#and subsequently all the news articles that came out because of it

[shaxxophone]

Lol gross sorry the last poll + question i reblogged was from a terf apparently. Got that shit right off my blog

[gothcsz]

The Boy is Mine | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~7k wc | Part 1 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You become obsessed with the new DEA attaché.

Tags: oral (m receiving), stalking, voyeurism, dirty talk, masturbation (f), we're humping a pillow y'all, light spanking, javi's gun makes an appearance, some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, dubcon, no use of Y/N, reader is a photojournalist, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: i told myself i was going to take my time with this but i've been hyperfixated on this song and music video since it dropped... imagining my favorite pedro boy and... well i cranked this sucker out so fast. oh to break in to javi's apartment and blow him into oblivion 😫 let me know what you think! i might write a part 2 if there's interest for it xoxo mwah enjoy queridas. 🖤

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

You’ve never seen a man so handsome. So determined. So capable.

So perfect.

You knew from the moment you laid eyes on him that he was the one.

You’d been waiting outside of the embassy in the pouring rain for over an hour trying to catch him while on his break, wanting to get a quote from the new DEA attaché on his plans to tackle the Cali cartel.

That’s why you’re here in Colombia. Fresh out of grad school with a masters in photojournalism. Your advisor had presented to you a great position in South America involving documenting the war on drugs and its subsequent effects. Despite Pablo Escobar’s death, this so called war remained relentless, and with your ability to capture photos that truly are worth a thousand words, your advisor knew you’d be perfect for the job.

So here you are, immersed in a beautiful country, working your dream job. It had its bad days just like anything else; but your passion and prowess made those hard days worth it.

When he finally did emerge from the government building, you shivered and it wasn’t because you were soaking wet from the rain. 

Your handbag did little to nothing to shield you from it as you held it over your head and jogged over to him.

He immediately blew you off, quickly eyeing your appearance before giving you a simple ‘no comment’ which would usually piss you off and have you press further–– however, you were left in a trancelike state by merely being in his presence.

He was more handsome than you could have imagined. You didn’t know what he looked like before arriving, solely going off the description given to you by your boss then what little his secretary had told you when you called to ask for a meeting earlier (which you were denied).

Brows cinched together in a perpetual frown, pouty lips turned downward in a scowl with chocolate brown eyes that make you miss the warmth of your hometown. 

He had taken your breath away entirely, leaving you standing there in a puddle of both rain and arousal as he darted off in the opposite direction.

That was all you needed, really, to be thrown into a pit of absolute delusion and wanton want for Javier Peña.

You watch him relentlessly. At first, it began with scouring through the archives, reading any printings that involved him, seeing his photograph on countless articles and video footage of him giving press conferences.

The more you dived in to the professional life of the agent, the more devoted you became.

Then the following started. To and from work. Late nights at the bar. While tracking down leads. You can’t help yourself, you are obsessed. Everything this man does is fascinating, further deluding you into an infatuated trance.

You don’t know where this side of you came from. You’re usually so unproblematic and independent, your sole focus being your career with little to no time to even fathom romance.

There’s just something about him that flipped this twisted switch within you, rendering you a cock-thirsty, lovestruck mess.

One night, you watched him bring another woman home and that’s when you realized how palpable your obsession had gotten. The jealousy that bubbled in your chest became unbearable. So much, that it led you to get out of your car, climb the fire escape of his luxurious apartment building, and onto his balcony.

You observed from the other side of the glass door, in the shadows, as he took this woman on his couch.

A plethora of toxic emotions swirled within you. Envy and arousal the most intense, your thighs clenching together at the sight of his bare torso against the gentle, warm light of the singular lamp that was on.

A sheen of sweat glistened over his tan skin. He is so chiseled with a softness that makes you want to run your tongue against every dip and ridge, all the way down to the enticing trail of hair that leads right to what you crave the most.

You sighed, fantasizing about being in that lucky bitch’s spot, with his hands running all over you, kneading and squeezing your curves, the scratch of his mustache having your skin curl beneath the coarser touch. You managed to control the whimper that threatened to slip up your throat in the off chance that it got you caught.

It’s not until you felt your pager in your pocket that you returned to reality, the buzz forcefully pulling you from your erotic daydream. With a final glance at their moving bodies, at him, you swiftly descended the fire escape and to the nearest phone booth.

Since that night you’ve been insatiable. You just need one taste, a small, micro dose of him to keep your hunger at bay.

It’s not until a few days later that you return to his apartment. He’s away for work in Cali (you followed him to the airport, watching him board the plane behind your thick sunglasses and a newspaper) leaving his place empty with no surveillance. You ascend the fire escape again, the city lights of the capitol twinkling in the distance. 

Slipping your gloves on, you expertly pick the lock of the balcony door before suavely entering the space. You’ve been practicing on your own at home in preparation.

It’s neat and clean. Not much personality to it which is unsurprising considering how stoic this man is. His hardened demeanor amongst the many things about him that drive you crazy. There’s never a break in his expression, always painted with typical tension and weariness.

You wonder if you could be the one who is able to crack him. To get a reaction out of that handsome face.

After surveying the entirety of the open space, you sneak down the hallway and push open the door of his bedroom.

Immediately, his smell engulfs your senses and your eyes flutter close at the scent. It’s comforting yet enticing; nothing different than what other men smell like, but there’s something about Javier specifically that you just can’t describe.

It’s so satisfying. A fucking aphrodisiac.

Walking deeper into the room, you diligently rummage through his belongings, beginning in his en suite bathroom.

With every little piece you study, you learn more about the agent. What toothpaste he uses, the brand of razors that he buys, the specific shade of blue of his towels.

Little things you wouldn’t be able to catch during your, plainly put, stalking.

Back in the room, you open the drawer that stores his shirts, your fingers running along the front of a brightly colored pink one that’s neatly folded at the top.

You imagine yourself walking around in this and nothing else, the softness of the fabric hanging from your curves, unbuttoned enough to expose the swells of your breasts, and maybe even a nipple slip to tempt him even further.

