiatric institution by the company, who publicly declared him dead.

See, Ethyl (through GM) owned the patent to a little chemical called tetraethyllead, which was being promoted as the solution to engine knocking - a performance issue in older automobiles. Ethyl’s CEO, Charles Kettering, had previously been GM’s head of research, where he had tasked a talented but retroactively very unfortunate chemist by the name of Charles Midgley, Jr. with developing a compound to combat knocking.

Midgley first figured out that a blend of ethanol with the gasoline would help solve the problem. GM did not like this, because ethanol was so easy to make that they’d never turn a profit on producing ethanol-blended gasoline. So Kettering told Midgley to try again, and he did - he found a tellurium compound that would work great for solving knocking. It stank to high heaven, so GM said no, try again, and finally Midgley settled on tetraethyllead, and GM immediately patented it for use in fuels.

Tetraethyllead had some downsides. It is mostly known today for its environmental effects, particularly the massive scale of lead poisoning from lead and lead oxide emissions caused by TEL combustion. These weren’t really in the picture in the 1920s, where concerns about large-scale environmental impacts of industrialisation were considered a fringe view or even outright pseudoscientific. Instead, the issue was the toxicity of TEL itself - it was already known to be far more poisonous than lead or lead oxides, as the organic structure of the compound allowed it to pass the blood-brain barrier, where it would then break down and cause lead poisoning to set in extremely quickly.

It’s this exposure to TEL that caused the initial controversy, and lead to things like the infamous publicity stunt where Midgley dunked his hands in leaded gasoline and took a big ol’ sniff to prove how safe it was, never mind that he had just been recovering from lead poisoning weeks earlier. Even if TEL is dangerous, claimed Midgley, finished Ethyl gasoline was perfectly safe for consumers - officially, the problem was that workers weren’t following adequate safety standards. He would also repeatedly deny the existence of any appropriate alternatives to TEL, including the two that he had previously suggested to GM and the several other alternatives used by rival fuel companies domestic and international.

Kettering and Midgley’s public statements are contradicted by private correspondence, which detailed several alternatives including ethanol. That said, these concerns were all about the toxicity of tetraethyllead, not the combustion byproducts which would later give it its infamy. There is some also dispute as to the extent that Kettering and Midgley viewed TEL as the ultimate solution to knocking, or an intermediate fuel to allow the economic development of high-compression motors that could be converted to run on ethanol - though this was motivated not by environmental concerns, but the growing belief that gasoline supplies would soon be depleted. (Of course, that wasn’t the case.)

My general view of Midgley as a scientist is that he came up with genuinely brilliant solutions to the problems he was posed, that happened to have large-scale ecological effects he couldn’t have anticipated. But he certainly wasn’t some hapless victim in this either, and was at the very least the direct architect of TEL’s version of the “no alternatives” narrative, which helped shut down early investigations into the dangers of TEL.

But this isn’t about Midgley. Let’s introduce our main man.

The Safety Doctor

“During the entire history of man on this earth, he has had lead in his body. He has had lead in his food, he has had lead in his drinking water... the question is not whether lead per se is dangerous, but whether a certain concentration of lead in his body is dangerous.“

- Robert A. Kehoe, Antiknock compounds and public health.

If the official line at Ethyl was that the workers were to blame for everything, the private line was clearly that they needed better safety standards. To this end, Kettering hired a toxicologist named Robert Arthur Kehoe as the company’s chief medical consultant. Kehoe’s job was to research the impact of TEL on workers and improve safety procedures - which he did. This made him a leading figure in the emerging field of occupational health - working for a major chemical company was less a conflict of interest and more proof of expertise.

Kehoe would found the Kettering Laboratory of Applied Physiology, touted as the “first university-based laboratory devoted to toxicological problems peculiar to industry”. Named for Kettering, it would be financed primarily by Ethyl, DuPont, and GM, and it would come to define the early approach to science and occupational health.

After Kehoe’s changes were implemented, experts studied garage workers who were expected to be exposed to TEL. The review found some concerns with blood health, but no major signs of lead poisoning; while the question of environmental exposure was raised, the study was grounded in Ethyl’s own laboratory results, which claimed that only 15% of the lead in gasoline could be found in emissions (with another 15% being found in engine oil, and the remaining 70%... assumed to stay in the engine). This was accepted at face value without any independent sampling of street-level lead.

The committee concluded there was no reason to ban leaded gasoline - however, they called for continued investigation, as well as research into alternatives to tetraethyllead - particularly ethyl alcohol. These requests were ignored.

Kehoe soon became the go-to expert for the lead industry, and developed the early doctrine for testing dangers of exposure in the workplace. Kehoe worked from the baseline assumption that, if a compound existed, people would naturally be exposed to it in some capacity - the burden then lay on determining the dose where this became a problem.

The origin of this doctrine is sometimes attributed to Midgley, but its application in a legal and regulatory sense would become known as the Kehoe Rule: regulation is appropriate “if it can be shown that an actual danger is had as a result on the basis of fact”, but that technology should not “be thrown into the discard on the basis of opinions”. Kehoe’s “facts” were rooted in a simple chain of deductions:

As lead exists in nature, people are exposed to it naturally.

As people do not all have lead poisoning, the body must then have means to counteract lead poisoning.

Thus, there is some baseline level of lead exposure which the body is capable of handling without lasting harm.

Thus, leaded gasoline is only a risk if it can be shown that emissions exceed that baseline level.

Environmental samples seemed to support Kehoe’s argument. There was a baseline level of lead in the environment, even using ice and soil samples deep enough to predate industrialisation, and people had greater exposure to lead from food or drink than from the atmosphere. Kehoe and his colleagues conducted studies on human subjects to determine the “safe” threshold - defined as the blood lead level when a physical examination could detect symptoms of lead poisoning.

Kehoe’s group dominated the discussion of lead in the medical field to an almost unprecedented extent. His laboratory - named for Kettering and funded by Ethyl, GM, and DuPont - essentially monopolised peer review of lead-related health research, allowing them to reinforce their results and dominate the medical field, including redefining the medical definition of lead poisoning to match the blood lead thresholds set by Kehoe’s lab.

The lead industry owned lead health, and it wasn’t even a secret.

Clair Patterson With A Meteoric Iron Chair

“It is not just a mistake for public health agencies to cooperate and collaborate with industries investigating and deciding whether public health is endangered - it is a direct abrogation of the duties and responsibilities of those public health organizations.”

- Clair Patterson, addressing the U.S. Senate

Modern academia prides itself on the self-correcting nature of science. There’s a lot of things that could be said about this principle in practice - I keep telling my mother (a research quality expert in her field) to write a book on it, now that she’s retired and the university couldn’t do anything about it. But Kehoe’s research wasn’t challenged from within medicine. Or biology, or chemistry. The challenge to Kehoe’s medical Mordor came from the humble discipline of geophysics.

Clair Patterson, a researcher at the California Institute of Technology, set out to answer a relatively simple question, and one nominally unrelated to issues of occupational health and fuel use: how old is the earth? What about the Solar System?

Patterson’s approach was simple: using samples of uranium taken from meteorites, use the ratio of lead to uranium isotopes in the sample to determine the age of the rock (and from this, the cosmic time frame between it being released by supernovae and landing on Earth). The problem was that Patterson’s data kept coming back wrong: there was too much lead in his samples. He had to develop a whole new clean room paradigm to avoid lead contamination - and in this clean room, he found something he wasn’t looking for.

The same contamination - in the air, in the water, even in Patterson’s own hair - that thwarted his study also influenced the studies of pre-industrial environmental lead concentrations. The assertion that “lead exists in nature” which was the foundation of Kehoe’s entire medical and regulatory paradigm was rooted in flawed data. The industrialised world didn’t have a natural baseline level of lead - it exceeded that concentration by over one thousand times.

In 1965, Patterson published his findings. Of course, Kehoe - a leading expert on lead exposure - was called upon for peer review. Kehoe didn’t squash the findings - actually, he supported Patterson’s paper, though not out of respect for his findings, but because he believed they would be of scientific value as an example of just how wrong a researcher could be. He told the journal to publish the paper so that he and his team could “face and demolish” it. (Seriously. I’m not joking about the Bond villain thing.)

Patterson’s work would see most of his research funding withdrawn, and the oil industry would attempt to influence CalTech’s board to get him fired. But the same meticulous procedures that he needed to build his cleanroom were reflected in his research notes and data, and reviewers outside Kehoe’s group of lead experts validated Patterson’s conclusions. New samples were taken from Arctic glaciers and the depths of the ocean, and when protected from contamination like Patterson’s meteorites, they supported him, not Kehoe: lead concentrations increased dramatically with industrialisation.

Patterson and Kehoe would face off before the U.S. Senate in a 1966 hearing. Kehoe was called as the medical expert on lead poisoning, while Patterson spoke for the new conclusions - and denounced Kehoe’s monopoly on lead research and the government’s sometimes-tacit, sometimes-explicit support for his findings.

Afterwards

If this were a morality play, this is where Kehoe’s career would end, but it didn’t.  Kehoe retired from academia in 1965, a year and was granted the title of Professor Emeritus of Occupational Medicine by his long-time employer, the University of Cincinnati. He would withdraw from public life in 1979, but not before championing the unproven-but-not-disproven safety of another Midgley-made environmental disaster, Freon.

Patterson’s work shook faith in tetraethyllead, but it took another, ten years for the government to finally regulate it. Pediatrician Herbert Needleman found a link between neurodevelopmental damage in children and elevated lead levels, which was soon linked to air pollution. Despite a lawsuit from the Ethyl Corporation, the U.S. government officially began phasing out the use of leaded gasoline in automobiles in 1976. Ethyl Corporation shifted to international markets, and lobbied many governments in the developing world against banning leaded gasoline.

While the United Nations declared that leaded gasoline was eliminated worldwide in 2011, it remained available for purchase until 2021, when it was officially removed from sale in Algeria, the last country to produce it. The United Nations once again declared that this marked the worldwide elimination of leaded gasoline. Tetraethyllead is still produced in the United States and China for use in aviation fuel.

The Kehoe Rule’s stranglehold on public health discourse was shaken by the erosion of its namesake’s work, but it lingers, especially in the United States. The example set by Kehoe became the scientific shield for much of the scientific malpractice of the mid-20th century, from the proliferation of asbestos to the U.S.’s use of defoliants as chemical weapons in Vietnam. In many ways, it remains active today, as Monsanto (now Bayer) relied on a variation of the Kehoe Rule as their primary defense against lawsuits regarding their Roundup pesticide’s possible status as a carcinogen.

Endings

Perhaps the ironic symbol of Thomas Midgley’s career is his death in 1955. Suffering from polio, Midgley developed a sophisticated system of mechanical mobility aids, only to be killed when the device malfunctioned, making him one of the unlucky few to have invented their own cause of death. He was 55.

Clair Patterson died on December 5, 1995 at age 73. The cause of death for the champion of air pollution regulation was a severe asthma attack.

Robert A. Kehoe died in 1992, shortly after his 99th birthday. The University of Cincinnati’s archives house a collection of his papers, though none I could find had been digitised (at least for public view). In the archive’s introduction, they describe him as a “renowned occupational health expert”.

There is a private university in Flint, Michigan named for Charles F. Kettering. Yes, that Flint.

[channeleven]

American Nightmares Review

I used to be a big fan of Ralphthemoviemaker, still am, but it’s not as big as it was then. From the influence he has over his fans, to him unironically enjoying modern Marvel movies, seriously Thor Ragnarok is hot garbage. One of the videos I saw by him was his coverage of independent talk show Scorch PFG TV. I decided to do my own research on the guy and located his IMDb page, and it had a listing for a horror anthology film.

Now, I love horror anthology films, though preferably the B-grade ones, as those have more character. in general, horror anthologies have the opportunity to go any way, as they’re really just a collection of self-contained stories most of the time, you never know what you'd get with them. I loved Terror Tract, Tales from the Hood, Creepshow 2, Campfire Tales, Tales from the Crypt, I also like most old religious thrillers, b-movies and Sonic games from Adventure to Unleashed, so take my musings with a grain of salt.

I told myself, if this movie were to ever pop up on YouTube, I would check it out and do a review of it. And here we are today. I mentioned this movie in my review of Campfire Stories, and I think it’s appropriate this would be next on the chopping block.

Background

This movie is an enigma. It has nothing much beyond an IMDb page. The film was helmed by two directors, Rusty Cundieff and Darin Scott. Both had previously worked on films like Tales from the Hood, which I actually enjoyed. The sequels? Not so much. Because of the socio-political themes of Rusty’s prior films, something I immediately picked up on in Tales from the Hood, I can expect the same here, but my issue is not that they’re present, but because of how its carried out without much nuance. Stuff like The Twilight Zone worked great because of subtlety. Hint hint.

It's fair to assume this was produced on a very low budget, probably because it was. The film was produced by Patriot Pictures, a low profile company specializing in low end genre films, and it was released by Moonstone Entertainment in 2018, with Quiver giving it a wider release in 2021. Looking at the cast, this seems to be a who's who of washed up actors looking for any form of publicity. The film stars Danny Trejo, of Breaking Wind fame and Jay Mohr. Not ringing any bells? He stared in Action and appeared in an episode of Night Visions, and both of those are objectively good TV shows, don't get it twisted. Vivica A. Fox is also in this, bless the soul of her career. Also this was one of the final roles of Clarence Williams III, who starred in Tales from the Hood hence his involvement at all.

The Film

You can check out the movie on Tubi, and a YouTube upload will be included too: https://tubitv.com/movies/544844/tales-from-the-crib-american-nightmares

This is a horror anthology film, featuring Danny Trejo hacking into the computers of some millennials to tell them some stories. Right off the bat, we got some neat star power, James Duvatl, Vivica At F-Zero-X, Noel G, wait who? Yeah, they think 1337 is the way to go.

The opening crawl is hammy at best. The anthologies I've mentioned before, even those beyond, establish a certain vibe or atmosphere. This just suggests they know what they're doing is low budget and destined to be on a rack at your local Dollar Tree. Best way to compare this intro is to that of Noon Blue Apples, or New World Order. It throws in a lot of imagery, but it is relevant to the theme of obsession over conspiracy theory, there was a method to its on-the-nose nature. Whereas this, it’s your alphabet soup of social causes and topics that spell out the lack of subtlety we’d be in for. Hell even Tales from the Quadead Zone had a better intro, and even less of a budget.

After the last shot shows people that really love Christianity, we get the age all classic cliche of making computer hacking look more exciting than it actually is. Naturally they scour for porn. I could rage about women's rights, or I could just consider this to be a constant cliche. Said cliche is mercifully ended, as Danny Trejo hacks their computers, likely wanting to become the next Joss Wheadon and cover shit up through activism. I may be half right on half of what I said. I'd question if hacking is similar to TV interference, but I don't want to know.

Anyway, without any delay, we have our first story, and an issue I wanna bring up. There's a lack of a flow between the segments and the framework. In other films like Tales from the Hood, Crypt, Quadead Zone, Campfire Tales, and Terror Tract, the story is brought up after something related to it is before. Here, the stories are just told as they are, coming without any prior prompt. I dunno, it just breaks the flow some.

Mates

Unfortunately due to a lack of detailed plot information, I'd have to guess most of these stories as I go along.

So this one starts of with a woman and her deadbeat boyfriend. We get some serious whiplash at the start, cutting between the woman at a bar and her talking with her friend somewhere else. I have no idea what this is building up to, all I wanna do is tell her that being single won't be the end of the world. You really wanna be tied down in a relationship that probably won't last? Think about it.

The main woman, Shanika? Runs the risk of getting driven off of Twitter for her love of straight relationships, and gets a package, not one attached to a man but a box, not attached to a woman but, wait it's an envelope, which isn't a euphemism.

It looks like this story is gonna go into the evils of internet dating, or she would set up her own demise with the creation of an ideal man. If it were up to me, I'd say the twist is her definition of a perfect man is the asshole who got this started in the first place.

So far the quality of this... is at 240p, so I can't complain about the quality, and I had a good joke comparing this to something by Charles Band. Check out Kill Joy and you'll see what I mean, and for a great movie recommendation.

And soon, Shanika meets long, tan and unsure of who he's looking for. Credit where it's due, this dating scene doesn't seem too forced. I mean you gotta force yourself in these situations so it's always gonna seem forced. I mean it's less forced than the sex scene. I'm just saying, if you make The Room's sex scene look more natural, then this is unnatural. I blew it.

At this point I'm still speculating. Is her date like a vampire, who sucks out souls and energy from women through sex? Actually no, I spoke too soon. He is a robot, and the dating site she found sent him as part of a free trial. I mean I guess that makes sense, how else can the perfect date be crafted? I honestly didn't know what to expect. And that includes how her deadbeat old boyfriend was in on it, to teach her a lesson relating to perfection.

I assume he's gonna die soon. He is more hammy than a comedic actor trying to play an abusive father. Yes, that was a Tales from the Hood reference. For however shitty he is, I admire his patience, he allows Shanika to dig through her purse to find a credit card so she can activate the robot again and let him get killed. You don't find patient individuals that often anymore.

Oh wait he was getting the robot, apparently he's as patient as he is strong to lift human AI, also can't believe how hilarious he is. So yeah, he tries to strangle her, the robot saves her and that's essentially the end. He could lift him but he can't so much as punch him in the face. But wait, he shoots him, and the bullet... hits the shooter in the chest? Death by convenience, go figure.

Though I understand the broader implications of having AI in our lives, something you can control can make life easier. Marriage is always a gamble.

Anyway, back to the hackers, almost abruptly, maybe Danny's just shooting the shit with those willing to listen to him? Our next tale, point blank, deals with judiciary concerns. If this is a story about Brett Kavanaugh I'm gonna be pissed, it’s a groaner no matter where you lean politically.

The Prosecutor

Oh gee, white judges cracking down on black defendants, how is this gonna go down? This was years before June the fifteenth at least when things really went down, and look, of course I don’t favor prosecution based on race, I just don’t like it if its portrayed in the most straightforward way possible because you can make immediate guesses to what happens, and know who is gonna die at the end.

So, is the crook innocent? Is the prosecutor who's running for governor racist? Did he kill the people the crook is accused of killing? Is this gonna be where I find Scorch because he’s credited as an inmate on this.

I'm probably more concerned this is gonna be a rehash of a story from Tales from the Hood, where a black gangster is put into a prison system which is actually an attempt at redemption which he blows. Rusty, Just because you directed both movies doesn't mean you should copy them. But wait, he didn't, the real killer was found, and the prosecutor, Mooreland, doesn't want to change the verdict. So he's gonna die, this is clearly a message about our corrupt legal system, and showing me how inconsistent the movie is with its accents, southern or not southern, that is the question.

Apparently this segment is big on family. Either this is a metaphor or setting up the end twist, or maybe Mooreland is a huge Fast and the Furious fan. Nah, it’s meant to establish a dilemma and character quirk.

With the crook escaping from prison and a sudden power outage, I feel like poetic justice is about to happen. After a scene of the crook reading the bible and praying to God, I mean before, he breaks into the house and shoots at Mooreland. Is this a nightmare? A stab at religious hypocrisy? Did he actually kill his family? Did Mooreland have a hand in killing the crook's family? There’re some pretty obvious routes to take, especially since this movie takes an incredibly straightforward route.

I'm not in suspense, or interested, I'm not even 30 minutes into the film. So it cuts back to the crook in the cell. Was this a revenge fantasy? Was this actually why he was on death row? Did he use telepathic means to conduct the murders? No, poetic justice. The crook kills Mooreland's family, and he is framed for it.