Would he think you look sexy in his clothes?

You now stand at the foot of his large bed, the window behind it casting the silver of the moonlight against the mattress tantalizingly, as if urging you to go full on goldilocks by climbing in it and pretending it’s a bed you share with him.

You stare and you stare, lower lip pinched between your teeth before you gently crawl onto it, lowering your chest so it brushes against the duvet as your nose trails up up up until it’s at his pillow, inhaling deeply as you get a more potent smell of him. 

A sweet moan pushes through your lips, your clit throbbing in tandem with your heart as you lose yourself entirely, your mind already conjuring an erotic fantasy.

Your lips against his thick neck, licking and biting the salty skin while he fucks you in missionary. The details become so vivid; that familiar furrow of his brows as he concentrates on your soaking cunt swallowing his cock, fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he praises you for taking his dick like the good little slut that you are.

You whimper, grinding your hips against the mattress, the friction delicious against your clit, while your nose remains buried in the pillow.

Deciding that you need more, you lift your head momentarily to grab one of the other cushions and then slip your jeans off; tossing them on the floor and placing the cushion between your thighs.

Positioning yourself at the perfect angle, you bring the pillow he sleeps on up to your face and begin to grind down on the one between your legs.

Drifting back to your lewd thoughts, you picture him beneath you while your hips move at a sensual pace. You know you’d take him bare, needing to feel every vein and divot… how thick he is breaking your pussy open while simultaneously molding it to fit perfectly tight around his cock.

His mouth on your bouncing breasts, nipping and sucking on your nipples while his large hand runs down to land a harsh slap against your ass cheek, groping the skin to soothe it before repeating the action again and again and again.

You move faster against the pillow, your now ruined panties only adding to the overwhelming sensation as the wet fabric rubs against your needy pussy. 

“Javier…” His name falls from your lips in a gasp when your face leaves the pillow, your body needing fresh air but you being selfish and wanting to suffocate in his scent. You know your wetness is smearing all over the pillow but you really don’t give a fuck at the moment, too caught up in your own pleasure and delusions to think of how wrong this is.

But it feels so good.

Your free hand goes under your shirt and bra to massage your sensitive tit, stomach tightening as your orgasm begins to creep up on you.

You think of his devilishly curved nose and how fucking magnificent it’d feel nudging against your clit while you ride his face. That position specifically has always made you a little nervous due to the thickness of your thighs and ass, but you just know that he would be able to handle it like the sex god that he is.

His tongue would lap over your slit hungrily, kissing your folds before wrapping his lips around the flesh of your clit and sucking hard. The phantom sensation of it is enough to get you to hump harder against the pillow and bury your face into the one in your hands once more, your cunt clenching around nothing as euphoria washes over you.

The room is filled with your muffled moans and cries of his name as you come undone, hips wildly thrusting against the cushion and your juices absolutely soak through it.

It’s an out of body experience, really, as you attempt to return back to earth.

You’ve never came that hard, especially not on your own.

Breathing heavily, you take what feels like an eternity to calm your shaking body down. Once your mind is a little clearer, you wobble off the bed and proceed to wash the pillow you just marked like a possessive cat, lounging around his apartment until you’ve made sure everything is as he left it before swiftly making your exit.

His return comes in the form of a news broadcast. You’re in the middle of cooking dinner when you hear the anchorwoman report that one of the Cali godfathers, Gilberto Rodríguez, has been arrested thanks to the joint efforts of the DEA and Search Bloc.

The kitchen knife falls from your hands and onto the cutting board as you scurry over to the boxy television set in your living room, fingers twisting the knob to increase the volume as he appears.

You’re kneeled in front of the screen, face damn near pressed up against it as you intently watch him command the room. He stands behind a podium with microphones pointed at him from every direction, cameras shuttering, an array of men on either side of him and a large crowd gathered at the front.

“I promise you… the other three godfathers will fall.”

You nod your head as if he is speaking only to you, “That’s right baby, you tell them. So hot.” 

You stand, attention still fully on the television as that familiar stir of arousal begins to heat up within you.

He’s home and your resolve is wearing thin. Thin enough that you decide to say fuck it.

You need another taste.

Dinner is long forgotten as you go to your room, pulling open the closet and grabbing a solid black box from the top shelf.

You purchased this little number when your fantasies had begun. Wearing it around your apartment while you teased yourself, roleplaying him coming home after a long work trip and using your pussy to help him forget the horrors of his job.

Using a realistic looking dildo, you imagined it to be the man of your dreams while you fucked yourself with it in a myriad of positions.

The outfit is simple. A short, black leather dress with a corset bust and sheer sleeves that cover your shoulders and arms, doing a great job of making you look sexy. The skirt falls at your upper thigh, exposing your nylon clad legs paired with simple black heels. You slip on your mesh gloves, your red acrylics popping against the black, almost see through material.

The ensemble looks divine against your skin but you feel like something is missing. Taking one, long look at your face you realize that you’re not ready to fully reveal yourself to him, so you turn back to your closet and your eyes light up once you see the cat mask you wore to a costume party not that long ago.

You smirk at the idea.

A sexy little cat burglar. Breaking in to take what she wants.

Putting it on, your reflection stares back at you and you feel like a whole different person. The corset cinches your waist just right, your thighs curvy and inviting beneath the stockings, tits pressed together and almost spilling out the top.

The lacy mask covers half your face, leaving your glossy lips exposed with cute kitten ears at the top. 

You’d fuck yourself, honestly. This new wave of confidence does nothing but fuel your determination.

Walking over to the opposite side of your room, you tilt your head up to take in the shrine of photos you’ve made of him.

Most come from you and your camera, all those days you spent watching him and documenting his every move. Others are from newspapers then there’s some messy sketches you did out of boredom.

Your finger comes up to trace his sharp features on one of the pictures, lingering on his nose and your pussy tingles as you breathe out a wistful sigh.

You can’t wait to try him.

Throwing on a black trench coat, you leave your apartment and take the familiar route to his. It’s raining, but not harsh enough to spoil your plans. Just a light drizzle.

When you arrive, your heart sinks at the fact that he isn’t home yet. Of course. He was just on TV! You hadn’t really thought this plan all the way through, absolutely blinded by your desire.

Whatever, you take the time to touch up on your makeup and fix your hair. The night presses on until finally you see his jeep coming down the road and pulling into the garage of the building.

With a final look over in your rearview mirror, you exit the car and cross the street to make your way up the familiar ladder, careful not to slip against the slick surface with the heels you have on.

Thankfully there’s no one out tonight, and if there was you aren’t sure how the hell you’d explain what you’re doing. You don’t even know how to explain it to yourself.

The butterflies in your stomach wildly flutter once you make it to his balcony, rain droplets adorn the glass door and you crouch to keep yourself hidden.

He walks in not long after, looking exhausted as ever as he pulls his tie loose around his neck and tosses his keys into a small bowl at the entryway table. His expensive dress shoes are kicked off, suit jacket slipping from shoulders revealing how broad he is. You bite your lip.

He stalks across the apartment, not even glancing in your direction, unbuttoning part of his shirt and rolling up the sleeves. His figure is a little blurry due to the condensation on the door but you don’t care, you’re under his spell as you watch him pour himself a glass of whiskey.

Wetting your lips, you can almost taste the spicy liquor as he drinks it in one shot before pouring himself another. Except this time it’s on the rocks.

Would the ice make his lips cool? Surely. A shiver dances down your spine at the thought of them pressed against your heated skin. 

The orange street light casts softly into the space, the shadows sharpening his features and making him look more rugged and masculine and just downright fuckable. You want to so badly break through the glass and take a seat on that chiseled jaw, to have him harshly grip your ass as you fuck yourself on his tongue.

He disappears down the hallway and into his office, giving you the opportunity to sneak in like last time. You give yourself one final pep talk before fully committing, slipping off the trench coat and tossing it aside.

After picking the lock, you very diligently and quietly slide the door open and enter, shutting it behind you.

Just like the cat burglar you pretend to be, you suavely follow his trail down the hallway, leaving a wet trail of your own from the rain, stopping at the cracked door of his office.

You see him hunched over his wooden desk, back facing you, deep in thought at whatever documents lay sprawled against the surface.

His back muscles tense with every subtle move he makes, your dark eyes taking him in entirely from his slutty little waist to the curls at the nape of his neck.

You can tell he’s been frustratingly running his fingers through his hair since it’s sticking up in some places, making it look so sexily tousled.

You want to tug on it, run your fingertips against his scalp while he devours you whole.

So lost in your observance of him, you don’t catch the moan that escapes you and his head snaps up at the sound. 

Your eyes widen and you take a delicate step back, still watching as he reaches for the gun that’s nestled against his lower back.

Trying not to make too much noise, you make your way further down the hall and into his bedroom, heart in your throat as you climb into his bed, laying on your side with your body weight propped up on one hand as you anticipate his presence.

This is it. This is what you’ve been dreaming of since the moment you laid eyes on him.

The first thing you see is the silver tip of his pistol as the door opens further, then he comes fully into view with that goddamn scowl on his face that makes your skin tingle.

His breath hitches once he lays eyes on you, large hands squeezing the weapon as you sexily wave at him.

“Hello agent.”

Your sweet voice fills the space, the muted sound of the weather picking up outside serving as the perfect white noise to set the ambiance for this scene.

“Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in here?”

Oh, his voice. So smooth yet raspy like the whiskey and cigarettes he can’t live without.

“An admirer that saw you took down one of the godfathers and decided to come thank you in person.”

His gaze narrows, gun lowering slightly as he contemplates whether you’re a threat or not.

You are, but not in the way that he thinks.

“How did you get in?”

“That’s a trick I’m going to have to keep to myself.”

You shift your body, moving to rest on your knees and you watch as his eyes lustfully trace the contours of your figure. You’re absolutely keening beneath the heaviness of his stare, loving the fact that you have his undivided attention.

It doesn’t even worry you that he’s got a fully loaded gun pointed right at your pretty face. If anything, it just turns you on even more.

“What do you want?”

“I already told you. To thank you in person.” Your eyes roll and his jaw tightens.

“Thank me in person?” He echoes your words with a dry chuckle, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Let me show you.” Your tone is hushed and dripping with suggestion, slipping off the bed slowly and sensually.

You watch his adam’s apple bob at your change of position, letting him see you in your full get up, watching intently as his eyes land on a different part of your body with every second that passes.

“Drop the gun, Javier.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I could do right now.”

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowing behind the mask as you contemplate your next move.

He’s standing on the rug that’s spread out against the wooden floor which gives you an idea.

“Please? I’m not going to hurt you.” You whine with a pout, beginning to lower yourself to the ground as if showing him your unwavering submission.

The seconds that tick by feel like hours as you attentively take each other in. Then you hear it, your ears twitching at the faint sound of the safety switching on and it’s enough to spur you into action.

You don’t know where this newfound strength comes from, probably the adrenaline you feel of simply existing in the same room as him. You yank the rug, causing him to lose his footing as he falls onto his back with a loud thud, the gun slipping from his grasp and sliding across the floor.

He groans out in pain but you don’t care, pulling him closer, then fully on your knees as you begin to crawl over to him.

“I told you to put the gun down.” 

He’s still on his back, making no attempt to move as you draw closer. He does lean up on his forearms, dark eyes fixed on you, watching as you shuffle on your hands and knees until you plant your hands on his shins and work your way up.

You barely graze the hardening bulge in his pants, causing him to shudder, and white heat licks at your core knowing that in this moment; he wants you too.

The two of you don’t break eye contact as you straddle him, gloved hands falling on his pecs.

“I’m not usually like this…” you begin in a gentle murmur, running your open palms anywhere you can, relishing in feeling his taut body beneath yours after fantasizing about it for so long, “Shit, it’s like news to me, but I can’t ignore my heart anymore.”