Okay, how? Did the crook break out of prison? Did he make a pact with a demon? Those would’ve made more sense, but no, Mooreland is arrested and executed, I take more offense to reducing a legitimate issue to a ill-thought out horror tale that can vindicate the average Dhar Mann video.

What's next? Wait, a confederate flag? Nevermind.

White Flight

A white family moves out of a neighborhood with black residents, they suffer in the end that’s about it. Read on for the long version.

Let me reaffirm this, while going on a tangent. My problem with most movies like these is predictability, they carry these messages out with no nuance. It’s a bit like that movie Karen, remember that shit? Where they took a meme and reduced it to a bare basic degree. People focus so much on representation alone that they do not pay any mind to the quality, it is shit like this that blurs the line between representation and good writing, and half the time it’s just used for the sake of it rather than doing a meaningful portrayal. They made Betty DeVille a lesbian in the Rugrats reboot because she looked the part, I bet, they gave Barney a stereotypical haircut and dye to indicate a trans identity, and don’t get me started on the wet fart that was High Guardian Spice, I think some already know.

Now what the hell am I talking about? A show or movie can deliver a message about modern issues, but this is a show or movie, and a compelling story is needed to tie it all together, and more importantly avoid making it too on the nose, otherwise it feels less like they want to give it any meaning and just appeal to people who would accept it no matter what. There’s portraying racism, then there’s reducing it to incredibly basic elements.

Either that or I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but unlike Turning Red, this is a low budget poorly written horror anthology through and through, and there’s more meaning to my inane ramblings than what this movie has to offer on portraying real world issues, which this is what it’s about, a collection of stories mostly themed around social issues.

We will now return you to your regularly scheduled crap.

We see a man walk up to a house. This man apparently has telepathy, because he could knock on a door even though he's nowhere near it before jump cutting to the front of it. We meet our dead meat Thomas, and shock of all shocks, its exaggerated to the point of being stereotypical.

Oh and he's a racist cop too, all he needs to do is be ultra-conservative and he’d have everything. By the way that was a joke, I’m not political I just wanted to seize an opportunity.

So, Stromas McWallaceByrdMetzgerPerezWaters gets a package, and it's a means of sending them to an all white area, a literal fucking dimensional transporter. As if our sense of disbelief can’t be any more limited. I mean I can accept it if the movie was good, Tales from the Hood had paranormal occurrences which suit the horror element, in case anyone says so, but everyone has limits.

And now for a strange trivia factoid about this movie. Another familiar actor from Tales from the Hood appears in this, Duane Whitaker. He played a corrupt cop in the first story of that movie and was notably the first to die, spoiler, he has better luck here. Wings Hauser is a no-show though, and I bring him up because he has appeared in multiple b-movies.

The racists get sent to a dimension where minorities don’t exist, and adding to some cartoonish cringe, they even have an over the top sign to that effect. So, what do you think the twist is gonna be? Will the transporter make them black in the eyes of everyone, doing the Watermelon Man twist? Well, it seems so. After an alarm is sounded, a police car door is slowly opened and a man is seen drinking in a diner. These are apparently important enough to show, but wait, they are, the sequencing is just total ass.

Okay quick delaying the inevitable, we know they're gonna get hassled.

But what is the actual twist? The people in this town aren't racist, they just didn't want people with black hair. It's stupid, but you know what? I'll take it. I didn't see it coming, and it kinda fits with the discussion on racism, and there is a lynching... a baby lynching, and he gets arrested. This is sorta like the end of the first segment in The Twilight Zone movie, but at least the actor in this got to live to see another day, or maybe a little longer. However, the way they phrased their tagline, it causes the twist to feel forced. Is this because people with black hair don’t have a term like blondes or brunettes to go for a stronger twist?

So, they set this up like a very basic racism revenge plot, but threw in a twist, no matter how stupid it was, which still fits the allegory they were going for. This has the most palatable twist I've seen in the movie just far, and I still have a ways to go.

After that, we get insight that the millenials spammed nudes of a girl who owed one of them money on social media, and I assume they're gonna die, and this is looking to make Feardotcom look like a great movie, it’s already free to watch.

So I did a little looking around, and I either have only four or five stories to go.

The Samaritan

I noticed a theme around clowns for the first few seconds, let's see where this goes. And that’s another thing about the lack of a proper flow, random things happen with no proper transition, I mean... best you see it for yourself to hopefully get what I mean.

After close to a minute of establishing shots, a man and a woman hold up a sick man for... ransom? Rent payment? Is he a hitman? Does he work for tips? This next scene has him offered to dress like a clown. I'm lost, I'll be right back.

So apparently the woman with the money collector is a prostitute with a pimp, and dressing as a clown is a sexual favor, where the payer is actually a murderer, turns out to be one anyway. 

After finding her pimp asleep with his eyes open, she attempts to escape. I'll give it this, I like the mannerisms of the psycho in this. Could make for a b-grade Joker if anything. Somehow, upon giving a ghost her crucifix, both girls kill the clown. There was no socio political slant, though the clown actor once played John Wilkes Booth in The Ridiculous 6. This was actually a nice little diversion, I’ll give it that.

Okay, seven minutes to the hour mark, no use quitting now.

Hate Radio

Believe it or not, it's not what you think. It's not about racism, it's about everything including racism. Alec Baldwin's long lost twin brother, or Hugh Bluff, is our lead in this. Hugh Bluff? Why not Hugh Jastle? It's every right wing stereotype stuffed into one. This would've been a perfect time to have Scorch do his best Alex Jones impression, but I guess Rusty is a huge Opie and Anthony fan.

It's an AM radio show, meaning this movie would be right down Cinema Snob's alley.

Okay, with the over the top nature presented here they're not going after moderates at least. I can understand there are plenty of dickbags out there that function like this, but the issue here is a lack of a balance. We're equal, not one above another. Otherwise we're gonna see a white Martin Luther King Jr. one of these days, you want that on your conscious? A continuous debate that would inspire more hatred than anyone's comfortable with?

Look, I don't agree with anything he's saying, I promise. If you want to see a good story with a hateful radio show host, check out the Tales from the Darkside episode Devil's Advocate, or the Night Visions episode Dead Air.

He gets a call from New Mexico, and rather than the caller voicing his grievances with Woodrow Wilson, well you can guess.

Best case they're going for a show don't tell approach, or maybe it is tell because they just keep stretching this out. Again, I don't agree with a word coming out of this guy's mouth, or the callers for that matter, but it did do one thing for me, it made me appreciate commercial breaks.

Things are straightforward after that, butthen... Make America Great Again.... okay, just a statement, not gonna complain about that, just them including an image of Donald Trump for good measure because they think we’re idiots who’ve been living under a rock. I just take offense to the people thinking I’m stupid for not picking up on subtext.

Hey guys, he's a Republican, he's bad. We assume you don't know that because we have no respect for your intelligence. Take our side you dummies, otherwise you're as bad as this potato sack we keep parading around.

The deal with this is that this man is turned into a woman, also evil portrait. It worked better in Tales from the Hood with a racist man inhabiting a plantation and him getting attacked by living voodoo dolls, he deserved what came to him and it makes sense in the grand scheme of things.

He turns into the woman in the portrait and out of awareness for how bad the effect would look, covers any parts that would need to be seen to properly display the change. Also a bad wig worse than Kate Mara’s on Fant4astic. This movie has a fascination with dragging scenes out, at least right here. It seems most of the budget was put toward that fake penis that fell out.

Though it may be racist to do so, I'd have to question Cundieff and Scott on their closeted sexist beliefs. They gave Hugh giant breasts, with clear clevage. Hell I'd even go as far as to consider this a touch transphobic because of how exaggerated it is.

Or maybe I’m just trying to one up these guys.

If I say I'm glad it's over, it's because this dragged on for so long I got the sum of it well before it ended. I was able to pick up everything in that overlong tirade at the start, so I have an idea how this ends. She claims that women deserve to be killed by serial killers, or something similar, and the same thing happens to her. And I guess the killer is one of the callers from before, somehow I was able to piece that together, I'm smarter than this movie gives me credit for it seems.

So what's the moral of this story? Just transition to a female actor if you're gonna make a TG look half-assed. Also don't leave discussions on sexism in the hands of someone who thinks lowly of their audience's intelligence.

The Healer

Is this gonna be about religion? Evangelics? Faith healers. Yeah.

So the plot of this is that a faith healer uses fake holy water for his miracles, and he is a fraud. It's obvious, and making me hanker for Moses Gunn in that episode of Tales from the Crypt. At this point I'm surprised they have an African American as a villain, I mean to be fair the first segment did. I'm forgetting already.

Clarence Williams III comes out of nowhere and knocks out the pastor, who's name is Bishop Love. Apparently Fazion doesn't talk much about his conniving brother. Anyhow, this is about the kidnapper's daughter dying, owed to the faith she put in Bishop's false faith.

Also the kidnapper knows voodoo now, plaguing Bishop with imperfections fraudulently dealt with.

Okay, think we have one more, right after the wraparound. Things go all occult real fast. I consider Jesus to be my lord and savior, but at the same time I'm so desensitized to basic horror this just doesn't phase me.

Thy Will Be Done

...if it ever starts. They linger on a summoning scene. Wait, is this the final segment? No, that would've been a neat little twist.

I assume this story is about pregnancy or something related? Yes it is, she gets kidnapped by an anti-abortion cult, and I’m just gonna guess what happens? She wants to abort the child fearing evil will come of it, they don’t want to, evil comes of it, and this is a pro-abortion segment.

It very well is, and it was there I just called it quits. I don’t know what the hell happens at the very end, but I don’t care, maybe those millennials die at the end, I don’t know, it’s probably gonna be incredibly predictable and a waste of time.

Final Thoughts

This has to be the worst horror anthology movie I ever had to watch, regardless of where one leans politically. As a horror anthology it doesn’t work because it’s simply not scary. Hell, even compared to most cheesy b movies things are just so cartoonishly over the top that it would make Battlefield Earth look dignified.

And when this movie incorporates real world issues that are relevant to today’s standards, that just makes it worse. I’m more mad these issues are not approached with the seriousness they deserve, and sensible people should feel the same. This means as a political thing it doesn’t work because rather than engaging the audience or confronting issues they resort to over the top tales that come off as a mockery of issues rather than anything legitimate. The only thing this works as is satire, but even that is weakened by most segments.

Fear of a Black Hat is considered to be Rusty Cundieff’s best film, and frankly, even though I do like Tales from the Hood, I’m beginning to feel like Cundieff is a one-trick-pony. Just previously Rusty and Darin Scott both directed Tales from the Hood 2, a terrible movie.

Bottom line, I don’t hate this movie because I disagree with the messages, I hate the movie because it handles them incredibly poorly, and coming from someone with a hearty appetite for trashy movies, this hurt, it really did.

And by the way, Scorch appeared as an in-mate in this movie, but without the signature crusty voice, lest Ralph’s fans decided to pull a fast one.

[introvertguide]

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964); AFI #39

The most recent movie for the group to review was the Kubrick dark comedy, Dr. Strangelove (I am not writing out the whole title each time). This film has some of the most legitimately funny lines of bewilderment, with some occasions involving an actor playing across from himself. For most film goers, this will be Peter Seller’s most famous role since he plays three main characters, all with different accents, appearances, and quirks. The film was nominated for 4 Academy Awards (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay, and Best Actor) but did not take home any trophies. The film did win best picture at the BAFTAs. This film was definitely in the style of Kubrick, but it was in a genre that I don’t believe he delved into again. I want to review the plot before discussing further, so let me get the usual out of the way:

SPOILER ALERT!!! I AM ABOUT TO GIVE AWAY THE WHOLE PLOT OF THE FILM!!! IF YOU WANT TO WATCH THE FILM ON YOUR OWN WITHOUT HAVING ANYTHING SPOILED, STOP NOW AND WATCH THE FILM!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

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At the start, we are introduced to United States Air Force Brigadier General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) who is commander of Burpelson Air Force Base. This base houses a group of B-52 bombers armed with hydrogen bombs that are constantly in the air. The planes are constantly within two hours from their targets inside the USSR in case of nuclear war. General Ripper orders his executive officer, Group Captain Lionel Mandrake of the UK Royal Air Force (Peter Sellers), to put the base on alert and to issue "Wing Attack Plan R" to the patrolling bombers, one of which is commanded by Major T. J. "King" Kong (Slim Pickens). All of the aircraft commence an attack flight on the USSR, and set their radios to allow communications only through their CRM 114 discriminators, which was designed to accept only communications preceded by a secret three-letter code known only to General Ripper. Mandrake discovers that no attack order has been issued by the Pentagon and tries to stop Ripper, who locks them both in his office. Ripper tells Mandrake that he believes the Soviets have been fluoridating American water supplies to pollute the "precious bodily fluids" of Americans. Mandrake realizes Ripper has gone insane.

In the War Room at the Pentagon, General Buck Turgidson (George C Scott) briefs President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers again) and other officers about how "Plan R" enables a senior officer to launch a retaliatory nuclear attack on the Soviets if all superiors have been killed in a first strike on the United States. It would take two days to try every CRM code combination to issue the recall order, but the planes are due to reach their targets within hours. Muffley orders the U.S. Army to storm the base and arrest General Ripper. Turgidson then attempts to convince Muffley to let the attack continue, but Muffley refuses. Instead, he brings Soviet ambassador Alexei de Sadeski (Peter Bull) into the War Room to telephone Soviet Premier Dimitri Kissov on the "hotline". Muffley warns the Premier of the impending attack, and offers to reveal the positions of the bombers and their targets so that the Soviets can protect themselves.

After a heated discussion in Russian with the Premier, the ambassador informs President Muffley that the Soviet Union had created a doomsday machine as a nuclear deterrent; it consists of many buried bombs jacketed with "cobalt-thorium G", which are set to detonate automatically should any nuclear attack strike the country. Within two months after detonation, the cobalt-thorium G would encircle the planet in a radioactive shroud that would render the Earth's surface uninhabitable. The device cannot be deactivated, as it is programmed to explode if any such attempt is made. The President's wheelchair-bound scientific advisor, former Nazi German Dr. Strangelove (Peter Sellers one more time), points out that such a doomsday machine would only be an effective deterrent if everyone knew about it; Alexei replies that the Soviet Premier had planned to reveal its existence to the world the following week.

Meanwhile, U.S. Army troops arrive at Burpelson, and General Ripper commits suicide. Mandrake identifies Ripper's CRM code from his desk blotter and relays it to the Pentagon. Using the code, Strategic Air Command successfully recalls all of the bombers except Major Kong's, whose radio equipment has been damaged in a missile attack. The Soviets attempt to find it, but Kong has the bomber attack a closer target due to dwindling fuel. As the plane approaches the new target, a Soviet ICBM site, the crew is unable to open the damaged bomb bay doors. Kong enters the bay and repairs the broken electrical wiring while sitting on a H-bomb, whereupon the doors open and the bomb is dropped. Kong joyfully straddles the bomb as it falls and detonates over the target.

Back in the War Room, Dr. Strangelove recommends that the President gather several hundred thousand people to live in deep underground mines where the radiation will not penetrate. He suggests a 10:1 female-to-male ratio for a breeding program to repopulate the Earth once the radiation has subsided. Worried that the Soviets will do the same, Turgidson warns about a "mineshaft gap" while Alexei secretly photographs the war room. Dr. Strangelove declares he has a plan, but then rises from his wheelchair and announces "Mein Führer, I can walk!" as the Doomsday Machine activates. The film ends with a montage of many nuclear explosions, accompanied by Vera Lynn's rendition of the song "We'll Meet Again".

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This is a pretty weird film, but it has some of the funniest lines in cinema. Discussions of not letting a Russian envoy into the war room because he will “see the big board,” the president announcing there is no fighting in the war room, a crazy general constantly talking about a plot to steal American bodily fluids, and a discussion about how the high ranking officials and generals would be hidden in shelters with a 10-1 ratio of hot women to men with the expectation of constant impregnation which everybody suddenly favors: it is all absurd. But I really love it and laugh every time I watch.

The three roles of Peter Sellers is especially noteworthy, as all of his characters are so different. He plays a very British foreign exchange officer (I am not sure this exists), an absolutely whacky former Nazi scientist, and the straight man of the film in the form of the US president. Since Dr. Strangelove was an advisor to the president, there were many scenes in which Peter Sellers was acting across from a stunt shoulder or the back of a head that was supposed to be him. He did a fantastic job of making light of total world destruction during the cold war.

One very notable thing about the acting of Peter Sellers was that he had a couple of ad libs during the movie. Stanley Kubrick is not a director that particularly cares if he gets along with his actors, often times demanding dozens of takes for even the simplest of background scenes. Long dialogue scenes are repeated over and over to the point that many actors did not want to work with Kubrick. And still, the director seemed to like Sellers quite a bit and kept a couple of the takes that were ad-libbed, specifically for the character of Dr. Strangelove. Perhaps the crazy former Nazi character was so unpredictable that random whacky outbursts (like the scream for “Mein Fuhrer” at the end) seemed appropriate.

A little side note is that this was the first film appearance of James Earl Jones as one of the bombardiers on the B-52. He was known for his work in the theatre at the time, so of course he had a bit part in which he was mostly covered in a flight suit and said very little. Now that is a misuse of talent. 

A point about the movie that I was unaware but was pointed out by a follower of the group was that the promotional material for the film shows that the plane was named “Leper Colony” (thank you @themightyfoo). This implies that this group was actually a bunch of screw ups, which is part of the overall joke that this group was given access to world ending bombing capabilities. Maybe it was assumed that the order to drop the bombs would never be given and this group was just given this detail to get them out of the way.

So does this movie belong on the AFI list? Yes, but maybe not ranked so high. It has a lot of name recognition, but I think that is more due to the very distinct naming and the titular role. Maybe the notoriety is also due to the subject matter and the time it was released. It is a fine film with great acting, but I find it hard to put above Jaws, Rocky, or Taxi Driver. I guess that is more my humble opinion, but I agree the list would be lacking without this film. So would I recommend it? Absolutely. It is an interesting story about how red tape allowed one high ranking individual to literally destroy the world. And it is a joke. It is such a well told story that they had to put a disclaimer at the front. A great lesson, even today. 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Snow Storms and Winter Winds

Fandom: Original Character

Collection/Series:  and bluebells gleamed on mountain wild

Pairing: James Tobias Moore (Original Character) x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: G

Warnings: Mentions of hunting because this is 1896 and he’s an outdoorsman

Summary: When James goes to check on his horse, Brandy, during a snow storm the last person he expects to see is you nearly collapsed in the deep snow. 

Notes: This is probably going to be one in a collection of stories because the idea of you being stuck now with James because of a snow storm presents an amazing opportunity for ideas.

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It is the height of winter in the woods, a whirling snowstorm has hit. So hard and so fast that each step he took felt like he was walking through a fast flowing river, the snow high on his legs, dragging at his steps. The snow could be vicious out here in the winter months, his cabin often got so much that he sometimes could not even leave the wood cabin to check on Brandy, his horse, he made sure to keep enough food and water out in case that ever happened. Being snowed in was a common occurrence during these months and every year he prepared ahead of schedule for the inevitable. He had gotten used to the inhospitable nature of the winter, the weather that sought to freeze him to death if he so much as lost his way. 