One of your hands wraps around his tie, tugging on it harshly until you’re nose to nose with the man that’s been living in your head rent free for the past few weeks.

His lust blown, brown eyes search yours, as if trying to discern your identity which you assume he’ll never figure out. You’ve only ever had that one interaction and even then he had barely paid you any attention.

You feel his breath fanning across your mouth, so badly do you want to press your lips against his but you suppress the urge.

You continue to play with him, enjoying this sense of power you have with how compliant he’s being.

You expected for him to be fully dominant, which you know he’s capable of being since you watched him fuck the shit out of that one girl. But it seems like this, your taboo act and the suddenness of it, is affecting him in an entirely different way.

You put pressure against your palms, having him lay flat on his back and you hover over him, taking in all the small details of his charming face.

The frown lines, hairs of his mustache, blemishes and faint scars. Every little detail making you fall harder and harder for him. He has no idea just how much he means to you.

“What game are you playing at here, gatita?” He gives in, entranced by this enigma of a woman that’s perched over him. His calloused hands grip at your outer thighs, blunt fingernails almost ripping the fabric of your stockings.

You hum at his touch, loving the sound of the pet name, gently rocking on his lap and clutching his shirt in your fists.

“One where you’re the prize, handsome.”

You lean forward, sticking your tongue out and slowly licking a broad stripe from his chin all the way to the tip of his nose, curling your tongue when you flick at it.

His chest vibrates with a groan and you smirk at the feeling of his cock twitching underneath his pants.

“You looked so good on the news tonight. I couldn’t help myself.”

You undo his tie, toying with the notion of wrapping it around his wrists to detain him, but with what you have planned on doing to him tonight, you’d rather keep his hands accessible. 

Maybe next time.

You toss the silky fabric aside to focus on unbuttoning his shirt. He does nothing but remain silent, his chest heaving up and down while he suppresses the primal urge to take over and fuck this sweet little thing that’s dropped herself on his lap.

And you know he’s more than capable of switching the roles. He’s strong and skilled, could easily flip you onto your back and proceed to exert his dominance over you.

But you’re the one with the grand plan here, not him, and he’s indulging in your shared fantasy by letting you do whatever it is that you want, lost in a horny daze of his own.

The silence is comfortable and it further builds the sexual tension. You finish getting his shirt undone, opening it wider to get a better look at his toned body.

“So hot. You drive me crazy, agent.” You’re so wet, the slickness of your arousal seeping through the flimsy material of your thong smears against his fancy dress pants.

“Y tú, kitten, look like something out of a wet fucking dream. I have to be dreaming.”

You giggle, blushing at his words as some coyness slips into your facade.

“You’re not dreaming. I promise you.” 

Leaning down once more, you begin to leave wet kisses against the cut of his jaw, suckling on the warm skin then running your nose along the length of his neck.

You take in a deep breath, smelling his cologne atop of his sweat and natural scent and you feel so high. 

No amount of cocaine comes close to how Javier Peña makes you feel.

You suck a love bite against a protruding vein in his neck, a grunt pushing past his lips at the sensation of your teeth grazing the skin. 

Satisfied with your possessive marking, you lick from his jaw all the way up to his ear, biting down on the lobe.

“Now I’m going to taste you.” You purr seductively, leaning back to look down at his absolutely wrecked face.

His puppy eyes stare up at you like you’re the only woman in the world, a goddess that’s decided to bestow such an erotic experience onto him. He knows you’re about to ruin his body for any other woman that comes after you.

You decide to be a little theatrical, slowly pulling off your gloves to reveal your pretty hands and fresh manicure.

He can’t help but bring his large hand up to grasp your wrist, pulling your hand closer to his face as he studies your nails before gently nipping at your fingers, then slipping two digits into his mouth, running his tongue all over them and sucking them softly.

You gasp at the sensation, not breaking eye contact while he smirks at your reaction. Suddenly, lighting strikes and the room is illuminated for a split second in the white light. 

You both look so feral, suspended in this vivacious moment.

Pulling your hand away, you let it drag down his pouty bottom lip, pinching the delicate skin before shuffling back on his lap.

You hover again, this time at eye level with his chest as you place soft kisses against his brown skin, tongue peering out to lick his pecs then down his soft tummy.

His hips buck involuntarily and you pull back, tilting your head to the side as you look down at him.

“Stay still or this little kitten is going to find someone else to play with.”

A litany of curses fall from his lips in both English and Spanish, but you pay it no mind, your attention on his belt as you unbuckle it then pop the button of his dress pants.

Leaning down, you bring your face until it’s right at his crotch and you catch the metallic zipper between your teeth.

Slowly pulling it down, your eyes flit up to him and he’s intently watching you, his own tongue hanging from his mouth like a dog in anticipation of what you’re about to do.

You press your nose into the fabric of his now exposed boxers, nuzzling your face against his erection and his breath catches in his throat.

Your wetness managed to penetrate through his pants and onto his boxers, so you kitten lick your arousal from him and he lets out a guttural moan.

Basking in the sounds of his pleasure, you continue until there’s a giant wet spot on the cotton.

Deciding that it’s time you get what you came here for, your fingers hook at the band of his bottoms, dragging them down to his mid thigh and he assists you by lifting his hips.

His cock is so fucking big. Your eyes widen at the sight as it rests against his left thigh.

It’s thick, like you imagined, with ridges and veins that are begging to be traced by the tip of your tongue.

The color of it is a little darker than the rest of his body, the weeping tip plush and leaking with excessive precum from your foreplay. It’s cut with a subtle curve, long enough to where you know if he angles it just right; he’d bruise the fuck out of your cervix.

“Mmm,” you hum, licking your lips like a woman who has been starved for far too long.

“¿Que pasó, nena? Cat got your tongue?” This asshole, teasing you as if he’s not the one at your mercy.

But is that really the truth? One would observe that you’re the one at his mercy; considering your obsession with the DEA agent.

“It just looks so delicious,” you purr, bringing your hand to hover your face.

Meeting his gaze, you seductively lick your palm, wetting it with your saliva before wrapping it around his throbbing length.

“Mierda,” he hisses, head dropping back against the hardwood floor as you begin to pump him in languid motions, getting a feel for what he likes. Attuned.

His flesh feels warm and smooth beneath your smaller hand, your thumb swipes over his tip as you collect some of his precum.

You bring it up to your lips, sucking it into your mouth and you whimper at the taste. Salty, heady, intoxicating.

You need more.

Your hand leaves his cock as you position yourself in between his strong thighs. His dick stands erect, waiting for you to lavish it in your attention.

Leaning down, you poke your tongue out to run one long, broad stripe from his balls all the way up to his head.

He shudders, fists clenching at his sides while his slit spurts out more precum.

“I got you all wet, baby.” you gloat with a gentle laugh, repeating the motion a few more times.

Each groan of his and twitch of his body influences you to keep going, placing open mouthed kisses all over his base then up and down his cock. Making out with it.

You let a wad of spit fall over his tip and watch as it drips down obscenely over his length, bringing your hand back to pump him a little faster with a tighter grip. Your saliva drips from in between your knuckles. 

“That’s it, gatita, just like that pretty girl.” He’s getting more vocal now and you’re intoxicated, drunk off his praise.

You slap the fat head of his cock against your pursed lips a few times before letting your tongue lap at the slit then sinfully lick around the tip. 

Your tongue continues its assault on his girth, lapping every inch of it like he’s a refreshing mango popsicle on a hot summer day.

The attention is then shifted on his balls as you continue to jerk him, the tip of your muscle outlining the sensitive skin before you suck one into your mouth softly.

“Puta madre, bebita, esa boquita feels like fucking heaven.”

You whimper, nuzzling your nose against his sack and taking in his musky smell. Your mouth waters, drool leaking from the corners as you reposition yourself back over his hard cock.

You part your lips, taking him slowly, inch by inch as you savor the weight of him inside your hot mouth. Your hand remains at his base while you swallow him whole, tongue lapping around the bits that it can reach.

It’s not until you feel him tickle the back of your throat that you pull back slightly, sucking your cheeks in and beginning to set a slow pace.

Up, down, up, down.

He’s so fucking big, you’re not able to take him fully down your throat… yet. You’re gonna need a moment to break open your mouth enough to fit him.

He continues with his praises. The sweet filth that fills your ears urging you to be a good girl and to suck his cock like your life depends on it.

Because it does. All you want to do is lose yourself in him, to become nothing more than just Javier’s plaything.

Tears pool at your tear ducts from the messy head you’re giving but it doesn’t deter you. You just blink them away and take him further down your throat.

You splutter and gag as he presses against your uvula, causing him to inadvertently bring his hand down to the back of your head, fisting your hair.

You wince but the pain feels delicious on your scalp. You pull away and his saliva coated cock falls from your swollen lips with a trail of spit connecting you two.

“I want you to fuck my face, Javier. Can you do that for me?”

You bat your lashes, biting on your lower lip as you look up at him.

Your back is arched sexily, giving him a good view of your ass behind you as you remain on your knees in between his legs.

“Si, gatita, whatever you want.”

He gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail, guiding you back to his cock.

He slips back into your mouth easily, his hips bucking upward to fully bury himself down your throat.

You breathe through your nose as he begins to set the pace, much harsher and faster than what you’ve been doing on your own.

The filthy sounds of his groans mixed with your gagging and squelching of your mouth fill the room and it’s like music to your ears.

You fucking love this. Love the way he’s fucking your throat and using it to get himself off.

His other hand falls down to tenderly caress your cheek, cupping your jaw and that sets off an explosion of fireworks against your needy pussy, moving your hips against nothing. The simple act is enough to get you closer to your own orgasm.

Your fingernails dig into his meaty thighs when he manages to fully situate himself into your mouth, the tip of your nose brushing against his coarse pubic hairs.

He keeps you there, depriving you of oxygen and your jaw aches with how it’s been widely unhinged for the past however long.

You don’t care about your pain, you only care about tasting his cum when he finally releases inside of you.

“I’m so close baby, god damn it I could die in this pretty little mouth. Such a filthy whore, breaking into my apartment just so you can suck my cock.”

You whimper, the sound vibrating around his shaft and you bring one of your hands down beneath your skirt and panties, rubbing tight circles against your engorged clit.

He goes back to thrusting in and out of your throat while you pleasure yourself; both of you teetering on the precipice of your respective orgasms.

The hold on the back of your head tightens as his climax begins to peak, and the tension of it is enough to send you over the edge first.

You splutter and groan all over his cock while you cum, your release coating your fingers and dripping down your folds and onto your inner thighs.

“Fuck I’m about to come. You better swallow every fucking drop gatita. Isn’t that what you came here for? Ah-shit, to milk my cock like the perverted bitch that you are?”

If you hadn’t come already, you would be now with his abrasive words and rougher thrusts of his hips.

“I bet, fuuuck, bet that pussy tastes so fucking sweet and feels as heavenly as this mouth. Ay gatita sucia, you gonna let me destroy your tight little cunt or are you going to leave me with just a taste of your boquita?”

You want to respond, to tell him that you want nothing more than to have his cock split you open, to render you a mess that can’t walk for days after getting fucked hard by him.

His thrusts stagger and he comes with a primitive growl, his hot seed spilling into your mouth and down your throat.

You moan at the feeling and he holds you flush against his pelvis while he empties his balls into you.

When he’s finally drained, you tentatively let him fall from your mouth with a lewd pop, some of his spend still resting on your tongue.

You climb up his body again, noticing the bead of sweat dripping from the tip of his brow and down his chiseled cheek. His lips are swollen, much like yours, from chewing on it due to the intensity of your ministrations.

His dark eyes are swimming with lust and adoration, shallow breaths exhaling from his nostrils.

You open your mouth wide, sticking your tongue out so he can see his milky cum against the pink muscle before you retract it and swallow exaggeratedly, smirking as you bring the back of your hand up to wipe the saliva and other fluids that coat the bottom half of your face.