James would call it beautiful if he could actually see the world around him. The storm was so bad that he could barely see two feet in front of him, let alone admire the powdery snow glistening on the branches of trees or the way the light gleamed. There was, at this point, little light, the storm was so heavy that the sun was blocked out by thick grey clouds and howling winds. The lantern he carried did little to illuminate his way. A warm glow that could barely penetrate the thick white snowfall. 

He is bundled up warm. Heavy, thick fur coat, over layers of woollen jumpers. A knitted scarf wrapped tight around his neck and chin, hat pulled over his ears. It feels like it does little to keep him warm, but he’s only going to check on Brandy. One hand on the rope he’d attached the day previous from his front porch to the small stable he’d made for her. He knew better than to trust himself not to get turned around or lost in the short journey at the height of winter. Storms like this could be deadly. So he carefully follows the rope, letting it guide him to her. The doors are heavy in the cold, the hinges freezing over slowly, the metal detesting his request to move. But he makes his way inside and for a moment he can breathe, the snow is no longer whipping at his face and he can see his large shire shifting in her stall, unhappy with the noises outside. 

He makes sure she has warm blankets, enough hay, water and feed to last her a few days in case he can’t get out again. He gives the hefty shire a gentle pat on the neck and a soothing word, knowing she wasn’t a fan of the howling winds. He knows she dislikes being left alone, but he cannot stay out here, the weather too cold, he’d freeze overnight. As he leaves the stable, locking the door up tight to make sure Brandy doesn’t wander off in the storm or worse a wolf or bear finds its way in, he doesn’t expect to see a figure shivering and hunching in on itself on the road nearby. They look half dead already, barely able to lift a foot to move forward. 

Anyone out in this storm has a death wish and he grumbles to himself knowing that he can’t just leave them there, it would weigh heavy on his conscience, so he leaves the rope, the path he’d made for himself and trudges through the snow. Knowing that he could easily get turned around trying to help them and lose his own way. End up dead from exposure right outside his own front door. He lifts one arm up above his eyes to shield them from the snow. He decides that if he does die out here with this stranger then he’ll make their afterlife a living hell for being such an idiot and wandering about in a snowstorm during winter’s height. 

His burning annoyance and grumbling fades to rampant concern and worry when he realises it’s not just some fool out in the storm, but you. He’d recognise your hair piled high on your head, the shape of your cheeks, the blue coat you favoured so much, anywhere. It chills him more than the storm to see you begin to collapse to your knees, legs no longer able to hold you up in the storm. You’re frozen to the bone and he feels a strike of fear hit him so strong he almost collapses himself. He knows the winter is deadly, he knows your coat is not fit for a winter storm and he has no idea how long you’ve been wandering out here for. 

He picks up the pace, forcing his legs to move faster as he all but jumps through the high snow towards you. He doesn’t know why you’d be out this far from town, especially in this weather but suddenly it doesn’t matter so much as getting you inside his cabin and warm. He can ask you later, when you’re safe and well, it matters little when you’re barely moving in the high snow drifts. 

“Miss Y/N! Darlin’, what the hell are you doin’ out here?” His voice has taken on an urgency he isn’t used to as he crouches next to you, taking in the way you shiver. Your eyes are barely open. You can’t seem to answer him, your teeth chattering so harshly that he’s worried you might break your teeth. You’re ice cold when he takes a glove off to touch it to your cheek and snow clings to your hair and eyelashes like little icicles. James makes a quick decision and pushes through the weariness that his own body feels at the cold and reaches down, an arm underneath your legs as he lifts you into his arms. It is hard enough walking on his own through the high snow, but you can barely walk and he knows you need to get inside and slowly begin to warm back up. You are not light, especially not in your many layers and with the added difficulty of fighting through the snow, but he doesn’t care much for the burn in his arms or the strain in his legs, it’s not his main focus as he keeps his eyes ahead, in the direction he came from. 

He finds the rope again and follows it to his front door, the snow is getting higher and he knows once you’re inside and the door is closed, you’re likely to be stuck that way. The snow is laying thick and high and he wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you found yourselves snowed in, but that he can deal with. The involuntary shivers that shake your body so hard he instinctively pulls you tighter against his broad chest are more of a concern for him and something that makes him feel in over his head. He is not a doctor, nor is he experienced in tending to others. He hasn’t ever really had to. He’s lived a lonely existence after all.

He practically barrels through the front door, shoulder first, it bangs shut after him, but he’s not concerned about the possible dent in his wall as he sets you on the sofa in front of the fire that’s still going. Your clothes are soaked from the strength of the snow outside and he fights against everything his mother ever taught him about politeness, knowing that you needed dry clothes and not your soaked skirt and coat. All your layers are heavy with water, cold and damp, and entirely unhealthy for you to stay in.

He hunts through his wardrobe for a spare undershirt and a comfortable union suit that he knows will be much too long for you, but that is dry and comfortable and will keep your modesty intact once changed. He tries to remind himself that he isn’t being lecherous or improper, you’re freezing, most likely hypothermic and if he doesn’t get you warmed up slowly you might not wake back up. He still feels the tell tale warmth that flushes his cheeks, ears, and neck as he carefully peels your clothes off, placing the sopping wet ones on the floor by the fire. He does his best not to look at the exposed skin, but simply look at your face or over your shoulder at the fabric of the settee as he gets you redressed as quickly as possible in the dry clothes he has found. They’re much too long on your arms and legs and he has to look to get you in them at points, but despite the discomfort he feels at doing something that feels too intimate for mere acquaintances, potentially friends, he is relieved to get you in something dry and warm. Your skin is far too cold for his liking and the sooner some warmth returns to you the sooner he’ll be able to breathe. 

He tries not to think too hard about the corset on his floor or the various clothing pieces, or the skin that he’d been privy to. It’s not appropriate and he can almost hear his late mother’s voice berating him, at the same time he knows he has to do it. For your health, your safety. He pushes the discomfort aside, hanging the wet clothes over a rack near the hearth to dry, before searching through a chest for his spare blankets. 

He wraps you in them carefully, making sure each finger and toe is covered. He doesn’t want to place you in a warm bath or too close to the fire, he’s worried about warming you too quickly, your body going into shock at the temperature change, so blankets will have to do. He presses the back of a freckled hand to your forehead, chilly still, but warming. The fact you’re beginning to make noise reassures him that you’re getting better and not in fact getting worse. 

He knows only time will tell, so he leaves you there as he shrugs off his heavy coat, scarf and hat, hanging them on the hook by the door before working on dinner. He’s freezing himself, but now he’s inside the toasty air of his cabin he knows he’ll stop feeling the chill soon. Soup sounds nice, he thinks. He still has some fresh vegetables from before the weather suddenly turned and if you wake up later he can reheat some on the wood burning stove, enough to warm you inside and fill your stomach. Soup sounds nice. He thinks he might have some of the loaf that he made a few days past still, not quite as nice as when it was first made, but better. He decides he’ll save it for you, you’ll need the little pleasure more than him if you come to. 

He looks back over at you every few minutes as he chops carrots, potatoes, leeks, squash. Making sure your chest is still rising, that you’re still breathing. He is still feeling that same panic deep in his chest, you’re not out of the proverbial woods and he is petrified that you might not make it out. He likes you. He doesn’t know you as well as he could after 2 years, but he likes you. You’re one of the few reasons he ever still goes into town. He enjoys your smile, your soft gentle nature, telling your students his stories while you watch with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile. He enjoys your company when he gets it and he enjoys you. It would be...it would be less than ideal for you to be bested by the weather and he would...he struggles to admit it to even himself but he would be devastated if you died. 

The soup is boiling over the stove by the time you begin to truly move, you shift on his sofa, amongst the blankets. Little groans leave your throat and he’s hovering over you unsure what to do. Your face is scrunched, brow furrowed deeply and lips turned down, but you don’t open your eyes or speak, you just lie there clearly in discomfort. He tucks the blankets around you, making sure you’re still fully covered despite your shifting and with a sigh James sits on the floor, back against the foot of the sofa as he waits. 

He was generally a loner, James didn’t tend to have visitors or enjoy the company of others. He preferred the company of animals, especially his horse Brandy, but there were a couple of exceptions to that rule. 

One was children. Their curious nature, their bluntness, the innocent way they viewed the world, the curiosity they had of him rather than fear. He had a soft spot for them, they made him smile and he never felt out of place around them. Had he not been so nervous around others, he’d have liked his own brood by now...but women were generally intimidated by him. His scars, his stature, being so tall and so broad he knew he looked scary to most and his quiet nature and permanent frown did nothing to quell the fears of women in town, no matter how many times he was helpful or kind. He just seemed to scare them off. 

Another exception to his rule was you. You had never been intimidated by him. The first time you’d met, he’d been lugging a whole stag over his shoulder to the butcher, a whole 200 kilos and you’d simply smiled at him and asked him if he’d been out hunting. He’d grunted something at you, unsure how to talk to someone so pretty because you were pretty. You’d seemed not to mind and your smile had widened when one of your students had latched onto his leg recognising him as ‘Uncle James’ even though he was most definitely not her uncle, rather he simply helped the family with firewood a few times a year. You had always been kind and gentle with him, over time the grunts turned into words and from words to full sentences and he found himself opening up to someone for the first time since his parents had passed on. He never realised how lonely he was until he regularly talked to you. He went from going into town maybe once every few weeks, to going multiple times a week, just to see you, always with an excuse. That he was fetching something from the general store or had a hide to deliver or some other errand to run. In truth he went to catch even a glimpse of you, of your soft smile and glowing nature. 

“Ugh..” Everything hurts. That’s your first conscious thought, that every part of your body aches in a unique sort of way that’s hard to describe. Your skin feels like it’s covered in cold pins and needles. You feel both warm and cold at the same time, the sort of burning on your skin that only comes from sticking your hand in a pile of snow. 

You're greeted by warm light when you finally blink your eyes open, trying to ease yourself up into a sitting position. A large warm pair of hands come to your shoulders and back, easing you up to prop you against some pillows. Your surroundings are cosy, wooden cabin walls, dark wood furniture, blankets, pillows. It’s homey and it eases some of your anxiety, even more so when the figure helping you to sit comes into view.

James Moore is knelt beside the sofa where you’re sitting, worried brown eyes flitting over your features. You feel instantly safe and secure, James has always made you feel that way. He is a unique sort of man, one who appears physically imposing, intimidating. Between his broad frame, the scars on his skin, over his eye, and the sheer size of him, he cuts an impressive figure. Always easy to spot in a crowd and often parting a crowd simply because people find him scary. You know better. He’s so incredibly gentle that it’s almost contradictory, that a man so gentle could be so large, that a man so intimidating could be so soft. 

“Mr Moore?” There’s a blank in your memory. You remember leaving town, deciding to make the long walk out to see one of your students who had been sick. You wanted to make sure they were doing okay, especially as the weather was beginning to turn for the worst. Then you remember the snow coming down hard, by this point you were ages out from town and in the woods, little in the way of houses or shelter. You’d kept going, but changed direction knowing you were near James’ house, nearer to his than to your students, you’d made for his instead. Your memory is hazy after that, cold snow up to your knees, frozen toes in your shoes and a shiver so strong that it nearly knocked you over. 

A warm freckled hand is pressed to your brow and James seems displeased with whatever he finds, pulling the blankets tighter over your shoulders. 

“Nice to see you awake, Miss...I thought...well, it didn’t look so good there for a while.” It had been hours. He’d eaten his own dinner. The soup was cold on the stove top, the fire had been tended to, the sun had set, and the snow had piled so high that there was no way he was going to be able to open the door. You were officially snowed in. After the first few hours he’d worried you wouldn’t ever wake up. A deep relief fills him at the sight of your open eyes and the sound of your voice, he almost felt like he could cry. He wanted to hold you tight, but pulled the blankets around you instead. It wasn’t appropriate. You weren’t family or husband and wife. So he stopped himself. 

“What...what happened?” 

“I found ya out by the road, frozen to the bone. What the hell were you thinkin’ comin’ out in a snowstorm like this?” His voice raises just a fraction and the panic rings clear. You reach a shaky, tingling hand and grasp his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“...I was...I wanted to check on a student and I didn’t...I didn’t realise that a storm was going to hit. I...thank you, James.”

If it’s possible he feels himself tense more from the sound of his given name coming from your lips. You have always been supremely proper with him, you had never called him James. You always called him Mr Moore, always treated him with the perfect level of propriety and distance despite the warm smiles. Always so aware of where you stood as an unmarried woman and where he stood as an unmarried man. He likes the sound of his name on your lips, the way your voice seems to curl around each syllable. 

“I...I was worried...Y/N.” He does you the courtesy of using your own name, the familiarity is unfamiliar to him and he can feel a flush high on his cheeks, coursing over his neck and rising to the tips of his ears at using your name. It shouldn’t spark a reaction in him, but it does because it’s you. Because there is no doubt in his mind that he has a great deal of affection, perhaps even love for you, after these 2 years of knowing you. Because your name is something sweet and soft in his mouth, because it feels like some sort of guilty pleasure to speak it. “You were near hypothermic, you...you could’a died, darlin’.” 

You watch him quietly, knowing that he’s right. You had made a terribly stupid decision. You knew that winter storms always hit around this time of year, you knew how bad they could get and still you’d gone out on your own, ill equipped and unprepared. What made you feel guilty wasn’t that you’d done something potentially dangerous to yourself, but rather that you’d caused him to worry. James was a private person, his feelings were kept under lock and key, yet right now they were so plain to see and that they pulled at your heart. You had caused him unnecessary amounts of worry. 

“You must be hungry, I’ll heat up some soup for you. I saved you some bread.” He’s lighting a match and setting the stove alight before you can protest, big cast iron pot of soup on top left to boil and heat as he finds out the loaf of bread, unwraps it from it’s coverings and slices it. He doesn’t scrimp on the bread, he doesn’t offer you one slice for your soup but damn near half a loaf and it is heart warming, the kindness, as he plates up your food on a wooden tray and gently places it in your lap. You don’t know this, but he has even picked out his nicest soup spoon, the one that just seems to make soup taste ten times better. 

It is tasty and warms you from the inside. It should be uncomfortable having him watch you eat, but it’s not. You know he’s simply concerned for you, worried about your wellbeing, worried that you might keel over at any moment. He watches you to make sure you eat, that you are well, that you are truly getting better. You eat the soup and even the majority of the bread, he’d found a slab of butter, and there had never been anything more wonderful than buttery bread dipped into homemade soup. It’s domestic and you could get used to it, to James making you dinner and wrapping you in warm blankets, but it’s not that simple. You shouldn’t even be alone together, but you are. Everything about this is breaking the rules your mother always taught you, the rules you’re sure his mother taught him. 

“James...I...how did I…” You gesture to the change of clothing, you had only noticed once the tray was removed from your lap and put aside to be tidied, that you were in fact not in your own clothes. You felt warmth fill your body, your cheeks felt like they were on fire. James’ own blushed a  deep bright red, his freckles almost blending in. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, biting into his bottom lip anxiously. His eyes don’t meet your own.

“I didn’t...I didn’t look, I just...you were freezin’ and I had...I had to change yer clothes. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“James…” Despite protest from your body, you rise onto stumbling and unsteady feet. He’s there in an instant, hands around your waist to hold you steady, your own fall onto those wide shoulders. “You don’t have to apologise. You’re probably the only reason I'm not dead right now...I trust you. I know you’d never do anything untoward. You’re a good man.”

“Still...it ain’t right. I’m not yer husband.” You wish he was. In that moment, you wish he was your husband because you know he’d be good to you. He would look after you, care for you, share the burdens of life with you. He’d never raise his voice at you, he’d never raise a hand. You know you’d have a good life with him, a happy life. You can see yourself falling in love with him. But, he’s right. He’s not your husband. 

“No, you’re not. But I'd much rather you do the improper thing and save my life then leave me out in the snow to die. You have nothing to be sorry for. You have nothing to be guilty for. Do you understand me?” Your hands are cupping the sides of his face, thumbs brushing through the red of his beard as you tilt his face down to look at you. He is so much taller than you, that it would be easy for him to avoid looking at you, but you won’t have it. You force him to look upon you, to understand the sincerity of your words. That you hold nothing against him, that you don’t want him to feel guilty for helping you, for doing what had to be done. 

“...Yes...I...I understand.” His voice is so quiet, like he’s talking in some reverent place, some holy space where raising his voice would be disrespectful. He can’t bring himself to talk louder, there is something about the way your eyes capture him, the awe which he feels filling his chest at your understanding, your touch. He...no one has touched him tenderly and with any sort of affection since his parents passed, it was something he didn’t realise he missed or needed until now. This moment where he’s leaning into your touch without realising, hoping you never pull away but knowing that at some point you will.

You don’t pull away. Not right away. Not even after a minute. You hold his face in your palms and stroke your thumbs over his skin, noting where it’s rough, the scratch of his beard, the scars, the many freckles that cover every inch of his skin. You know you should pull away, that would be polite, but you don’t want to. He is warm, human and so starved of touch that the way his eyes flutter closed has your heart aching in your chest. 

“I...I should let you rest, Y/N…” His large palms encircle your wrists, enclosing them completely as he gently pulls your hands from his face. James hates that he has to, but you are a temptation to his morals, his own code of propriety and he needs to remove your touch from his skin before he does something truly improper. 

“You're probably right…” You are truly exhausted. There is a shake in your bones that only comes from physical weakness after an ordeal. James is careful as he leads you by the arm towards the cabin’s bedroom. 

He only has one bed and he will gladly give it up for you, knowing that you need it more than him and knowing that it is only polite to let you, his guest, take the bed. It is covered in knitted blankets and furs, so many layers that he’d prepared for the turning coldness. There’s a homeliness about this room too, something gentle, soft. Photographs line the walls, you presume they are of his parents and a younger version of himself. 

“You can take the bed. I’ll sleep out on the sofa.” He doesn’t think twice about offering it up, he knows he’d toss and turn all night in his own bed if you didn’t take it. You are still unwell, still recovering from exposure to the elements and the thought of you on an old settee with just a few blankets sits uneasily with him. 

“James…”

“Please. Ya need the bed more than me and I...I ain’t...I wouldn’t be able to rest if you were out on that settee.” You want to argue with him, but you’re exhausted and the bed looks warm and inviting. So you concede with a nod of your head and let him help you under the covers. Like some sort of mother hen, he tucks you in and makes sure you’re comfortable and places a glass of water by your bedside, turning down the oil lamp. You wonder if he’d do the same if you were married. Would he help you to bed and make sure you’re comfortable before locking up the house? Would he sit beside you and read his book into the late hours? 

He fills the doorway, a dark silhouette, the light of the living area from behind him shrouding him in shadow. The bed is warm and cosy, each blanket weighs down on you, makes you feel secure, and your eyes are already beginning to blink closed. 

“Goodnight, James…”

“G’night, Sweetheart.” He leaves you in darkness, pulling the door closed behind him and providing you with privacy. It’s that consideration, that desire to follow the rules, that endears you even more towards him. There are many men in the world, you know, who would take advantage of this opportunity. An isolated cabin, an unmarried woman alone and unchaperoned, a storm outside stopping anyone from venturing out. But, James is a good man. He is so utterly good that even the necessary acts, the things he does to help you, he is reluctant to do out of respect for you.

It’s the lingering drawl of his voice, the woodsy smell on his bed sheets, the ghost of a gentle but respectful touch that lulls you to sleep. You are safe here, with him. You know that without a doubt.