“Thank you for keeping us safe from the narcos, agent.” You whisper, reaching for your gloves to slip them back on.

He watches intently before he raises the hand that had just cupped your cheek affectionately to the edge of your mask, beginning to lift it up to expose your identity.

“¿Quien eres, gatita?”

You stop him by grasping his wrist harshly, shaking your head.

“Un secreto,” you whisper back, close enough to where your lips are softly brushing against each other.

Moving his hand away from your face, your eyes gaze into his one final time before you lean in to press a sweet kiss against his lips. 

It’s everything you dreamed of and more, the feeling of his mouth slotting against yours in the most passionate kiss you’ve ever shared with anyone.

You pull back before things get heated again, your mission now complete until the next time.

“I’m going to leave now,” you begin in a hushed tone, “and you’re going to stay right here. You’re not going to follow me out or stop me. Are we clear?”

Another tilt of your head and you can see the resistance in his stare, how badly he wants to keep you here like a pet. His kitten.

But he nods ever so slightly.

“Will I see you again?”

Yes, but you don’t reveal this to him so easily.

“Only if you do something worth warranting a visit.”

With that, you rise from his lap, your long legs on either side of his waist as you look down upon this man you just wrecked without giving him your name or letting him get a good look at your face.

His eyes trail over you, trying to etch the image of you in his mind for the lonely days that are about to come.

He won’t forget you, that’s for sure. You’re about to infiltrate his mind in the same manner in which he infiltrated yours.

The soft click of your heels can be heard as you depart from his bedroom, leaving him with his soft cock out and pants down his legs.

Before closing the bedroom door behind you, you stop and look at him over your shoulder.

“Goodnight agent.”

The minutes tick by agonizingly slow before he scrambles to get up, grunting at the subtle pain in his back as he tucks himself back into his pants and picks his gun up to place on the dresser.

He follows your wet trail down the hallway and to the glass door of his balcony that you purposefully left cracked; an answer to his earlier question.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

He smirks when he sees the heart shape you’ve left against the surface. 

[gurugirl]

Nympho | poly!nympho!harry

Summary: Y/n is a nymphomaniac who just loves people. One day she happens upon a "harem" arrangement that seems perfect for her and her insatiable appetite. Loosely based on this Tumblr request.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This has already been released on my Patreon. This is the first part of an au that follows Y/n as she explores a new kind of relationship with 9 other females and Harry. All subsequent parts will only be posted on Patreon.

Warning: 18+ only, smut, voyeurism (consented), exhibitionism, multiple partners

Y/n had a problem on her hands. A problem few knew about. In fact, so few people knew of her problem that it was limited to only herself and her therapist. And one accidental drunken confession to a stranger at a bar.

She was what the medical world called someone with compulsive sexual behavior. In other words, a nymphomaniac.

She laughed when her therapist told her the opinion. Hypersexuality. Nymphomania.

Y/n always thought she was more just a young woman with a high libido. A libido no one could match. No one she’d met anyway. She couldn't keep a boyfriend or girlfriend long enough because they couldn’t meet her needs. Sexually.

She just really needed it all the time.

And of course, there’s not a cure for such a thing. Therapy, antidepressants maybe (she had no interest in this route), meditation…

Her Google searches on ways to soothe herself in between dry spells or times when she was purposely trying to “detox” only rendered stupid articles and based medical opinions.

So instead of trying to deny herself of her natural urges she went down a rabbit hole on the internet and found that there were plenty of others just like herself.

She wound up coming across a private members-only forum where people could vent about their frustrations and even meet up with others to sate their desires. Not everyone on the forum was a nymphomaniac like herself. Some were seeking particular relationships. There were those looking for a third. One was seeking a partner to slap them across the face. But there was a section for those with high libidos and nymphomaniacs.

The problem with some on that forum was that they were married and looking for something discreet to have on the side. In other words, they were looking to cheat. Y/n wasn’t interested in that. She didn’t want to hurt anyone or sneak around that way.

She was a silent observer for a while. Reading posts and learning all about the way people dealt with their own problems.

The Meet & Greet section of the forum was interesting. Most of the posts were private, invite-only, or by request-only so she wasn't able to see all of them. But she came across a sort of invitation.

Seeking open-minded females to join my household. Open and loving relationships only. Poly. Inquire for more information. No judgment.

She knew she was probably polyamorous. She liked multiple partners and would grow close to anyone she had sex with but also had no issues knowing her partners had sex with others.

So she clicked the ad, filled out the short informational survey and included a photo of herself (her cutest), requested to join the conversation, and waited until she was approved.

A response came back within only minutes.

She learned that the man who placed the ad was wealthy and living with many women in a kind of poly arrangement. Living in his mansion (pictures of his estate included) with him were 9 women. They all shared one another sexually and emotionally. All the sex one could want while also being financially taken care of.

She received a picture of Harry and each of the 9 women.

It seemed almost too good to be true. But she couldn’t pass up the chance to meet with them and find out more.

.           .           .

She’d busted her ass at work that day. She worked at a bakery so her mornings were early. And Saturday mornings were the most grueling. The line out of the shop by 10 am was usually 20 people deep. And that day was no different.

The nice part about working at a bakery was that she was usually off work by 1 pm. On Saturdays sometimes they sold out by noon.

She showered and threw on a dress and dried her hair before rushing to pour her coffee into a travel mug and set Harry’s address into her phone as she jumped into her car.

He told her that there was no rush to meet him by 3 but she hated being late. She was also quite anxious to meet everyone. To see what the setup was and find out if it was legit.

She did google the man of course. He was extremely wealthy and attractive. Did some charity work. There wasn’t too much about him. But he seemed to be credible.

When she arrived at the destination she was floored. She stopped her car in front of the tall gates and gawked at the details along the iron and stone. She couldn’t see beyond the gate but suddenly they began to slowly open up. The long driveway stretched into the property lined with trees and lovely landscaped shrubs with a fountain or two but when the trees parted and the drive wound into a circle in front of the home it was like something out of a movie.