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

                                                    All Works Taglist

@charradelange​ @belfry-bat

[hangingslothcentral]

sirius black was done dirty and i’m mad about it

So you might have seen my big post about how dumbledore is a scumbag for his treatment of Harry, but like, Sirius was done so dirty by this motherfucker I cannot even. It makes me genuinely furious.

Think about it for a minute; Sirius is this wildcard kid. He’s raised in an abusive household, which he eventually flees, and ends up living with the Potters. His parents, in addition to being abusive, are also wizardnazi sympathisers, and Sirius’ younger brother, Reggie, grows up to actually BE a wizardnazi (he ends up being a crucial thorn in Voldy’s side and turns coats later, but he has to have actually joined in earnest).

Sirius is not a quiet, broken little thing in a straightforward sense. He’s a particular flavour of damaged which results in him being loud and brash. He simultaneously loves and loathes himself; he prances around like a show pony and kisses anything that breathes but ultimately beleives himself to be unlovable. He acts fast and rash because he doesn’t have a strong handle on his emotions. He doesn’t understand what healthy love and affection looks like, and often he’s mean to people because keeping them at arms length is less scary than letting them in. When he does allow people to get close, he is fierce, frightening and irrationally protective of them. Stand between Sirius and his friends and he will rip you limb from limb. Because he doesn’t really value himself or his own life, he’s way more likely to throw himself into dangerous situations, either because it allows him to feel fear in a way he can control, or because he genuinely doesn’t care if he lives or dies but DOES care if his people get hurt. Probably most of the time it’s a combination of the two. This is why his dog animagus form is so appropriate for him, imo; he’s not loyal and obedient like a labrador, he’s protective, he’s pack-driven, and he will protect his pack At All Costs.

Dumbledore has watched this kid roll in from the Black family and get sorted into Gryffindor. Dumbledore is a smart guy; he knows this will complicate Sirius’ relationships with his family. No biggy, really. Dumbledore has other shit going on; Voldybaldy is gaining power with frightening speed and ability. Every day the war gets closer and closer to Dumbledore and the school he has chosen as his stomping ground. Sirius getting ostracised is probably a good thing from a distance; the likelihood of him becoming a Death Eater is slimmer.

As he progresses through school Sirius is getting to be more and more of a nuissance. He, James, and Peter are in and out of detention all the time. He notices Sirius is becoming preoccupied with Remus Lupin; this could be a good thing in two respects. Remus is even less likely to end up outside of society if he has social ties, and you hoped him to make friends at school for this reason when you fought for his place. Sirius and James might even shake Remus out of his shell a little bit, maybe direct him towards being able to control himself when in wolf form, the way Fenrir Greyback can. Only this wolf would be on your side (maybe I should also write a ‘How Dumbledoodoo fucked over my boy Remus’ too). Dumbledore likely also hopes, as Remus assumes, that Remus will be a guiding light to his new friends and perhaps curb some of their less desirable habits. But the shenanigans continue, only more on the DL, more efficiently. Remus and Sirius become closer than Dumbledore had anticipated because he has a ton of internalised homophobia and assumes straight until proven queer and it won’t have occured to him that people he did not previously think of as particularly important have so complex a set of inner lives as to be creatures that fall for each other.

The extent to which Sirius will do anything, a n y t h i n g, to strike back at those who have hurt the people he loves becomes clear in his fifth year when he sends Snape into the tunnel under the whomping willow after Remus. Can you imagine how furious Remus would be with him for using him that way? Can you imagine how hurt he would be that Sirius did not even consider how he would feel if he killed someone? None of this would have occured to Sirius. He wanted to see Snape torn to shreds. Wanted him hurt, dead. Wanted him to suffer. How dare Snape insult his Moony? Did Snape think it was cool and fun for this to happen to him every month? Did he think it was a fun little puzzle to solve? Remus is not a puzzle and he is suffering, but he’s not meek and vulnerable, and he can stand up for himself. The obvious answer to this problem, to Sirius, is let Snape solve the riddle and then let Remus rip his head off. Easy, straightforward.

Thank god James went to Dumbledore and explained what was going on because had Remus actually killed or even hurt Snape in his wolf form, he may never have forgiven Sirus for facilitating it. As soon as this is pointed out to Sirius, it is plain to everyone there that he intensely wishes he could take his actions back but there is nothing he could do. And that moment where the egg cracks, where he realises he almost fucked up in a way that would mean one of the people he cares about most in the universe would never speak to him again, that would have happened when Dumbledore called him, James, Snape and Peter to his office after Snape’s life had been saved. Dumbledore would have watched these emotions blossom on Sirius’ face (maybe even sneaking a peak at his thoughts whilst he was at it). He would have known the intensity of Sirius’ feelings, his regret, and the reasoning as to why this unfolded. Dumbledore is not a stupid man. This is why he allows them all to return to school life as normal immediately afterwards with no more serious repurcussions than a slap on the wrist.

So at this point Dumbledore knows - does not suspect, k n o w s - that Sirius is reckless, loyal to a fault, and would go to any lengths imaginable to defend his friends, and their honour he probably also knows now Sirius is madly in love with Remus but that’s neither here not there even if it is important to note.

Time goes on, they finish school and become members of the Order. It’s not confirmed in the books but it’s fairly safe to assume from context that to be a member of the Order you have to have Dumbledore’s trust, in some capacity. In practice, that means Dumbledore reckons he’s got something on you and when it comes down to it, he’s the one holding the cards so you’d have to side with him for your own benefit. He’s earned James, Peter has never been a particular problem, Sirius owes Dumbledore his honour, and Remus would have had literally no opportunities in life were it not for Dumbledore. Thus, a loyal set of additions to his little wizardnazi fighting team.

The prophecy happens, James and Lily’s son is implicated, you know this part of the story. And they are killed by Voldy and Harry is packed off to the Dursleys to become an obscurial and the rest is history. But Sirius. S I R I U S. Sirius ends up in Azkaban for murdering Peter and a bunch of muggles. Yeah, surface level, to an outside observer, maybe this would make sense. Sirius was always a troublemaker, he came from a pureblood, traditionally Slytherin family with ties to voldemort. It would make sense it was him that betrayed Lily and James and also that he would kill Peter for challenging him. IF you only had a very scant awareness of Sirius Black, which we have already established, Dumbledore does not. He knows quite a lot about Sirius, actually. Has a firm grip on what he’s like.

See, Dumbledore never offers to be James and Lily’s secret keeper. It wouldn’t matter that he was an obvious choice, even if that was the reason he gave them. Voldemort is scared of Dumbledore. He would not have dared attack him, and besides, that is just not how the Fidelius Charm operates. Let it be one of the friends, and Dumbledore assumes James and Lily would choose Sirius because it’s Sirius, and he probably would have nudged them in that direction. Why? Because Sirius is rash and loyal to a T. If anyone is going to get killed, weaken the Fidelius charm by having a bunch of people as secret keepers instead of just one because he dies, it’s Sirius. Oh he’d go down in a blaze of righteous glory. But Sirius, by now, has learnt this about himself. He knows. So he tells James and Lily to choose Peter instead.

Dumbledore may not have explicitly known this, but he would have known that Sirius would have died before he betrayed his friends. He was probably actually counting on it. Knowing he was at the wreckage at the Potter’s home in Godric’s Hollow would have, should have been enough for Dumbledore to add up these pieces of information and infer that it was not Sirius who was secret keeper. The Fidelius Charm did not break; Peter gave the secret up. And when Sirius went to confront Peter, if Dumbledore had not yet worked this out, he should have guessed at this point what had happened, because of how Sirius was, what he’d have felt about Peter betraying Lily and James.

Anyway, none of the guessing really matters because had Dumbledore even visited Sirius just once, before his trial or after, he’d have heard the full story and put the pieces together. But he didn’t. He didn’t bother because Sirius wasn’t directly important to his plans. Because Sirius was supposed to die and weaken the charm anyway so Dumbledore could have his baby martyr. It didn’t go exactly as Dumbledore had thought, but it worked out mostly to his devices, so why bother asking Sirius for the details? Who cares if he is wrongfully imprisoned? He was always a pain in the neck anyway. 

I could go on but this is actually really long now hahahahahaaaaaaaa. yes so consider this pt. 2 of why dumbledore is the worst.

[cautious-creation]

Steve plays guitar and only Bucky knows

Fandom & Character: Marvel (MCU); Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes (Sebastian Stan), Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson), Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner)

Pairing(s): (suggested) Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans) x 1st person reader; Clintasha (non-romantic)

Word/page count: 1200+ words

CW/TW: none I noticed

Summary: Reader hears Steve playing guitar and offers to be his vocalist ft. an Ed Sheeran song.

Author’s note: This is based on an imagine / headcanon type thing I’ve lost in the internet over time. I wrote this when I was in grade...9?...ish. I mention it because I don’t like it much in hindsight.

It'd been yet another day of intense training. Natasha and Clint were in charge of planning and coaching the torturous activities for me. Target practice, boxing, sparring and flexibility training were included in my morning 'workout'. I walked through the tower, past the living quarters of the avengers, who I looked up to and aspired to be like. As I turned a corner, I almost bumped into an, unusually cheerful, James Barnes.

"Hey." He acknowledged.

"Hi" I gave him a tired smile.

"How's the training going?" He must be in a pretty good mood, he usually doesn't seek conversation, specifically with me.

"I know I shouldn't complain about having such an awesome opportunity, I mean; I'm training, and living with the Avengers, but Lord knows this is draining me." I stretched my back sideways, I was sure to be hella stiff the next day. James chuckled. Okay, he's probably the happiest he's been since he returned from that mission where they destroyed a HYDRA based he'd been trained in. I'd have to bring it up with Steve.

"I assume you're referring to training with a couple ex-assassins." He smirked.

"I swear, Clintasha are going to kill me in the gym downstairs before I see my first mission with either S.H.I.E.L.D or you guys."

"Clintasha?" He looked at me quizzically. Had I said that aloud?

"Ugh, Hawkeye and Black Widow. Please don't tell them about that nickname. I find it easier to refer to them like that considering they're pretty much always together." He smiled.

"Sure, I'd prefer to postpone your apparent inevitable doom. You make good food." He walked off chuckling and shaking his head then saying ‘Clintasha’ and laughing louder.

I continued my journey to the destination shower when I heard a familiar set of chords being played on an acoustic guitar. It definitely wasn't the original song, or any other recorded version of it for that matter, based on the pauses between strums and small mistakes that appeared occasionally.

G, C, G, G, C and C. The appropriate rests were in between each strum which were each their specific length to play the fun, quick paced song that Ed Sheeran gave to the world. It was being played slowly, as if the musician was unfamiliar with the song.

A couple of repetitions of the first verse later and the soft hum of the melody could be heard as the guitarist added sound to where the lyrics would be sung. I quietly sang the lyrics as I neared the source of the music.

"It's late in the evening, glass on the side, I've been sat with you for most of the night." I reached the closed door separating the world from the beautiful sound resonating from inside the room.

"I need you darling, come on set the tone, if you feel you're falling won't you let me know."

I took the chance and knocked on the door to the room of one of the Avengers, I was about to find out who.

The song stopped, I could hear some shuffling, then footsteps on the wooden floor approaching the door.

It opened to a slightly flustered Steve Rogers, probably a bit embarrassed by the possibility of him being caught playing an Ed Sheeran song.

"Oh, I was expecting...never mind. How can I help you?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you, sir." I suddenly became incredibly shy, fiddling with my fingers and lowering my head in the presence of the beautiful piece of man in front of me. My role model and superior.

"I believe you may want a vocalist? Quality playing deserves to have a melody accompany it, don't you think?" I was certain to be blushing by now.

"You sing?" He smiled. I nodded.

"I took lessons before I got involved with S.H.I.E.L.D, participated in a few national competitions actually, I was asked to be the lead vocalist when my friend started a band too. I'd be glad to practice with you if you'll take me." I shrugged.

"You know, I'd really appreciate the help." He started heading back into his room before turning back to me.

"On one condition." His face was stern.

"Name it." I smiled.

"No one finds out. Neither of us would ever be able to live it down if anyone finds out, especially Tony." He picked up a classic wooden acoustic guitar.

"I assume we won't be performing for anyone then." I smirked.

"Absolutely not." He chuckled.

----------

We'd gone through the song about five times when the door flew open revealing an otherwise occupied James Barnes.

"There's this song I thought you'd....oh." He looked up to see Steve holding his guitar and me holding a Stark-Pad for the both of us to see.

"I see you finally took my advice, Stevie." He smirked placing his hand on his hip almost sassily.

"No one finds out, huh?" I quipped, surprised.

"Only Bucky knows." He shrugged questioning whether or not I'd accept that as a reasonable excuse.

"Okay." I shrugged.

"What advice?" I asked James.

"To get someone to teach him how to really play."

"Really?  You think I know how to play guitar, actually, more importantly: you think Captain Rogers needs a teacher." I was baffled, he got that song down in under ten repetitions.

"Omg, please don't call me that. It makes me feel old." I laughed. They looked at each other confused, which only made me laugh harder.

"Really?" I managed to stop laughing.

"Modern acronyms don't suit you, first off; and secondly, it makes you feel old? Seriously?" I looked between the 90 something year olds, the one desperately trying to stifle his laughter while waiting for the other to understand.

"Oh, you mean because I am old." James sighed and covered his face with his hands. I just smiled and shook my head.

"This is why you fail so miserably at communicating with Tony, buddy." Bucky walked off chuckling and muttering ‘old man’ to himself.

"From the top?" I asked, walking back to where the lyrics were being displayed from the tablet at the foot of Steve's bed.

"Miss Y/L/N? I believe you are due for another round of training." J.A.R.V.I.S.' voice sounded, causing me to groan.

"Can you let Miss Romanoff and Mr Barton that I'll be down once I've returned from the physio therapist, chiropractor and spa. Just make sure they know that was sarcasm."

"Last thing I need is for a couple of ex assassins to have reason to torture me further than what they already do." I muttered.

"I could train you if you'd like. I have a feeling we'll work better when it comes to communication and knowing physical limits. You do need to be able to walk tomorrow." Steve suggested.

"That's allowed?" I asked hopefully. He nodded.

"Oh please! Please, please, please!" I begged. I grabbed onto his shirt, genuinely desperate.

"Okay, if you're done being weirdly affectionate with our boss, I believe we have some training to get done." Clint smirked as he entered the doorway.

I dropped my head awkwardly, stood up slowly and smiled through my intense blush, hoping that my expression was as innocent as I needed it to be.

"um...I'll just...head down so long. I'll see you there." I started walking.

"Preferably the hottest of you three." I muttered, looking back to see Steve discussing (intensely) with Clintasha.

[themculibrary]

Fake Relationship AU’s Masterlist (2)

Links Last Checked: November 27th, 2023

part one

a long way from the playground (ao3) - tesselated steve/bucky E, 27k

Summary: “Actually, I am dating someone.” He says.

What ends up happening is, he says the first name that comes to mind.

What ends up happening is, he blurts out, “Steve Rogers.”

Without thinking, obviously. Because if he had been thinking, he would have thought of something better than this.

And that's how Bucky ends up bringing Steve as a date to his sister's wedding.

Bicycle made for two (ao3) - sirona clint/phil E, 8k

Summary: Pretending to be Phil Coulson's husband, when all you want in the world is not to have to pretend, is the single worst experience of Clint's life.

Boyfriend for Hire (ao3) - maximoffs steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: It’s the tone of the ad that catches his eye.

WANTED FOR IMMEDIATE HIRE Fake boyfriend for sad but beautiful golden retriever in the shape of real human man. Must possess at least one (1) wedding-appropriate suit and ability to grunt through small talk. Will be paid in gratitude, food, and an open bar. Please do not pretend you have anything better to do on the night of October 9th.

Escort Me To The Gates Of Hell (ao3) - GraduateGraduWait (GraduateGraduate) steve/bucky, peggy/angie, clint/natasha E, 47k

Summary: Steve finds himself in need of a date for a wedding. Sam sets him up with a friend, but doesn't tell Steve what that friend does for a living. It doesn't take long for Steve to find himself in way too deep.

Way too deep.

I See Your True Colours (ao3) - MagicaDraconia16 rhodey/tony T, 5k

Summary: In a fit of wishful thinking, James Rhodes tells his mom that he and Tony Stark are dating.

He then tells Tony that his mom thinks they're dating (because, duh, he told her so).

Surprisingly, Tony actually agrees to play along with this. It's going to be an absolute disaster.

...Isn't it?

i stole the keys to this guy (ao3) - kellifer_fic steve/tony M, 6k

Summary: Where it was Nick Fury's idea, but he didn't mean it like that

i took the stars from our eyes and then i made a map (ao3) - teamcap steve/bucky, clint/sam, sharon/natasha G, 25k

Summary: “This - I mean, this is seriously probably your worst idea. Ever.” Bucky grins.

“So you’ll go?” Sam glances between them, and looks at the map they handed him, marked to hell with red sharpie and little arrows pointing at all their future stops, and then back up.

“Yeah, I’ll go. But when something goes horribly wrong you can’t put any of the blame on me,” he says, and Steve smiles.

“Deal,” Bucky says. “Oh, there is one other thing. Can we use your car?”

or

Steve, Sam, and Bucky go on a road trip, and it goes just about as well as you would expect.

I’ve Been Careless With a Delicate Man (ao3) - Paraxdisepink steve/bucky T, 8k

Summary: Steve lets SHIELD think he and Bucky were boyfriends so they’ll let him see the Winter Soldier in medical.

just say you do (ao3) - biblionerd07 steve/bucky T, 173k

Summary: Steve just wanted a job. He wasn't expecting a marriage proposal. And he certainly wasn't expecting to accept.

More Than Pretend (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor steve/bucky T, 2k

Summary: Bucky's family is having their usual family dinner like they always do on Valentine's Day, but this time he's decided to ask Steve to be his 'fake boyfriend' so his mother will stop bugging him about bringing a date home. Steve says yes, despite the fact that he has very real feelings for Bucky and doesn't want this to be 'just pretend'.

Take Another Little Piece of My Heart Now, Baby (ao3) - blue_jack steve/tony M, 27k

Summary: “I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.

Ten times outta nine, I'm a hand grenade (ao3) - twobettafish tony/stephen M, 420k

Summary: Though neither remembered that night, it turns out that Tony Stark and Stephen Strange had first encountered each other years earlier.

Unfortunately, that might end up destroying the universe.

That Should Be Me (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor steve/sam T, 3k

Summary: Steve and Sam have a steady relationship, despite the fact that they've been hiding their relationship from the public, but that's something they never had a problem with, until the Avenger's PR manager suggests that Steve gets a 'fake girlfriend' to earn positive feedback from the public. This causes some issues with Steve and Sam's relationship.

the reason you ruminate the shadowy past (ao3) - Mizzy steve/tony T, 20k

Summary: So, Captain America effectively manages to cockblock Tony for a year.

It's not Steve's fault. Well, actually, it is. But he was just proving a point - that if a superhero is gay, how can it be wrong? Steve just picked the wrong superhero to make the point with. Now America will think they're dating - and Tony's not going to be the guy to break Captain America's heart.

There's only one way out. To save face, Steve and Tony have to become fake boyfriends. Steve thinks the "boyfriends" bit will be the hardest to act... but maybe it's the "fake" part that will be the hardest act of all...

The Wedding Date (ao3) - emphasisonem steve/bucky M, 15k

Summary: Sam sighs, “Man, why can’t you be a normal young adult and just lie to your mother. It would really make this easier.”

“Believe me, I know,” Steve grins. “Who else do we know who’d consider spending a week in Brooklyn with me pretending to be my significant other?”

“I’ll do it,” a deep voice interrupts the two of them and Steve starts slightly. He hadn’t realized the actual object of his affections had walked into the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee looking absolutely devastating (as usual) in a dark gray suit.

In which Steve needs a date to his mother's wedding and Bucky is all too happy to accompany him.

this city bleeds its aching heart (ao3) - brumous steve/bucky E, 34k

Summary: The one where Steve and Bucky pose as a happily married couple while on a mission for SHIELD, to catch an international arms dealer hiding in a suburban neighbourhood.

Thor Odinson is Not Just A God of Thunder (ao3) - Valeris bucky/darcy/steve, jane/thor T, 34k

Summary: One of Thor's lesser known functions is as a god of fertility, and he certainly knows a maiden when he sees one. (Or, how Thor outs Darcy as a virgin and maybe gets her a date in the process.)

Wait & Sea (ao3) - Lenalena steve/tony E, 53k

Summary: In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

[prettyprettymusings]

Thoughts & Theories about COG2/The Last Hours

Welcome to my Ted Talk…

Ok first. I saw the bracelet thing coming since The Midnight Heir however I read TFTSA first so I had a little more background. Herondales are d r a m a t i c but Jame’s antics seemed a lot more dramatic than your average Herondale.

The bracelet. Two theories. It doesn’t work completely on James because he’s part demon and since it’s a demon cursed object, it cancels some of it out. However the demon who cursed it was his grandfather so I imagine he would have thought about that hiccup at some point.

Second..it doesn’t work because he has been in love with Cordelia since before the bracelet was put on. He may not have known it but after she nursed him back to health there were f e e l i n g s. He had a vision of her when the bracelet came off and again when it went back on. As far as we have seen of Grace’s abilities..she has only used them on men who hadn’t been in love (Matthew and Charles) (edited: actually she casually tried Magnus in The Midnight Heir. He’s both been in love and is a downworlder and was really disgusted about how she made him feel). James really gives like one fuck about Grace when she isn’t around and then maybe two fucks when she is. When he is around Cordelia though, bracelet or not, feelings are a lot more intense though he denies he loves her with the bracelet and very clearly loves her without it..that’s where the bracelet works best.

Backup for this. Why is it that James can see Cortana in the shadow realm? It took him to Cordelia when she was in trouble. The past snippet in the book before Grace puts the bracelet on for the first time, she says something about her getting married one day and James thinks about how he already assumed Cordelia would be in his future. She was “a light in the darkest of shadows” or something close to that. Is he seeing just the light of Cortana or is he seeing them both as a beacon? Is that reaching? Maybe. I just feel like him being able to see Cortana/Cordelia in the shadow realm isn’t just random.

Also, have we seen anyone else wield Cortana successfully..like in battle? Cortana chooses its owner and James was able to use it on the bridge with the mandikhor. This may be also stretching and I may have missed more detailed information on Cortana in all the other books. But it obviously has some connection with James if it allows him to wield it and also is a beacon for him in the shadow realm.

The blonde haired ghost in Blackthorn Manor. Nate Grey. My only hiccup is that the ghost is described with pale blonde hair and idk if Nate ever was. He had blonde hair but idk if it was pale. Could also be pale because..he’s a ghost. Why does he look familiar? We know Tessa and Nate were not related but Tessa is so sweet, she may still likely have photos of him around which Lucie has seen. I cannot think of anyone else that we know of so far that it would be unless it’s a character we don’t know but Lucie has seen before in her past, real or ghost. Nate has a real bone to pick with Tessa so Lucie being stalked by this ghost isn’t a far fetch. Idk how I feel about giving Nate any more page time because he wasn’t that cool to begin with..but we’ll see. UPDATE: 99% confirmed here.

I still can’t fathom how none of these dum dums have figured out the bracelet. It’s so obvious. UPDATE: Cassie confirmed Grace’s powers and the bracelet both have the ability to make people “forget” about it. The plot is designed around the fact that people aren’t noticing the bracelet or Grace’s powers because that’s how they work.

Matthew and Cordelia. I don’t think Matthew knows who he is or what he wants. He’s latched on to the first pretty girl who has been friendly and caring to him. Is it a little annoying? Yes. But I think it will be fleeting. His real interest is going to come along shortly..or I have other thoughts I won’t mention yet on this. Also, regardless of being parabatai, he can still be a little jealous of what James has. He has two women..one he thinks he is in love with but won’t marry but has a strong hold over him regardless. And one who very clearly loves him..and even with the bracelet, everyone is able to see that there is love between him and Cordelia. He gets to marry Cordelia..even if for a year. That’s a lot for a friend who is well down the path of self destruction. He has no real positive things in his life besides his friends and Oscar. He’s carrying this massive trauma on his mind..it’s enough to make anyone confused.

I adore the slow burn ship that is Alastair and Thomas. I am here for it. Alastair has a lot of groveling to do.

I can’t decide between Lucie x Matthew or Lucie x Jesse. I actually really love Lucie’s powers and I love the growing relationship with Jesse. Its obvious that he cares for her. Lucie is keeping her feelings for both underwraps. I don’t love the idea of the siblings marrying the others parabatai. Even though the family tree is supposed to be misleading, I feel like Jesse will be endgame There is more than one way to bring someone back to life. I also feel like there is more to his death than we know.

Also, I’ve been seeing a lot of people talking about how James and Matthew are kinda blah. Matthew is in the throws of self destruction. We know his real personality from Nothing But Shadows. We’re going to see it returned. We just have to see him through processing his trauma. James..bracelet!James is not the funnest clown at the circus. Many characters note his positive personality change when the bracelet comes off. We got a glimpse of the real him but the bracelet has been on for years. It needs to be off more than a week for him to finally develop appropriately. 

To be continued..

[philippmichelreichold]

Home

Analog Science Fiction Science Fact is the oldest surviving Science Fiction magazine. As Analog's  (then Astounding's) editor,   John W. Campbell ushered and nourished the  Golden Age of Science  Fiction. Campbell insisted on science in Science Fiction.  Today, Analog still  contains hard science stories and has a regular Science Fact feature. I had not read Analog in years, and am absolutely thrilled with my first issue in far too long. In a world where I feel I would be better off without a television, It's refreshing to find drama and suspense that does not reek of violence, and comedy and humor that is not redolent with obscenity/profanity. At a time when the Discovery Channel has reached new lows in pseudo science, it is encouraging to read science popularizations that are actually based in science. The underlying motif to this issue is doing the right thing. In Buddhist terms-- Right Action. Of course, reasonable beings may disagree as to what Right Action might be in a given situation. And sometimes one learns after the fact that one's action was not the best choice after all.

Rejiggering the Thingamajig by

Eric James Stone

is a

wonderful story

about doing what's right. Never thought I'd read a story where a Buddhist T. rex was the protagonist. Bokeerk is a wonderful character, and her companion for her mission, a sentient gun, is a delight. The gun reminded me of the talking bullets in

Who framed Roger Rabbit

or Yosemite Sam. To get home to her children's imminent hatching, she must follow the Eightfold path. Neptune�s TreasureBy Richard A. Lovett is an AI story.   Floyd has an AI living in his head name of Brittney. Reminiscent of the movie

All of Me

, only set in

Neptune

space and without Steve Martin and Lilly Tomlin. Floyd and Brittney have serious personal/autonomy issues. The science of the story is wonderful-- mass drivers and recovery vessels. And space bicycles as well. Also spracht Strattman

Thus Spake the Aliens

by H. G. Stratmann is a story about saving the world, complete with large red Doomsday-cutoff-switch-button. These aliens are in the same business as Clarke's

Others

with a more up close and personal approach. And they are quite implacable about weeding if the need arises. To say the story is rich in allusions to other works would be a vast understatement. The connection between the title of the story and of Richard Strauss's song, widely acclaimed for its use in

2001

, could not be an accident.

The key to the story is a problem that is not often addressed, or more to the point-- it's largely ignored. There is a dead line for establishment of a real presence in space-- the point at which we exhaust cheap, abundant sources of energy. Somewhere before we reach that point is the point where a struggle ensues for control of those energy sources that remain. Whether or not civilization survives that struggle will have little impact on  what happens next. No alternative, renewable source will be able to fill the gap that will be left with the depletion of fossil fuels. Nuclear power will remain expensive, dangerous, and will only postpone the collapse. Fusion will remain as elusive as a will-o'-the-wisp for some time. We have gigatons of Hydrogen, but fusion's most

promising process

relies  not on Hydrogen but Lithium. Even if a Lithium-to-Tritium  plant started working tomorrow, we have no way of foreseeing the consequences of eliminating any particular element from the biosphere and would need to work with highly radioactive Tritium.  

Unless Stratman's aliens show up soon to terraform Mars and Venus, and  hand us the keys to the secrets of the Universe, tough times are ahead of us. We will have to use less energy per person or reduce the number of people using energy. We would eventually return to subsistence farming with limited manufacturing powered by wind and solar power-- essentially back to the 17th century. Perhaps the answer to the

Fermi-Hart paradox

 is that no civilization has been able to solve the energy crisis and overcome the energy gap. (It takes a huge amount of energy to go from planet to planet. Witness the huge fuel tanks of the Saturn V's needed to send

Apollo

to the moon.) Even if one used  

the Orion nuclear pulse drive

to establish a local system space program, the unavailability of cheap, abundant energy would make it difficult to maintain the necessary level of technology. Once nuclear fuel became the mainstay of the economy, space exploration could be sacrificed as having a lower priority than meeting needs back home. Perhaps we are not the first civilization to see the stars not quite in our grasp and then to watch them slip away forever.  The Possession of Paavo Deshin

Kristine Kathryn Rusch

has a profile in this issue of Analog. I'm impressed by the thoroughness of her stories. Rusch builds her characters in a believable and sympathetic manner that leaves me yearning for more.

Possession

is one of her

Retrieval Artist

� stories. Retrieval artists are bounty hunters in a convoluted universe, and  Miles Flint is among the very best. Paavo was adopted after his birth parents fled to evade some outstanding alein warrants. But his birth parents have made sure they can keep in touch, naturally.  

Paavo's birth parents are Disappeareds-- essentially outlaws in the old sense of the word. Flint is hired by not one but two clients to locate the birth parents. His adoptive parents are well to do, powerful, and tainted by underworld connections. And they adore Paavo as if he were born to them. Maybe more so.  Rusch make quite plain her view on the subject of birth parents that re-enter a child's life wreaking havoc as they assert their rights. She equates them with terrorists, while Paavo's adoptive father is in his eyes, regardless of how others see him, the ideal and epitome of fatherhood.

(Uncle Orson review of the Retrieval Artist stories.)

Shame by  

Mike Resnick

&

Lezli Robyn

is a fairly straight forward example of what not to do. Given the colonists's mindset and attitude toward Satan, their actions should not have been unexpected. Perhaps that's the real shame of the story-- that as atrocious as the colonists's appear to the author and to his moral authority figure, given human nature they were unsurprising.

Simple Giftsby

Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

is a story about the stereotypically greedy corporation out to profit on the simplicity's and naivety of the primitive, non tech natives. What could be more innocuous than a race that closely resembles (in appearance) the

Who's of Whoville

. The ethnologist and linguist sent to learn about the alien's language and culture implore the company to slow down on making a deal with the aliens and are disregarded as obstructionists. The outcome is inevitable, but the suspense building makes it all worthwhile. On Rickety Thistlewaite by  

Michael F. Flynn

is about the prison that is public service. Making oneself indispensable can be very rewarding and satisfying. Then it becomes an obligation not taken lightly by those who depend on you. As Harry Mudd exclaims to the

Enterprise

command team in

I, Mudd

. . . . A War of StarsDavid L. Clements writes a crisp and interesting story about questioning values and making choices. The concept of intelligence housed in celestial bodies-- the cores of planets and stars-- is reminiscent of

Rogue Star

in the

Star Child Trilogy

by Frederik Pohl and Jack Williamson. I would have hoped though that anyone advanced enough to use stars as weapons would also be advanced enough to not do so. Perhaps I'm just excessively naive.  

Copyleft of my material

Essentially, my work is Creative Commons Attribution-Required, Share Alike.

Adapted from their  Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0) license summary--

You may Share-- copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format  Adapt--  remix, transform, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially. I cannot revoke these freedoms as long as you follow the license terms. Attribution--  You must give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests that I endorse  you or your use. No additional restrictions-- You may not apply legal terms or technological measures that restrict others from doing anything the license permits.

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Copyright  of material that is not mineImages used in reviews are from

ISFDB unless otherwise indicated and are copyrighted unless otherwise indicated.

Copyrighted images are presented here under fair use. You would need to contact the copyright holder to use them. They are not covered by my creative commons licensing.

Coverart from ISFDB for Analog 2010 Jan-Feb

[avengerscompound]

Following Orders

Following Orders- A Captain America Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  2320

Warnings:  smut (M|F, domme/sub, sub!Steve Rogers, name-calling, masturbation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, light bondage, vibrator use, pegging, anal fingering)

Synopsis:  As an Agent of SHIELD you are nothing if not good at taking orders. Until you’re not anymore.

Following Orders

“Agent 23, sweep wide and come in from the rear entrance.”  Captain Rogers barks.

“Yes, Captain.”  You reply without hesitation.  That is your job.  To follow orders.  You do it well.  When you follow orders no one gets hurt, the mission is successful, you all go home.  The thought of making a stupid sex joke out of rear entrance only passes through your mind after your automatic compliance.

“That’s what she said.”  Barton’s voice comes in over comms.  You laugh as you dispatch two Hydra agents.  You’re glad someone got to it.

As you reach the entrance four Hydra agents spill out of the door.  You take two of them out with your tasers with such efficiency that their bodies block the door from closing.  The other two actually seem effectively trained for a change.

You cut right narrowly avoiding an array of bullets.  You’re about to engage with them when they drop to the ground.  

“Agent 23, what’s your status?”  Captain Rogers asks.

“I’m in the building, Captain.”  You reply, moving carefully down the hall.  Two more Hydra agents come around the corner and you take them out, this time using a move Natasha taught you.

“And not even a; ‘Thank you, Tony’.”  Stark adds.  It must have been him that took out the two agents outside.  You don’t respond.

“See if you can get to whatever is powering this force shield.”  Captain Rogers barks.

“Yes, Captain.”  You reply.  

You move through the facility, grabbing a Hydra agent on your way through and forcing them to show you the way.   There is low-level chatter over the comms.  There always is. You listen for your callsign but otherwise ignore it.  When you reach your destination you take out another six agents before shutting down the shields on the base.

“Shields are down, Captain.”  You say.

“Then you may want to get clear, sweetheart,”  Tony replies.

You start to run, an explosion rocks the building to its foundations and you slip and fall.  You get up cursing yourself and keep moving.  

“I’m clear.”  You bark as you run through the back door.  Leaping over the bodies still blocking it from closing.

“I need you over here, Agent 23.”  Captain Rogers yells.  

“On it, Captain.”  You have no idea where ‘over here’ is, but you go anyway, running around the outside of the facility towards the sounds of gunfire.

“That’s what she said.”  Barton laughs.  “Guys, you’re not even making this hard.”

“That’s what he said.”  Natasha returns.  You laugh as you hurdle over a crashed car.  

You finally spot Captain Rogers.  He and Sergeant Barnes and back to back.  The Shield is moving so fast between them, slamming into Hydra agents, ricocheting of vehicles.  You make your way to them and there is a sudden explosion.  The ground shakes and you nearly fall again.  The remaining Hydra agents all drop to their knees in surrender.  

You jog over to Rogers and Barnes.

“You’re late.”  Captain Rogers says as you approach.

“Sorry.  Looks like you had it under control.”  You reply.

After the tedious tasks of arresting people and passing them off to the appropriate authorities, you and the avengers head back to the compound.  You go straight to the shower.  After a mission, all you want to do is live in the shower.

You scrub the dirt and blood from your body and discover a long cut up your side, over your rib cage.  You curse yourself for not being more careful and when you step out you dress the wound in antiseptic and gauze.

You step into your bedroom naked and towel drying your hair only to be greeted by Steve, who’s sitting at the end of your bed.

“How did that happen?”  He asks getting to his feet.

You shrug and toss your towel aside.  “Not even sure.  It’s a nasty one though.”  

“Let me see.”  He says, approaching you.  

“Excuse me?  Who do you think you’re talking to?”  You ask, taking a step towards him and running your hand down his chest.

Steve smiles and looks down at you.  “I’m sorry.  What was I thinking?”  

His hands move to your hips and you give him an incredulous look.  “Hands to yourself, Rogers.”

He drops his hands.  “Yes, ma’am.”

You lean up and graze your lips over his.  He tries to deepen the kiss and you step back and slap him on the ass.  “You are pushing your luck today.  You hoping I might punish you?”

He raises his eyebrow.  “I wouldn’t do that.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  Would you?”  You smile, sliding your hands down his chest, dancing them over his groin.  “You’re my good boy.  You like doing as you’re told.”

He makes an involuntary squeak sound as your fingers tease over his cock.  He’s already completely hard.  His cock straining at his pants.  “Take off your clothes, Steve.”  You purr.

Steve starts stripping and you go to your drawer of goodies, removing some toys you think Steve might like to play with today.

You go place the items on the bedside table and disappear into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth.  Steve just stands and watches, waiting for further instruction.  

You debate actually punishing him.  Sometimes you would.  Sometimes Steve needs the release of trusting you to bend him over and flog him and to know he’s really safe, and you will never go further than he can take.  Not after a mission though.  After a mission he has already experienced the pain.   Now he just needs to let go of control.  To be anyone except Captain America.  The man in charge.  The man who has to make the decisions that could mean a person lives or dies.

“Sit down on the chair.  You’re going to watch me.  You are to keep your hands to yourself.”  You order, pointing to the chair in the corner of the room.

Steve complies.  You sit on the bed opposite him and spread your legs.  You gently toy with your clit as you maintain eye contact with Steve.  “I have my vibrator.  Should I use that?  Or should I call James, get him to take care of me?”  You ask.

Steve shifts in his chair.  His cock twitches and a bead of precome pools at the head.  “Don’t…”  He breathes.

“Don’t what?  Fuck James while you watch?  But he knows just how to get me off, Stevie.  He’s so good with his hands.”  You tease.  “Or don’t make you choose?  That’s it isn’t it?  You don’t want to make any decisions today.”

Steve doesn’t answer which is exactly the answer you need.  “Just the two of us then.”  You say picking up your vibrator.   You slick the device with lube and press it against your clit before turning it on.  Slowly and never taking your eyes from Steve you fuck yourself with the device.  Steve sits staring.  His hands gripping the arms of the chair, watching you as you bring yourself to orgasm.

You hold the buzz over your clit while you squeeze your breast.  You move it in and out of your cunt, pressing hard against your g-spot.  When your orgasm hits you fall back onto the mattress and arch your back, crying out.

You pull the vibe away and switch it off.  For a little while you just lie there panting, your legs spread so Steve can see your dripping cunt.  

You sit up and put the vibrator on the side table with the other toys.  “Now it's your turn to do that for me, Steve.”  You purr.  “Only your hands and mouth.  Do not try to get yourself off.”

He gets up and approaches you.  “Can I kiss you?”  He asks.

You nod, and he leans down and captures your mouth with his.  You let him lead.  His lips caress yours and he lazily swipes his tongue over the corner of your mouth.  It makes you shudder, and you take a ragged breath in.  Breathing in the air he’d just exhaled.  