She couldn’t even count the levels of the place. 3? 4 or maybe 5? It was difficult to tell from her little car.

She pulled the break lever and parked before getting out and staring up at the details on the façade of the mansion.

“Hi! Y/n?” A woman at the door greeted her with a smile as she descended the steps.

“Hi! Yes, I’m Y/n,” she waved and held her hand out to shake but the woman, who smelled like vanilla and amber pulled her in for a hug.

“I’m Chanel. We hope you feel comfortable here. Harry’s just inside,” she gestured toward the house and led Y/n up the steps and into the impressive entry with a double staircase, high ceilings, and marble floors. The place was immaculate.

Chanel took Y/n’s hand and guided her to another room where there were a few women, scantily clad and laughing, and then the man, who she was positive was Harry.

His light green eyes, wide grin, and dimples were gorgeous.

“Y/n,” he put his arms out toward her, “It’s so nice to finally see you in person,” he hugged her and kissed her cheek sweetly.

She was already feeling all the love from everyone. The other women that were in the room all hugged her and greeted her as well.

Harry showed her a few areas of the house as he gave her a rundown of how things worked.

“We all love and respect one another. No one in this house is off limits to anyone unless someone is having a day where they need to be alone but that’s rare. Everyone here likes sex a lot. We do things in the open here. Sometimes in private. I like to watch the girls playing and they enjoy watching me as well. We don’t like a lot of secrets here when it comes to sex.”

Y/n nodded and tried to imagine what that might look like. It sounded like a hot fantasy that only happened in porn.

“For example, this morning I had three of my lovers in bed with me and I woke up horny, as I always do and the one closest to me got my cock while the other two got off watching us. The other girls were in their rooms doing nasty things to one another as well,” he looked at her and grinned, “That’s kind of how things go here. Sex after dinner, before dinner. Right on the kitchen counter as someone is making dinner next to us.”

“Wow. That sounds incredible. Like a dream.” She said as she looked at his huge kitchen and two girls followed behind them.

“Would you like to see it in action? Right now Alana and Sasha are fucking in the TV room. I was just watching them before you arrived and I’m sure they’re still going at it. Up to you.”

She nodded. Everything about this situation felt like something she could quickly settle into. She’d love to have her days filled with sex and watching others and exploring.

Harry put his arm over Y/n’s shoulder and nudged her closer, “Don’t be shy,” he whispered as he walked them toward the TV room. Y/n could hear the girls moaning and the soft slick sounds that came with sex.

“Alana has the black hair, and Sasha is the one with the collar,” Harry explained.

Alana was on all fours as was Sasha who was eating her out from behind. Sasha was also using a dildo on herself as she steadied her body with one hand, face stuffed into Alana’s pussy and working the dildo in and out.

Alana turned to see Y/n and Harry and her lips were parted, “H… Hi…” she panted and then swayed her hips over Sasha’s face.

Y/n brought her hand up to wave, “Hi.”

She’d never been in a situation quite like this. She’d participated in sex parties, orgies, and the like, but to be part of a household where everyone has access to one another all day was a new concept.

“No one that lives here works. That’s another rule. No working. We all need to have access at all times, unless, like I said someone needs some space or a day alone. But really, this just means I don’t want anyone under my care to worry about money or stress about a job. I take care of everything.”

She looked from Harry back to the girls who were enjoying themselves in front of everyone. It was making her horny. Well, she was always horny, but seeing soft curves and breasts, and hearing their gasps and groans of ecstasy was making her panties wet.

She both loathed and loved her condition. Loathed it when she wasn’t in a spot to take care of herself. Loved it when she was.

“So it’s you and 9 women here right now?”

Harry nodded and put his hand on the back of her neck, gently squeezing, “That’s right. I’m open to as many as fit into our lifestyle here. I have sex with each girl every day. Sometimes all of us participate together. Some days I want to have sex with one of them a few times. Depends on the day.”

Y/n looked up at the man. His jawline was sharp. She was already hot and feeling achy and he was so attractive and looked so yummy to her. In fact, everyone she’d seen so far looked quite appealing. She’d be happy if Chanel who was just to her right had her way with her.

“No one ever gets jealous?” Y/n inquired.

Harry shook his head, “No. if jealousy does arise, this may not be the right situation. I have had some partners in the past who were invited but wound up not being able to handle it. And that’s okay. They didn’t know that they’d feel so jealous so we parted ways.”

She nodded and licked her lips as she set her gaze on the wet dildo that was being moved in and out of Sasha’s pussy.

“How does this all make you feel right now?” Harry asked.

“It sounds amazing. And I’m really turned on seeing this.”

“Yeah? Me too. Your survey said you were a nymphomaniac so you must be quite ready for a good fucking about right now. It’s up to you if you like this setup but I would like to bring you to my room and give you a preview of what you could expect.”

Y/n looked up at Harry and she could see his pupils were blown out and his lips were dark pink. She swallowed and nodded, “Yeah. That would be fun. I don’t mind if anyone watches, though. I’m very open.”

Harry licked his lips and drew his gaze over her face, “Then I’ll leave my bedroom door open.”

She followed Harry up the stairs and to his large bedroom. But as they passed the other rooms, she noted all the bedrooms were large. Huge in fact. Lots of toys and contraptions set up.

But Harry’s room was tame compared to some of the other spaces. His bed was massive and he did have cuff bars at the head of his bed as well as a bar that hung from his ceiling.

She felt someone behind her touch her shoulder, “Can I help you out of your dress?”

She turned to the woman and smiled as she nodded, “Sure. What’s your name?”

The woman took the bottom hem of Y/n’s dress and began to lift it, “Carrie. You’re beautiful, Y/n. Thank you for letting me see you.”

When her dress was off, Carrie lay it over a chair so it didn’t wrinkle and Harry stood before Y/n with his shirt off and all his tattoos that she had no idea existed were on display. Dark scatterings of tattoos in different styles. His left arm littered in them.