His hands slide down your back to your ass and he suddenly lifts you moving you back on the mattress.  When he’s positioned you where he wants you he breaks the kiss and moves down your body.

He takes a nipple into his mouth and suckles on it.  You stroke your fingers through his hair as he does and hum.  “Mmm… That feels nice.”

His fingers move between your folds and he rolls them over your clit.  You start to pant as heat builds in your cunt.  It’s like molten metal swirling in your veins. It pools in your stomach and drips from you.

“Steve,”  You groan.  “I need your mouth.”

Steve moves lower. His tongue slips between your folds and he laps up, pressing against your clit.  He pushes his fingers inside of you and curls them inside.  Stroking them along your walls, pushing against your g-spot.  You grind your hips against his face.  Moaning as he coaxes another orgasm from you.  

“Oh fuck yes, Steve.”  You groan as it begins to peak.  “You’re doing so well, baby.”

Your words encourage him and he moves faster and uses more force.  Your orgasm crashes through you, taking complete control of your body.  You writhe underneath Steve as your cunt squeezes around his fingers.  

He sits up and looks at you smiling.  His lips glisten with your arousal.

You get to your knees and face him, stroking your thumb over his bottom lip.  “Get on your back.”  You growl.

He lies down on the bed and you pick up a pair of leather cuffs from the bedside table and attached them to his wrists.  You then fasten them to the head of the bed.  “Are you comfortable, my love?”  You ask.

Steve nods and you stand up, picking up the harness from the bedside table.  You step into it and buckle it in place as he watches you.  His eyes are cloudy and his tongue runs over his bottom lip.

“Shall I use the one I used on myself?”  You ask.

“Yes, please.”  He answers.  His voice is gravelly and raw.  It’s like all this man is right now is desire.  He’s given every single other part of himself up.

You pick up the vibrator and push it into the harness.  You grab the lube and move between his legs.  He lifts them, spreading them up and out.  You squeeze the viscous substance so it oozes between his cheeks, dripping onto the bedspread.  

Steve starts panting as you smear the goo around, circling his asshole with your finger.  You push it inside of him and he bears down on you.  “You’re gonna need to relax, my love.”  You purr, as you slowly move your finger in and out.  Each time you push in you go a little deeper hooking your finger up until you touch the smooth, soft spot that lets you know you’ve reached his prostate.

You stroke your finger over it and he jerks violently in his bonds.  The bedhead makes a crack sounds from the strain.  

“Relax, Steve.”  You snap.

“Please… oh god … please.”  Steve pleads.  “I need… I need…”

You slide your finger from his ass and start spreading lube on your vibrator.  “That’s it, my love.  Beg me.  Beg me for it.”

“Please.  Please.  I need it.”  Steve begged.

You lined the vibe up with his asshole and push in.

Steve groans as you slowly ease it inside of him.  You take his cock in your hand and start pumping up and down his shaft.  Your hand moves easily thanks to the lube already coating your palm.  As you move your hand precome starts leaking from him, and you use it.  Mixing it with the lube.   You pump quickly and start to match your hand movement with the movement of your hips, thrusting in and out of Steve’s ass.

Steve completely releases all control.  He comes apart.  Moaning and panting and pleading with you.  Thanking you over and over.  He writhes under you, his legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper into him.  You love seeing him like this.  This complete surrender to you and his pleasure.  It’s something he never gives outside the bedroom.  He always has to be in control.  Of himself.  Of others.  It’s his burden.  The fact you can get him to hand it over so willingly is the biggest turn-on of all.

You feel his cock start to pulse in your hand.  “Good boy, Steve.  That’s it.”  You purr.  

“Oh god, oh god.  Baby.”  He whimpers.  He releases.  Come spills from him in wave after wave.  It coats your hand and his stomach.  Stay droplets even reach his chest.

You slide the vibrator from his ass.  And he relaxes back on the bed panting.  You can actually see the physical difference.  Not a single one of his muscles seem tensed anymore.

You wriggle from the harness and grab the washcloth.  You start by wiping your hands, then carefully clean Steve off.   He hums and closes his eyes as you wipe his stomach and cock clean.   Finally, you unbuckle his wrists and he wraps his large arms around you pulling you against his chest.  

“Thank you.  I really needed that.”  He sighs, kissing you on top of the head.

“Of course, Steve.  I kinda needed it too.”  You lean up and he kisses you.  It’s soft and gentle and you can feel the love radiating out of him.  “Do you want to take a bath?  I should probably change these sheets.”

“That sounds nice.  Can we stay here for a bit?”  Steve asks.

You snuggle down into his shoulder and squeeze your arms around him.  “Whatever you need.”

He slowly strokes his fingers down your skin.  Tomorrow morning when you get up and join the others he’ll be Captain Rogers again and you’ll be Agent 23.   For now, you just appreciate the fact you can be yourselves.

[tonystarkbingo]

Tony Stark Bingo Party Prompt Meme

http://generatorland.com/usergenerator.aspx?id=25057 -- we took tags from this random generator and then made up more detailed prompts from them. These prompts are open use, even if you’re not participating in the bingo, but please tag us if you write one, we’d LOVE to see what you did with it! nonsense + everyone is gay + denial : Tony+harem - Tony, while an incorrigible flirt, does not believe that anyone actually likes him, let alone as many as do. They come up with increasingly ridiculous ideas to ask him out or at least let him know they like him, while he innocently thinks they're all just such awesome friends superpowers + bodice-ripper + sad Stuckony - something set in the Regency(ish) era but with secret superpowers as an added bonus. Let’s of angst over trying to hide their secret powers, and wanting to save people without revealing themselves and also cause they’re gay. clones + nighttime + wishes Coulson/Strange (StrangeAgent? AgentStrange? DrAgent?) - Coulson ends up spending the night in the NY Sanctum. Some of the artifacts happen to be particularly sensitive to subconscious fantasies... and isn't it lucky that cloning himself happens to be one of Strange's powers? cruising + flashbacks + bad boys Winteriron possible future Stuckony - small warning for drinking mention - Tony is driving around to distract himself so he doesn't get drunk. He gets in an accident because he is not actually in a state to drive. The accident is comparatively harmless, the flashback to his convoy being attacked in Afghanistan is less so. When Tony wakes up in the hospital he learns that the person who dragged him from his car to safety is one James "Bucky" Barnes, resident motorbike riding bad boy heartthrob and friend/visitor of Steve "regular ER customer" Rogers, who's his hospital roommate. room service + lifeguards + sharing Tony is a lifeguard who takes his job very seriously. He's attending a convention-slash-training seminar at a posh uptown hotel, but then there's a knock at the door. He opens it to find two room service carts, both with order slips on them that indicate they're actually destined for another room. Rather than call the obviously harried and beleaguered bellboy back, he pushes them down the hall himself and knocks on the door... which is answered by none other than the hot beefcake fellow-lifeguard that's been distracting Tony all day. They end up sharing the enormous amount of food... and then maybe some more. :wink: overthinking + pity sex + customer service Tony just turned 40, he's been friends with Bucky and Nat for forever, and they'd been each other's marriage backups for the longest time, like, if they weren't married at 40, they'd marry whoever wasn't married either in their little trio. Only, two years prior, Buckynat became husband and wife and so he's having a little pity party on his floor at the Tower, drinking virgin mojitos and seriously consider a particular customer service to cheer himself up in one way or another - might as well get an orgasm, as shitty and sad as it may be, it's his birthday ffs - but then Bucky and Nat appear in his elevator, and they pull him off the couch he's been sprawled on for three hours, and Nat is the first to kiss him, and he's too stunned to react much but when he does question wtf is happening, Bucky shushes him and Tony lets him. The next morning he is evidently convinced it was all just pity sex, or a kink of theirs or whatever.... certainly nothing to do with the fact that they've been courting him forever and got tired of waiting for him to step out of ObliviousStarklandia. Of course not. wolves + romantic friendship + wigs Okay, so, someone has been doing an excellent job of hiding his baldness from someone else, with whom he's been in a long term best-friends-but-in-love not-quite-relationship. He's got an elaborate series of wigs, and over the years he's gradually been replacing them with slightly more grey ones so that someone else doesn't realise. Aaaand then someone gets bitten by a werewolf, and when he shifts for the first time he is completely bald and the secret is out. accidental relationship + butt dialing + warlocks Tony Stark is not happy with today's mission, not like there's an occasion to enjoy dealing with magic. But now he's in a relationship with Bucky, which is not bad, that man is gorgeous, but this is not the way. He's ranting about it to Jarvis and doesn't realize that he sat on his phone nor that he dialed the other supersoldier in the team until he hears a muffled laugh beneath him. He's going to kill that warlock smuggling + fear + road-trip okay, a Star Wars AU. Farmboy Peter is fleeing from stormtroopers who found out his parents were Jedi. He runs into smuggler Tony and they take off in Tony's ship for an extended road trip in space. possession + loving marriage + gardens & gardening Pepperony, Morgan insists there's a spirit possessing the garden because she's seen the plants dancing. Turns out they've accidentally created sentient plants and Tony is like nope, call somebody else, I do mechanical engineering and they call Dr. Cho to fix it. The marriage is in there somewhere I promise  idiots in love + bonding + resurrection Ironhawk - Clint tries to get Lucky back after he goes over the rainbow bridge, but he can’t actually read latin and ends up bringing back Tony from the 18th century.  And poor Tony gets Clint as his guide to the 21st.  Shenanigans and eventual fluffy ending improv + cultural appropriation + shield maidens After the Battle of New York, Tony's interviewing Thor about Asguardian tech and learns that they have all kinds of shielding devices, and gets interested in trying to replicate what Thor describes just in case aliens decide to pay a call on Earth again. Thor, for his part, is kinda shocked that Earth doesn't have any such shields, though on the other hand it is Midguard, so. You know. Tony gives it a shot and a couple weeks later he's launching the satellites into orbit for a preliminary test of the shields. He intends to test them with SI tech developed from seized Chitauri tech, but before he can get the chance an alien army shows up, guns blazing and very mad about something. The shields hold, thankfully, and the aliens send a strongly worded letter informing him that he has infringed upon their religious and cultural traditions by putting the Stark logo on them. Their planet was visited centuries ago by time-travelers that greatly influenced their culture, religion, government, etc. These time travelers carried devices with that same Stark Logo on them. The Stark Logo has become a complex cultural symbol over the centuries, and they don't appreciate him using it on war tech, even if on shields. Eventually, they figure out that the time travelers' tech was Tony's tech, and agree to leave in peace, but only after Tony spends a terrifying couple of days trying to improvise his way through a diplomatic disaster with an alien power. vampire family + slapstick + loss WinterIronWidow: So, Natasha's been a vampire for a long time, and she's lonely, so she decides to take on some mates, enter established relationship WinterIron. She vampirises them, which leads to Tony having fits about GARLIC and my god, I'm ITALIAN, you horrible woman!  And Bucky's like "I'm... CATHOLIC?? OM-- I can't even say G-- now??" awkwardness + chatting & messaging + shyness Tony doesn't understand why everytime Bucky comes into the lab, Dum-E tends to drop whatever he's holding and go hide in his charging station. Dum-E's always a bit clumsy and silly but this is more than usual and Tony's worried that Dum-E doesn't like Bucky or something like that. Anyway after much discussion, with JARVIS as translator and go-between, it turns out that Dum-E has developed a bit of a crush on Bucky's fancy robotic arm. Which ends up of course being a hilarious & awkward situation for all involved. candles + explosions + blind date tony gets bullied by pepper to go on a blind date to get out of his funk, she insists that this Matt Murdock character is the perfect date and Tony will like him. reluctantly tony goes to fancy restaurant and meets Matt Murdock and they hit it off instantly the little snarky assholes. they have a nice dinner by candle light and it's all going so well up until dessert when they order some kind of chocolate lava cake which was tragically not cooked properly and ends up exploding on both of them and bam they fall in love and live happily ever after skeleton puns + reincarnation + deus ex machina A snap, that was all it took to snuff out something so bright amidst the rubble of what was once New York City, and, with Tony gone for good, the living seem rather, well…dead. Until, one day, someone they all thought long dead returned to them, a blue cube glowing in his grip and a sweet promise of a new beginning dripping from his lips. But of course, no new beginning comes without a price laundry + tenderness + dialogue “I hate laundry,” Morgan declared after trying to refold her sweatshirt for the seventh time. “Me too kiddo,” Tony whispered back, sneaking a glance over his shoulder to Pepper who was putting clothes into the wash. “But that’s why we do it together. It gets done and we don't have to do it alone.” world domination + paranoia + everything hurts Tony knew what was coming, he knew. He’d seen the future and he knew. The Kree were coming - why would no one believe him? Not his husband, not the team, not even his own son. He kept convincing them they had to suit up and defend the planet and Steve and Peter kept telling him that a engineering professor from Cal Tech can’t do that, that this suit he talks about is only in his delusions. But he’s not paranoid. Or crazy. Or any of those other words. He is Iron Man. He just has to convince everyone else. feels + useless lesbians + Santa's workshop Toni doesn’t think anyone could accuse her of overflowing with Christmas spirit. That hasn’t stopped the rest of the Avengers from turning the “festive cheer” dial up to eleven, and Toni thinks she might just have to spend the whole next month hiding in her workshop. (Hey, she let DUM-E wear a Santa hat – that has to count for something.) Too bad Jamie Barnes – cyborg superassassin extraordinaire, Captain America’s best friend, and Toni’s big gay crush – has gotten the exact same idea. Now the rest of the team thinks they’ve got a “thing,” and Toni can’t decide which is worse: putting up with the Avengers’ not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, or spending all her time with the woman she loves and who she is absolutely, 100%, totally certain doesn’t reciprocate. Getting through this holiday season without having her heart broken might just take… a Christmas miracle. shapeshifting + secret organizations + nurses “C. Barton - Orderly.”  That’s what his tag said.  But only a very few people knew exactly what kind of hospital Saint Natalis actually was, and just how busy they could be during the full moon. kissing games + pirates + book stores Tony always thought that the shop had a mind of its own. The books were one thing, whispering their secrets to patrons who managed to find their way to it. Jarvis always did warn him not to touch any of the artifacts. The "DO NOT TOUCH" signs plastered all over the crates. So maybe it was his fault that he managed to summon 'Buccaneer Barnes' after touching the shiny pirate sword. "Let's play a game. If you win, I'll help you put all those runaway monsters that jumped out of the books. If I win, you owe me a kiss. Whatdaya say Stark?"

[nerdygaymormon]

Why don't you agree with The Family: A Proclamation to the World? You belong to this church and all the leaders say this is what we should believe. Just because it's inconvenient since you're gay doesn't mean you should oppose it.

The Family Proclamation was approved by The First Presidency and the Quorum of 12 Apostles in 1995. There are some wonderful teachings in that document and it’s a good summary of the church’s positions.

However, these same men have said that homosexuality doesn’t exist and that homosexuals are an enemy to the church. So forgive me for wondering if they really have an understanding of the topic or have inquired of the Lord if the church’s position is correct or needs to change.

The 8th article of faith teaches that scripture is imperfect. I don’t believe every word in the Bible or Book of Mormon is perfect. The Bible shows many changes in doctrines & practices, as does LDS Church history. That allows me to believe there can be more shifts on LGBT topics by church leaders.

This is not an exhaustive list, but it shows the attitude of each of the 15 men

Gordon B. Hinckley - Most of his public statements affirmed that homosexual acts are sinful, but he always added that these are good people and we love “so-called gays and lesbians.” He announced the end of the church’s practice of encouraging gay men to marry a woman. His approach was that gay people have a problem and the church wants to help them solve it.

Thomas S. Monson - There are few comments directly attributed to him on LGBT topics, usually his positions are announced as being from the First Presidency.

His presidency began with the effort to pass Prop 8 in California. It also included the announcement that the church would break with the Boy Scouts after it decided to allow gay scout leaders. His time as president ended with the November 2015 policy of exclusion which banned the children of gay couples and elevated those gay couples to being “apostate.”

James E. Faust

Sept 1995 - Denied that there are any biological or “inherited” components of homosexuality and the idea of inborn homosexual orientation is a false belief. If there was an inherited or inborn aspect to homosexuality it would “frustrate the whole plan of mortal happiness” and deny “the opportunity to change.”

Boyd K. Packer

October 1976 – Gave the sermon “To Young Men Only” in which he commended a missionary who “floored” his companion for being gay. Also said it’s a “malicious and destructive lie” that “some are born with an attraction to their own kind.”

March 1978 – At a BYU devotional titled “To the One”, Elder Packer says that homosexuality has its roots in selfishness and said that gay feelings could be “cured” with “unselfish thoughts, with unselfish acts.”

October 1990 – Using scriptures to prove that homosexual impulses are inborn, or cannot be overcome, is dangerous because the same logic can justify “incest or the molesting of littlechildren.”

April 1992 – Stated that people who engage in same-sex pairings degrade themselves below animals, because animals don’t mate with other animals of the same sex

May 1993 – Elder Packer identifies those in the gay & lesbian or feminist movements and scholars/intellectuals as enemies to the church. He also says men who identify as homosexual have “gender disorientation.”

October 2000 – Homosexuality begins as an “innocent curiosity” which leads to addiction. Says that God did not create this unnatural desire but God can cure it

October 2010 – Taught that God would not give people inborn tendencies towards the impure and unnatural and these can be overcome with faith

L. Tom Perry

February 2014 – gay young men need association with manly things & strong vigorous men. He does not believe that people are born with same-sex attractions. People seeking to renew their temple recommends shouldn’t support same-sex marriage. Same-sex couples who express any physical affection during church meetings should be reprimanded in private. Allowing the evil of same-sex marriage to grow would destroy the basic family unit.

April 2015 – said that the church opposes counterfeit and alternative lifestyles

David B Haight - I’m actually not aware of anything he said or wrote on LGBT topics

Neal A. Maxwell

October 1980 – Hoped one day the word “gay” would be rescued (in other words, wouldn’t be associated with homosexuality)

He wrote that homosexuality is predatory

Russell M. Nelson

April 2006 – Called for the US legislators to pass a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage

August 2009 – Children need to be protected from same-sex marriages, and if it becomes legal, it would harm society and limit the rights of people who uphold traditional marriage and family.

Dallin H. Oaks

January 1975 – As president of BYU directed a purge to expel homosexual students. All male drama & ballet students were pulled from class and interrogated in the halls for the names of any Gays they knew.

August 1984 – Recommended the church not oppose job discrimination laws protecting homosexuals as long as there’s exceptions for “employment and activities that provide teaching, association and role models for young people. This would include school teachers (especially at the elementary and second-ary levels), and youth leaders and counselors (such as scout masters, coaches, etc.).”

October 1995 – “erotic feelings toward a person of the same sex are irregular.”

April 2006 – The church no longer endorses “aversion therapies” and the church doesn’t accept responsibility for abuses suffered by individuals who experienced those therapies. He added that a mixed-orientation marriage would be appropriate for gay members. He also said if he had a gay child who came to visit with their partner, he’d tell them “don’t expect to stay overnight. Don’t expect to be a lengthy house guest. Don’t expect us to take you out and introduce you to our friends, or to deal with you in a public situation that would imply our approval of your ‘partnership.’”

October 2006 – In regards to same sex attraction, he said that change is possible and to not focus on the causes of same-gender attraction.

2011 – “news media cover up anything involving homosexuals when it would work to the disadvantage of the homosexual agenda.”

August 2017 – Said to not identify yourself with labels of sexual orientation.

September 2017 – He lamented the increase in public acceptance of same-sex marriage and that church members should choose God & the church’s way

M. Russell Ballard

October 2008 – Urged all California members to donate 4 hours per week, and set aside Saturdays from 9am to 2pm to participate in assignments to pass Prop 8 which would ban same-sex marriage.

Joseph B. Wirthlin

October 1994 – called homosexual behavior “abnormal”

Richard G. Scott

October 1994 – Said that “stimulation can lead to acts of homosexuality” (aka, masturbation) (He was quoting former president Spencer W. Kimball)

April 1995 – Homosexual acts are deviant

Robert D. Hales

November 1976 – Grouped being homosexual with adultery & fornication.

Jeffrey R. Holland

March 2006 – gay or lesbian inclinations “will not be a post-mortal condition.” He also uses the phrases “struggling with gender identity” and “gender confusion” as synonyms for homosexuality

Henry B. Eyring

November 2014 – “We want our voice to be heard against all of the counterfeit and alternative lifestyles that try to replace the family organization.”

[swordliger]

Smoke ABC Headcanons

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

James is actually very affectionate. Checking in on his partner making sure they are okay after destroying their hips before pulling them into some form of cuddling. Or course he will go for a smoke break before coming back to fully tend to anything his partner needs.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Smoke loves the neck area on his partner. He loves leaving marks and bruises along the neck and collarbone. It helps if his partner is extremely sensitive there. And he is very proud of his dick, especially after the ego boosts he gets from letting it free(in appropriate places of course) and getting stunned looks from those fortunate enough around him to see it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Cums an average amount. Loves seeing it shoot all over his partner's face and into their mouth. He loves to be milked, having his partner just suck or rub him dry makes him feel a bigger sense of satisfaction.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Smoke loves the taste of his own cum. Any he gets on his hands, he will lick off (when he's alone). And to get a quick little taste when with his partner, he will go for a deep kiss if he came in their mouth. He tries not to make this little addiction known as he thinks people will think he is a little too weird. Also, he found a glory hole once and actually used it.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's been around the block and back again. To say he is experienced is an understatement. He could teach the KamaSutra a new position or two.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Anything that let's him have full control of the speed they go. He also loves positions that allow him to go deep and hard. Doggy, having his partner's leg over his shoulders or piledriver like positions. Ones like these

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He can be pretty funny. He's had sex so much he knows own sometimes a good laugh is needed. He also can't help but crack a pun or joke, making his partner question what goes on in Porter's head.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Smoke likes to keep everything hair free if he can. If not, he usually keeps everything trimmed short and have it under control.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He has a bit of a tendency to lose himself, almost just running off the need to satisfy that insane libido. His partner will have to be a bit forceful to get a slow fuck out of him. So he isn't a very romantic partner during sex, but he does make up for it in his day to day life.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He loves a good wank. And honestly they keep him grounded so he keeps a level head. Plus it allows himself to indulge himself in some of his kinks without needing to teach others or have them complain. He loves doing them anywhere that is convenient. He rarely finishes into any kind of fabric or tissue as he prefers to dispose of the mess himself by licking his fingers clean.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

On his partner, loves using collars and leashes. He also likes to indulge in orgasm denial for his partner.

On himself, he love being choked. Something about it just makes his orgasm so much better. He has also recently learned he loves being pegged by female partners just cause he loves prostate milking himself. Male partners make this kink easier to perform on a regular basis.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Cars, public restrooms and occasionally in front of a crowd at a party. Loves those semi-public to fully public spots. But doesn't mind a private setting to really enjoy his lover.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Things like teasing and touching don't get him as excited as his partner being honest and just asking for him to pound them. As for when in the moment, soft touches on his nipples and balls will get him solid in a matter of seconds (but he will get hard as soon as he knows he is about to go at it anyways)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Orgy with strangers. Something about sharing his partner with people he doesn't know just turns him off. But don't get this confused with his capability to have very Public sex. He will share with well trusted friends if his partner is okay with it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Enjoys receiving more than giving. He enjoys giving a good face fuck when the opportunity presents itself. His partner will need to be firm to get Smoke to not thrust his hips and let them work. When he is giving, this is the only time he takes it slow. Using this time to maybe get his partner off and see them writhing in ecstasy from his mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He's always rough. Loves giving deep thrusts into his partner. If he is planning a long night, he will take his time and start off slow. However most of the time he is like a jackhammer that just drills his lover into the mattress.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Loves them. He's all for the release, you could say he's a little selfish. And he will be down for a quickie at any spare moment.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

The more danger the better. He lives off adrenaline. So new exciting ways and places to have sex always enthrall him.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Multiple rounds a night, almost every night and for a long while. Talking no less than 20 minutes on each go. He is a horn dog and makes the Energizer Bunny look like a pussy.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He has an assortment. At first it was things like cuffs, collars and vibrators he would use on partners. He only added a double ended dildo after his partner convinced him to get taken from behind. And after learning about how good it felt to be fucked, well the addition was mandatory.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Loves to tease during the foreplay. And only really unfair when he feels like denying his partner their orgasm.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Vocal, but not super loud. He is grunter and groaner who will let his partner know just how good they are doing.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Echo has always wanted a pet owl but has never found the time to care for one.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He is above average. Sitting in at 6in(15.2cm) long with good girth to boot. He knows it more than enough to work with.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

This boy would put a rabbit to shame. Multiple rounds a night and if he can't have sex with his partner a masturbation session is a must.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not the quickest to fall asleep. He usually wears his partner down giving him a chance to sneak off and have a quick drag of a cigarette. But will pass out as soon as he hits the pillow.

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Glow

Did you know that the origins of Valentine's Day spin around the areas of martyrdom and ancient rulers of jolly old England? So Ginny finds out on a four day romantic vacation with their little family of four. A sequel to Kindle.

FFnet / Ao3

Cozy warmth greets Ginny as she shoves the door closed behind her, cheeks tingling as the chill slowly melts away. It’s been that awkward type of winter weather, where rain turns to sleet, winds beat against window panes, and Ginny wants to wrap herself in a heating blanket to never emerge.

But unless ‘heating blanket tester’ has now become a viable career option, her dreams are less than achievable. So she settles for work she loves and coming home to a cozy space heater of a husband. If anything to do with Harry being her husband can ever be called ‘settling.’

Shoulder knocking against the door as she wrestles dripping wellies from her feet, Ginny lets out a deep sigh and begins to let the stress of her day float off her shoulders. Tonight was pizza night, tomorrow was her first day off in nine days, and Harry’s rented the newest comic book hero whatever film.  

All in all, her projected plans are the stuff of dreams and enough to give her the final burst of energy to wriggle her coat from her arms.  

It’s only once she’s finished hanging the sodden wool to dry and tossed her scarf over its customary hook that Ginny really notices the odd silence hanging about the flat. With barking feet and tingling, wind chapped fingers, she picks her way through their little terrace house in search of her little trio of miscreants. “Ted?  Harry?” she pauses, “James?”

A few more paces bring her just outside Harry’s study, golden light spilling from the half open door as Harry’s voice floats out in a low murmur. “And this is where Nana, Granddad, and Uncle Sirius lived - you’ve been there,” Ginny peers around the corner in time to see Harry shift to tickle James’ little belly, “Though James was just a little bean.”

Teddy nods, a careful finger tracing over the broad pages of the atlas, “I remember, the aeroplane.”

Smiling softly, Ginny tries to preserve the sight in her mind, all three boys splayed across the cozy rug they seem to prefer over any sofa she might find, socked feet kicked up behind them - with James’ barely clinging to his toes. After a moment, she fumbles for her mobile and takes a snapshot, forgetting the volume in her eagerness, and somehow manages to capture the image before all three startle at the noise.

Harry flips over onto his back, one elbow holding him up while his spectacles dangle precariously from his nose. And if that wasn’t adorable enough, James seems to take this as an invitation to climb atop his Dad’s belly like a ride at the carnival while Teddy struggles to shift the unwieldy atlas atop his legs.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hello, my loves,” Ginny says, tugging off her damp socks and tossing them aside before she claims a seat next to Teddy and lifts him onto her lap. Someday, soon, he’ll have grown too big to hold, but she’s not giving him up a day early.

She ruffles James’ already wild (and dangerously thick) hair, accepts a chaste kiss from Harry, and gives Teddy’s tummy a gentle squeeze. “How are my favorite blokes? Plotting an adventure?”

Teddy shares an eager look with Harry, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly and changes the topic with something just short of finesse, “We uh - I was showing the boys where I’ve gone on digs. And then where Mum and Dad and Sirius lived.”

“Potters are a globetrotting bunch,” Ginny agrees as Teddy wriggles in her lap, “Always up for a new escapade.”

Harry tenses when Teddy opens his mouth again, yet his jaw clamps shut as Harry clears his throat, “Speaking of - we’ve got the new superhero part whatever all ready in the den.”

Ginny narrows her eyes at Harry, who forces a look of innocence that wouldn’t fool Snuffles , and rises. “I’ll go order dinner. You three tidy up.”

Before long, their fresh sandwiches and steaming soups arrive and the little family is gathered around a scratched and well-loved kitchen table that’s held up many a meal and late writing session. Teddy’s dunking his grilled cheese with bacon and avocado into his tomato bisque when Harry nudges Ginny’s foot under the table.

She jolts a little, sending pureed veggies dripping down James’ cheek. He seems unaffected, in fact if anything the mess makes him more eager to eat the spoonful. Ginny mirrors his grin and taps his nose with a little ‘boop’ and then gives Harry her attention. “Yes, my love?”

“The boys and I - well I was. Valentine’s day is coming up.”

“So many poor sentences died in the making of that statement.”

Laughing, Harry swipes one of her crisps and bites down with a crunch. “Sorry.”

“Care to have another go?”

“I get that long weekend with my class schedule this semester.”

“Yes and it is glorious . I seem to recall a particularly lovely Friday morning romp…”

Teddy glances up and Harry’s real concerned they’ve just managed to prompt the birds and the bees chat about two years too early, but the little Lupin seems blissfully unaware. “Did ya ask Gin about the trip?”

Ginny smirks and Harry widens his eyes at Teddy. “Not yet.”

“What’s this trip?”

“So Valentine’s Day.”

Taking Ginny’s answering hum as invitation to continue, Harry blusters on, “Well the whole holiday is a bit odd - I mean did you know it’s actually based on pretty dark real life events?”

Her gaze darts toward Teddy, who’s raptly listening as Harry explains, but he waves her concern away and continues, “Ted’s fine. So the original, real St. Valentine was actually martyred way back when - ”

“Is that the technical term, Mr. Historian?”

“Hey, it’s Dr. Historian.”

Ginny’s eyes flash and Harry finds himself mentally calculating the hours until both boys will be asleep but eventually gets back on track. “Anyway, he was beheaded and then was named a saint. So all these churches and historical societies and whatnot say they have bits of him.”

“Still not seeing how this is age appropriate for Teddy Bear,” Ginny says with a quirked brow, but Teddy just grins, missing teeth creating an adorable little gap at the front of his smile, and bites into the second half of his sandwich with relish.

“And they’ve got his head in Winchester.”

“Are you asking me to take our boys to Winchester to see St. Valentine’s head,” she pauses to amend, “ alleged head - on our four day romantic holiday weekend?” Sheepish and looking almost boyish, Harry attempts a response, “What would happen if I say that I do?”

“I think,” Ginny’s face lights up with love, “That I would love you even more.”

“Brilliant, then start loving me,” he chuckles, eyes squeezed in delight.

“Patience is a virtue,” Ginny winks, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

And like any other virtue, Harry had to practice his a handful of hours before the night set in and both boys were peacefully snoozing in their beds.

“So,” Ginny rolls on her side, open palm on Harry’s chest, “Care to impart some more knowledge on that head of Saint Valentine bit from earlier?”

“You like it when I talk nerdy, huh?” He wiggles two ebony eyebrows, fingers sneaking to tickle his wife on her belly.

Laughing and batting his hands away, Ginny stretches her arms to steal his glasses. Adjusting the round specs over her nose, she requests in all seriousness, “Better start talking, Daddy.”

“Careful, Gin,” Harry’s eyes flash, his voice husky, hungry.

“To quote Beyonce, I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want,” she sticks her tongue out, palms moving under her head for comfort and a better view for a certain professor-doctor-archaeologist. ���I’m listening,” Ginny giggles a moment later, snapping him out of his reverie.

“I swear they trained you in the area of light torture at that school of yours,” Harry shakes his head, gathering his lanky limbs under him as he shuffles to sit cross-legged on his side of the bed. “Where do I start? There’s the New Minster in Winchester, which was a royal Benedictine abbey founded in 901. Thing is, when they built it next to the original cathedral, also known by the name of Old Minster, the two buildings were so close to one another that the voices of the two choirs merged with chaotic results.”

“You’re a bit sad you weren’t there to witness that, aren’t you?” Ginny jokes, her feet gently landing in Harry’s lap as he traces their outline with his thumb.

“A bit. Now how familiar are you with Queen Emma of Normandy?” He plows on as Ginny waves her hand vaguely, a gesture meaning “not much” in the non-verbal thesaurus they’ve both adopted. “Well, Emma of Normandy was queen consort of England , Denmark and Norway. She was the daughter of Richard I, Duke of Normandy , and his second wife, Gunnora . Actually, through her marriages to Æthelred the Unready and Cnut the Great, she became the Queen Consort of England, Denmark, and Norway. She was the mother of three sons, King Edward the Confessor , Alfred Ætheling , and King Harthacnut , as well as two daughters, Goda of England , and Gunhilda of Denmark . She was one of the most politically active actors of the era, practically ruling England through the voices of her sons because, you know, people were still a tad paranoid and didn’t yet trust women.”

“Their loss.”

“You said it. So we already know Emma was politically involved and whatnot, but as important about her is the fact that she closely followed the tradition of Saint Helena. In short, this means that Emma was noted for her generosity to different churches and religious communities. On the topic, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle mentions that on the death of her son Harthacnut, Emma offered the head of St. Valentine to the New Minster Winchester for the benefit of his soul in 1041. But what it doesn’t mention is how she managed to get hold of a relic that was peacefully buried in Rome, pay to have it and then deliver it as an offering for her son’s death, and it drives me batty,” Harry groans in heavy academically induced frustration.

“Aw, poor baby,” Ginny comforts him, tugging at his hands so he falls over her.

“Not that I care when I’m this close to you, but during the English Civil War, the remains of Cnut’s line were disinterred and scattered about the Cathedral floor by parliamentary forces,” Harry breathes as he nips at her jaw.

“What a mess,” she exhales, rapidly losing track of what they were discussing when his palms roam over a place or two they both know she likes.

Harry hums and lightly bites at her earlobe.  “Mhm, they knew how to make a good mess back in the day.”

Ginny’s fingers tighten at his shoulders and she grumbles. “Stop teasing and let’s start making our own mess.”

“Gladly,” Harry says with a chuckle, drawing the covers over them both.

After much arranging of schedules, booking of train tickets, packing and repacking, the little family of four trundles off to Winchester. Light rain patters against the windows, only occasional spears of sunlight piercing through the grey cloud cover.

James is dozing against Harry’s shoulder, his chubby cheeks flushed red and his inky shock of hair a peaked riot over his forehead.

Teddy, meanwhile, has his nose pressed to the window pane, grey-blue eyes darting to examine every hill, cottage, and what have you that passes.

With a contented sigh, Ginny lets her head droop against Harry’s shoulder, her fingers stretching to smooth along Teddy’s straining back. “I might have a kip.”

“You should, because once we’re in Winchester I have plans to keep you busy,” Harry agrees.

Chuckling, Ginny nuzzles closer to Harry and murmurs, “You know that’s a lot less sensual than the casual observer would guess.”

“I dunno, carefully preserved decapitated heads of saints are pretty hot.”

“Keeping your proclivities quiet until I’m too invested to jump ship - not cool, Potter.”

“Go to sleep, Weasley-Potter,” Harry shoots back, pressing a kiss to Ginny’s hairline and slumping a bit on the bench, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Before long, the steady rumble of the train lulls Ginny to sleep, Harry’s well-loved woolen jumper comfortingly familiar against her cheek and James’ little puffs of breath slow and even. After what feels like mere minutes, she’s jostled awake by the slowing pace of the train and Teddy’s insistent tugging at her sleeve. “We’re here .”

Ginny pinches the tip of his nose. “Thanks, Teddy Bear.”

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, an echo of his arguments that he’s much too old for such a baby-ish title, but the flush on his cheeks and suppressed smile assure Ginny she can get a bit more use out of it.

James woke at some point during her sleep, though Harry’s expertise in keeping children busy and quiet - forged in the fire of his PhD - prevented the youngest Potter from waking her. He pauses his faux automobile noises and halts the little yellow and red dump truck halfway across Harry’s forehead and makes a noise he seems to use when he’s attempting to get Ginny’s attention. In reality it’s some vague ‘mmmm’ noise that could just as easily mean he simply associates Ginny with food and is trying to convey ‘yummy.’

Either way, Ginny likes to rub it in that she got a name first.

With minimal drama, the foursome disembark, luggage and pram in tow, and Harry heads off with Teddy to claim their reserved car. Ginny tugs the diaper bag further up her shoulder and resettles James on her hip, then makes her way toward the little family bathroom since James’ smell is getting a bit rough for even a mother to bear.

He coos up at her as she lays him down on the table and she tickles his belly. “Your dad is a little arse, leaving all this ,” she gestures down south, “for me.”

And she’ll fight anyone who says James didn’t send her a supremely sympathetic look even as she swiped him clean.

Harry and Teddy swap out with Ginny and James, heading off to the loo before they start on the drive into town.  

They’d booked a little cottage not long after the initial chat, a cozy brick thing on an estate just outside Winchester. Harry’d mapped it all out, and their longest travel time would be about a quarter of an hour, assuming traffic is as unlikely as he suspects.

By the time he and Teddy return, Ginny’s got James all buckled into his seat and has claimed the drivers’ side for herself. Rolling down the window as they approach, Ginny leans across the center console and lets her best smirk tick up the corner of her lips. “Get in, hot stuff.”

Teddy grimaces and tugs his own door open, already distracted by telling James everything fun they’re going to do on their holiday in the country. Harry, meanwhile, has propped his forarms on the open window and ducked his head down, eyes scrunched against the late morning sun. “You better not let my wife hear you propositioning me like that, she’s a bit jealous when it comes down to it.”

“Well then get in before she comes ‘round,” Ginny shoots back, tilting her sunglasses down and lifting her brows in challenge.

Harry barks out a laugh and complies, slipping into the passenger’s seat and twisting to double check the boys before Ginny pulls away from the curb.

Sometime during her nap and between London and Winchester, the stormy winter sky gave way to an almost imitation of a spring morning. The chill still nips at cheeks, noses, and fingers, and Teddy’s able to keep up his favorite winter car ride activity - foggy pictures drawn on cold windows - while Harry fiddles with the radio. The sun’s well and truly glowing overhead, warm rays turning Harry’s blue-black hair golden and his eyes sparkling as he laughs unreservedly at Teddy’s tale of his most recent foray into the fine art of finger painting.  James wriggles happily at the sound, joining in with his own giggles, and Ginny finds as she splashes through puddles and the road turns from bumpy asphalt to rutted dirt, that she’s never been quite this happy.

The cottage is just as adorable as advertised, rooms beautifully appointed with stylish but homey tufted chairs, fresh bundles of lavender tucked everywhere, marshmallow-like beds with goose down pillows, and a gorgeous garden Ginny could lie in for hours on end and not be bored.

Teddy quickly claims his bed, a fluffy little something in a room of his own but accessible enough that they’ll all feel at ease even in an odd location. The owners set up a cot for James so he can share with Teddy, and the kitchen is an absolute dream.

“This is spoiling me,” Ginny grins wide, taking in the sight of the cosy and warm cottage.

Harry sets down the groceries they’d stopped off for in between Hampshire at the train station and runs his palm along the shined countertops. “Our kitchen is going to seem a bit of a let down after this.”

Teddy’s holding James’ hands and babbling on about all the games they’ll play in the yard when Ginny tucks herself into Harry’s side. “This was a good idea.”

“I’m full of them - comes with being a PhD.”

“You’re full of something alright.”

“Don’t get testy, you’ll be a doctor sooner or later.”

“It feels more like later or never,” Ginny groans, pressing her forehead into his chest dejectedly, “Did your program feel this endless?”

His hands rise to knead at her shoulders, and she nearly moans with the release. â As she huffs out a breath, Harry murmurs, “I think you need a few days without shop talk - we both might.”

“You, in a museum, with no shop talk.”

“No - I mean nothing we actually do at the university or at work or what have you,” Harry amends, hands moving from short squeezes to long strokes up and down Ginny’s back.

“I bet you’ll break first.”

“So competitive.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

And before Harry can volley back, Teddy shouts about rabbits in the yard and they’re spilling into the garden, wellies squeaking against the cobbled path.

Ginny wakes the following morning to a depressingly empty bed, given it’s Valentine’s Day, but finds herself soon mollified as the scents and sounds of frying bacon, toast, and some other lovelies to fill her hungry belly.

Lazily, she twists onto her side and blinks at the clock. It’s well past her normal waking time and Ginny starts when she realizes James hasn’t woken her. With a steadying breath, Ginny works her way from beneath the twisted sheets and sets her feet on the plush rug, warm heady scents mingling and calling her from the comfort of bed. Ah, coffee.

Grabbing one of the thick, luxurious dressing gowns hung against the wall, Ginny fluffs the collar around her neck and shuffles into the hall.

There’s clattering, easy chatter (courtesy of Teddy), and easy rhythms filling the air. Harry loves his playlists.

James claps gleefully when Ginny rounds the corner and Harry temporarily pauses his little dance - mostly the dorkiest and most tempting little arse wiggles known to man - and Teddy trots over to show her his latest foray into the art world.

Ginny combs his lank hair back and Harry turns to press a dry kiss over her forehead before resuming his last few tosses and dressings. “Everybody grab a seat, breakfast is up.”

With much excitement and the joviality that only seems to ever arise on holiday, the little family gathers around the wooden island, plates full and hearts even more so.

Dishes are soon washed, the family dispersed to dress and ready for a day of sightseeing, and Ginny finds her husband turned a bit amorous despite his earlier ‘all business’ focus on their vittles. She’s just finished tugging a creamy oversized cashmere sweater overhead (purchased particularly for this trip), when Harry’s chilly hands wrap around her middle from behind. “How’s things, Mrs. Potter?”

Shivering, Ginny twists and flicks her fiery locks free of the rolled collar of her sweater. “Better before your little icy intrusion.”

“I have it on good authority that my hands  - icy or no - are a ‘gift from the gods.’”

“Stuff it, Potter,” Ginny says, hoping for something a bit less breathy than she ends up with as Harry’s fingers tickle at the waistband of her knickers.

Humming against her neck, Harry pulls Ginny closer. “Is that a rebuff or an invitation?”

With a snort, Ginny swipes at Harry’s face, nearly upsetting his spectacles, and earning a scoff in response. “Off with you, we’ve got a carefully preserved decapitated head to see. Now put on some trousers.”

“I never thought I’d hear that sentence.”

Ginny shrugs and flops back onto the unmade bed, tugging her jeans over her hips. “Well it’s cold out - can’t have you freezing off my best friend.”

Harry does the same, minus the bed wriggling, and lets out an affronted gasp. “Three years in and I find out you’re just sticking around for my goods.”

“What good goods they are though,” Ginny answers dreamily, fingertips stroking along his hip, “You’re a right temptress, Dr. Potter.”

“I don’t think - ”

An ominous thud followed by Teddy’s even more unsettling assurance that ‘everything is ok’ breaks the little banter-laden flirtation. Harry sends a longing look Ginny’s way and buttons his jeans. “I’ve got it.”

It only takes another quarter of an hour, two plasters for Teddy’s elbow and shin, and a final nappy check for James before they’re bundled into the little rental car, crunching over gravel and onto the asphalt covered in melty snow.

Teddy seems recovered from his little episode with the iced over back steps, pointing out landmarks and other points of interest (mainly a stray sheep or two) while James listens intently and sucks on his faux key ring.

Harry’s claimed the role of driver this time, seeing as he plotted the way to Winchester Cathedral from their rental the moment it became one of their top five contenders. As they trundle down the narrow roads, Ginny wedges herself against the door, bright sun warming her face so she’s halfway to purring like a satisfied kitten.  

Like an old lady, or perhaps a baby, depending on your preference, Ginny finds herself lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of the car engine, Teddy’s easy chatter, and Harry’s answering ‘mhmm.’

Soon enough, Harry cranks the motor off and prods her gently awake. “We’re here.”

“Mm, I’m ready for some good old fashioned brain-growing, museum-touring fun.”

Teddy wriggles excitedly in his booster seat while James seems to have used up his good behavior on the ride over and begins his best impression of an air raid siren.  

Unclipping his belt with practiced ease, Ginny lifts James from his car seat and sniffs at his bum. “Fresh as a daisy,” she asserts, lowering him to her eye level and smirking, “Seems like someone is just being a little dramatic.”

“Gets that from his mum,” Harry teases, gripping Teddy’s shoulder as a bicyclist shoots past.  

Ginny rubs her nose against James’ and murmurs, “Guess Daddy forgot about the Ancient Aliens incident.”

“It’s a slight against the progress made by our ancestors to attribute their greatest achievements to extraterrestrials that probably don’t exist.”

Teddy blinks up at Harry, “But what if they do?”

“What if they what?”

“The aliens - if they’re real then saying they didn’t do it would be bad too.”

“Touche, Ted,” Harry allows as Ginny slips James into his pram and they take their little parade over the crosswalk.

Oaks and Medlars stand like bare sentinels lining every street, sidewalk, and byway, hovering over wooden benches bearing the last remnants of the previous night’s flurries.

They pass the University on the way and Ginny can’t miss the way Harry’s gaze flits longingly toward what’s got to be the library, given the students streaming out in little clumps with armfuls of books. She elbows his arm and earns a chuckle while Teddy crunches every leaf or branch he can find. James, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly dissatisfied with being strapped into a pram and favors leaning out as far as possible to see anything and everything while he kicks his little boots helplessly.

It’s not a far walk to the cathedral, and soon broad red signs boasting adverts for each of the special exhibits on display, Kings and Scribes, seasonal events for obvious reasons, and a few local events scheduled for the next few days.

The towering spires of Winchester Cathedral are no less impressive and stalwart than you’d guess, shooting up into the sky like spears, the front face is broad and boasts intricate glasswork inlaid amid stacked bricks. Statues paying tribute to saints and heroes rise up from the brown earth.  

Inside, chairs are set in meticulous rows behind lovingly waxed pews that have held worshippers for centuries. Shined floors reflect everything that passes over them like mirrors, a fact taken advantage of by artists who’ve set bronze sculptures in the light cast by the intricate windows.

In something like a fairytale, James and Teddy seem stunned into good and quiet behavior as they pick their way through the cathedral. After making a circuit of the main sanctuary, arched ceilings lead them toward a broad room filled with glass cases and carefully catalogued artifacts.

Unsurprisingly, the skull is given pride of place, on display in a gilded tank-like case. Mere seconds before contact, Harry grabs Teddy’s perpetually grubby fingers and reads from the plaque. “Valentine’s Day originated as a Western Feast Day celebrating an early Catholic Saint, Valentinus…”

Ginny peers over his shoulder, “He could use a dentist, eh?”

Teddy snorts and Harry rolls his eyes, though a grin tickles his lips.  

Throughout the day, as Teddy and James manage to remain relatively entertained by every nerdy fact and object Harry throws at them, Ginny finds herself wondering if it’s nature or nurture that has managed to ensure both boys are pretty solidly in the nerd zone.  

Not that she’s completely without blame, or whatever you call it.  

They make it through everything the New Minster has to offer, plus about a third of the University before breaking for lunch when James’ whimpers start, which are inevitably followed by louder wails until he’s fed. Plus Harry’s got that pre-hangry look in his eyes that Ginny’s learned not to test. After some poking around on the internet, they settle on Piecaramba which has pretty consistent reviews and some delicious looking menu items. Harry’s feeling adventurous and orders up a vegan something or other while Teddy and Ginny order a Bounty Hunter (buttery crust filled with chicken, bacon and melted cheese in a barbeque sauce) and fish & chips to share. James is contented with his pureed veggies so long as Ginny offers him a bit of crust so he can have pie too.

The rest of the day passes smoothly, until they wander back home for a family dinner and cozy evening spent in front of a roaring fire while snow falls gently outside.

It’s still early when the boys drift off, overtired from the trip and a long day to boot, and soon Harry and Ginny are tucked up on the couch. Cozy, warm, familiar, and more than a little amorous on Valentine’s day.

Wine poured and wireless cranked low, Harry prods the fire back to life and tucks himself against Ginny’s side with a sigh. “Who knew two children below the age of ten could be so tiring.”

Ginny chuckles around the rim of her glass and lets her head fall against Harry’s. “Probably most people.”

“I must’ve missed that lesson.”

“And you call yourself a PhD,” Ginny says, teasing as she lifts her hand to comb through Harry’s wild locks.

He nuzzles closer, breath coming out in warm puffs against her collar bone, sending her heart thudding. For a moment, Ginny considers the possibility that it’s unintentional, the way he’s making her wild. Until his chilly fingers breach the waistband of her trousers, prodding, seeking, but never quite delivering much of anything.

“You’re a menace, Potter.”

Harry sits up, twisting to get closer as his right hand rises to mirror his left. “So’re you, Gin. God when you’re not even trying,” the end of his thought is lost to Ginny’s lips as she tips them until her back hits the cushions.

Jumpers are quickly abandoned - Ginny pauses to smack Harry and tell him cashmere never gets tossed on the floor - and trousers loosened until they both come to their senses, a log cracking in the fire drawing them from the haze. “We have two kids, and one can walk,” Harry murmurs against Ginny’s sternum, his chest heaving as she takes a steadying breath.

Ginny hums.

“Maybe take this behind a locked door?”

They both straighten, Ginny running careless fingers through her knotted waves while Harry searches for his spectacles.

“I’m just going to take them off again,” Ginny laughs, grabbing her sweater and sauntering toward the bedroom.

Raising his fist triumphantly, Harry slips his glasses back over his ears and basically stalks across the room until Ginny’s shoulders brush the soft yellow wall. “I want to be able to see. Everything.”

“You - hm.”

“Speechless, Potter?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got time,” Ginny winks, but before she can depart with a cheeky strut, Harry’s arm bands around her middle and somehow she’s tossed over his shoulder.  

“Such a he-man.”

“I’m reinforcing the idea that I’m a virile mate good for procreation.”

Ginny snorts as Harry drops her on the mattress, nearly sending her bouncing to the carpet. She props herself up on her elbows and shimmies her shoulders a bit. “Mm, bring it on, nerdy man.”

Harry shucks his jeans and kicks them away, then easily slips his socks off. “Have I ever told you about the intricate burial practices of the Maya?”

Ginny wriggles free of her trousers and throws her head back with a dramatic moan, “Oh, Harry!”

He’s cradled between her thighs now and nipping at her jaw. “There were thousands of different positions bodies could be placed in to symbolize status and the journey the deceased would take in the afterlife.”

As her hands wander low, Ginny laughs and nudges Harry’s lips towards hers. “I feel like this little academic exercise is about two sentences from creepy.”

He nods. “Me too. No more talking?”

She flips their positions and grips Harry’s wrists. “No more talking.”

The Potters plus Lupin sleep late the following morning in that magical, restful way that only seems possible on holiday. Teddy knocks on the door to Harry and Ginny’s room around half past nine, letting Ginny know James is doing his little ‘I’m hungry’ whimper and that if it matters, he’s a bit hungry too.

Chuckling, Harry tells Teddy to go start setting the table. Once the door falls shut, Harry flops back against the still warm bed sheets and groans. “Ah, Gin. I can’t tell if I’m too old for this or too young.”

“You’re just right, Goldilocks,” Ginny says, wandering across the room to find her pajamas in the tall chest of drawers tucked in the far corner.  

As she slips her flannels over her hips, Harry somehow droops further. “That is the saddest sight in the entire world.”

With a snort, Ginny tosses a fresh pair of pants Harry’s way and nudges the drawers closed with her hip. Harry rolls from the bed and drags his boxers over his bum. “No, Harry. That is the saddest sight in the world.”

They share a rueful grin and Ginny presses a kiss to his forehead before disappearing into the hall, James’ whines gaining in volume. After a second, Ginny peers back around the doorframe, floorboards creaking underneath her feet. “Your son.”

Before long, breakfast is on the table, the family’s gathered around, and sunlight’s spearing through the brilliant white curtains. There’s swiping of sausage links, butter spread over crisp toast, and cubed fruit popped like bits of candy. Harry’s nothing if not an overzealous breakfast chef. But it’s just one of the many ways Ginny learned Harry’s love is less often told, and most likely to be seen and experienced. He’ll blush trying to whisper sweet nothings and then proofread, edit, and notate an academic article you’ve half finished writing while you sleep. And make dinner.

Tidying the kitchen is a quick affair and Teddy’s doing his best to carry James into the living room to play with the toys he’d managed to fit in his luggage (a few more than the ‘your three favorites’ instruction Harry’d given).  

Harry and Ginny take turns in the shower - the lure of saving water overcome by the litany of terrible outcomes possible if the boys were left on their own - and by eleven, they’re all bundled and headed out into the yard.

The previous day’s flurries and the heavier snowfall overnight have cloaked everything in a soft layer of white. James is strapped to Harry’s chest and Teddy immediately claims the southern corner of the yard, shouting that he’s established Fort Lupin.

As he begins raising a thick, bumpy wall, Ginny works the snow into a stronghold of her own. When Harry attempts to take refuge, she tosses a few shoddily made snowballs to keep him out, careful to avoid James’ little capped head.

Teddy gives him similar treatment and Harry moans dramatically that he’s a man without a country. Which earns some jeers and a stuck out tongue from Teddy.  

Once their hovels are built, there’s a pause while each army fills up their armory and then uneasy silence before the first projectile is thrown.

Harry, Ginny, and Teddy share tense glances, the air silent save for a few birds arcing overhead. Until James becomes bored with nothing to do and no one to play with. His shout-giggle serves as the gauntlet thrown and then the yard is filled with flying snowballs.

It’s a morning to remember, soggy, sunny, and filled with laughter. Cheeks are red with exertion and chill, Harry’s hat is lost in the fray, and Ginny tosses her mittens aside in favor of accuracy (ignoring Harry’s assertions that she’ll lose a finger to frostbite).

And when the little family collapses in a heap on the living room floor, bellies aching with laughter, Ginny thinks she’s never had a better Valentine’s Day.

Ginny’s got her first Saturday off work since March began so it’s only natural that she spends the small amount of time her boys are napping treating herself to a bubble bath, candles and music included.

“Smells nice,” says Harry, shuffling his slippered feet inside the en-suite bathroom, bleary eyed and hair sticking all over.

“Cherry Vanilla,” Ginny smiles, clearing the brim of the tub and adding a clean towel on top of it for Harry to sit comfortably. It’s almost become a tradition of theirs, her long baths accompanied by their long talks, with Harry rubbing her shoulders or gently washing her hair after an exhausting week of mind numbing but overall rewarding work.

He takes another appreciative sniff and claims the improvised seat, bending to reach the soap and spinning it between his palms until a satisfying coat of lather’s been created. He washes her back in silence, Ginny’s small moans of pleasure punctuating his strokes over her shoulders from time to time.

When he’s done, his hands travel up to her temples and tenderly massage them in large to smaller circles as she hums, relaxed.

“So what’s for dinner?” Ginny asks, leaning to rest her back as her feet stretch until they reach the wall of the tub.

“What would the beautiful lady prefer?” Harry smirks, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Not cheesy pizza,” she grimaces.

“Well that’s new,” Harry raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to his wife not wholeheartedly embracing the opportunity to gorge herself with some cheesy something or other.

“Dunno, I’m just not feeling it.”

“Okay, how about pasta?”

“Bah,” her nose crinkles as she dips herself under the water until it nearly reaches the tip of her nose.

“I’m getting the distinct feeling James inherited his distaste of whatever I propose as a meal from you,” Harry chuckles. “Paella?”

“God no!”

“So you’re not feeling very mediterranean tonight. Are you feeling anything though?  Because I’m honestly out of ideas.” Harry’s shoulders slump as he watches Ginny pout, blowing bubbles through her pursed lips, unable to comprehend what’s bothering her. If he recalls, she’s never refused any of the aforementioned dishes and, luckily for his academic career, his memory is still in tip-top shape.

“Not particularly, but - oh,” Ginny’s eyes widen. A pause, then she rapidly rises from the sudsy water, splashes all over and jumps on the bathmat with accuracy, leaving Harry behind blinking and feeling very confused.

“Gin?” He calls, scratches the back of his head. Yet no one answers. “Ginny?” Harry tries again, raising to his feet to go after her.

“Harry?” Her voice quivers as she speaks his name, naked in the middle of their bedroom.

“Alright, love?” Harry quickly closes the distance between them, cups her brow and searches deep inside her chocolate brown eyes, worried and ready to shield her from any pain or sorrow.

“How would you feel about me wearing your sweaters this winter?”

“Brilliant, I guess. But I thought you really loved yours - oh,” He freezes as he finally understands, “We’re doing it again, aren’t we?”

A mischievous glint forms at the corner of her eyes and Ginny grins, “You mean the whole baby madness because yes!  If my calculations are correct, that is - I think this is a surprise souvenir from Winchester.”

Harry smiles softly and holds her for a moment, arms draped around her shoulders as happiness unfolds inside his chest. And it grows and it grows until he can’t keep it still any longer so he lets himself laugh and cry at the same time, love and a feeling of completeness unraveling themselves in that moment, encompassing between kisses and clumsy hands hurrying to rid him of his clothes. Without a second thought, she wraps her bare thighs around his middle and he carries them both to bed, to celebrate the magic of having once again created life.

Later, cozy and sated among the messy bedsheets, Harry cuddles Ginny closer against his chest and laughs like a puff of air from his lungs. “Can you believe it?”

Ginny hums. “We really are good at that.”

“No - I mean yes we are but. Another baby - and conceived on bloody Valentine’s Day.”

“Bloody is right - he was beheaded you know.”

Harry snorts. “What an amazing piece of trivia. Anyone who shares knowledge like that is a gentleman and a scholar.”

“And a virile little baby maker,” Ginny adds.

“Two to tango.”

“What a tango it was.”

we're always over the moon to hear what you think so please don't hesitate to share with us :) we’ve missed fluffy-nerdy hinny dearly so bringing them back just in time for valentine’s day was a real fun ride!

lots of love and may your valentine's be as you wish it to be, @gryffindormischief & @fightfortherightsofhouseelves