But even more impressive was his body. Well-toned, muscular, lean. Harry moved his hands behind her back and unhooked her bra like an expert as he kissed her neck. She could feel puffs of his warm breath against her skin as she closed her eyes and stretched her neck out for his access as she placed her hands on his shoulders. He lowered his mouth to her clavicle and then to her breasts when she felt his fingers in the band of her panties to pull them off her legs. He pressed his mouth to her tummy and once her panties were on the floor around her ankles he pulled her to his bed, “How do you want it, Y/n? What do you like?” He began to take his pants off as he asked her and she scooted into the bed.

“God I like so many things. Let me suck you off first. It’s gonna make me drip and then I want to be fucked.”

Harry watched her as he dragged his underwear down and his heavy cock drooped. He was thick and fully hard but unlike the last man she slept with, his cock couldn’t stand upward because it was too large. She moaned and reached for him as he climbed up to her on the bed.

“Whatever you want. Is it okay if Carrie eats you out while you suck me off? I can tell she wants to play too,” he looked behind himself at Carrie and then back to Y/n.

“Oh… yes! Do you want to, Carrie?” Y/n asked.

“It would be my pleasure.” Carried sauntered toward the bed and got onto her knees to wait until Harry and Y/n were in position.

Harry lay on his back and spread his legs as he ran his palm over himself, pumping down to the base of his pretty cock. His thighs looked strong and healthy. Harry’s abs were begging for her tongue so she climbed between his legs and did just that. She licked upward over his abs and kissed as she went, “God your body is something I can worship,” Y/n moaned as she grasped onto his thighs and worked her tongue over his skin and his tattoos.

Harry softly moaned and then put his hand into Y/n’s hair, pulling her away from his abs, “I’ll give you five minutes on my cock. And then I’m gonna fuck you, okay darling?”

It was bliss. Y/n had participated in group sex but this felt so right. She tasted Harry’s prick, licking down to his balls, and then licked and kissed his scrotum. She stuffed her mouth with his sac and moaned around him. Harry gasped. Carrie had laid on her back with her face up with Y/n’s pussy pressed into her face as Y/n sucked and licked Harry up.

Carrie’s soft warm tongue and her lips felt like relief on her aching, wet pussy. But once Y/n finally put Harry’s cock into her mouth and got into a good pace Carrie had to get onto her knees and lean into Y/n from behind to keep licking at her cunt.

Y/n wretched the tiniest bit as she lowered over him as far as she could and sucked as she lifted upward, only to repeat her wet tongue and warm mouth encasing his cock and then gagging as his tip reached to the back of her throat and she pushed even further to make his cock reach deeper.

“That’s five minutes,” Harry panted his words as pulled her up and drew her in for a wet kiss.

Carrie moved herself to the foot of the bed and took her panties off before she began running her fingers over her pussy.

He picked up the condom that was conveniently on his bedside table, “We’ll use condoms until everything is all worked out,” he began to put the condom over his cock, “We want to make sure you’re happy here and this is what you really want and then you’ll get tested for STDs and we’ll make sure you're one a good birth control. Once that’s out of the way,” he tossed the wrapper onto the nightstand, “Everything will be raw. I like coming inside my girls and they like to walk around dripping of it or have it eaten out of them.” His grin was a little cocky but Y/n could see why. He was living the dream. They all were.

She couldn’t wait to feel him inside of her as she laid on her back and Harry fit himself between her thighs. He gently pressed his thumb through her slick crease and then put it into his mouth to taste before running his fingers over her clit.

Y/n moaned and bucked her hips upward as she kept her eyes on his pretty green ones.

“Want my cock, Y/n?” He painted his condom-covered prick through her folds and up over her clit.

“I need it. Need to come so bad.”

Harry looked down to her pussy and grasped his base as he lined himself up with her. Y/n couldn’t see Carrie but she could hear how wet she was and her small moans as Harry finally slid inside.

“Fuck… I think you belong here, Y/n,” he gritted as he backed out and then pushed back into her, his tip reaching into her guts deliciously.

She nodded in response as Harry’s intense eyes were locked on hers, “Yes…”

Harry worked himself into Y/n, getting deeper on each plunge until his hips were pasted to hers and he was fucking into her, pushing her up gently with each rock of his hips.

Harry was breathing hard as he paused and took Y/n’s thighs and pressed them into her chest so he could fuck down into her with deep, painful strokes. The pain was welcome. Y/n loved getting her guts rearranged by a man with a big cock just as much as she loved the soft and delicate lips and fingers of a woman. All forms were welcome. But she did prefer her men with big cocks. Women were better lovers in general and she would never be able to choose if she liked men or women better. All she knew was that Harry’s cock was exactly what she wanted in a man.

She squeaked when he began to rail into her, her pussy walls sucking him in and squeezing as he drove into her.

Harry’s rhythmic breath with each of his thrusts was sexy. She loved to hear a man enjoying her body.

“Oh, Y/n…” he grunted, “I’m not letting you leave. I’m gonna need this pussy every day.”

She moaned loudly and all she could get out was a gurgled, “Yes!” It was hard to get much breath into her lungs with the way Harry had her folded in half and the pace at which he was pounding into her.

“Yeah? You wanna be my new girl? Have lots of girlfriends and one boyfriend, Y/n? Get cock and pussy every day?”

Tears fell from her face as she blubbered and moaned a resounding, “Yes!”

Carrie was gasping her words as she fingered herself to the view, “Oh god! That looks like it feels so good!”

“It does feel good. You like watching her pussy get fucked, baby?” Harry spoke to Carrie as he released Y/n’s legs so her feet fell flat to the mattress.

“Yes! Oh, Daddy! I want to watch it every day! Please!”

With the change of position and Y/n’s knees bent, her feet on the mattress Harry’s groin rubbed into her clit and she felt that spark of the finale approaching. She’d been so on edge since she arrived at Harry’s home and then seeing Sasha and Alana fucking in front of her and now with Carrie watching and Harry’s cock punching into her tummy in hard and long strokes she was simply in outer space. Her body was receiving his big cock and her clit was stimulated like she needed.

“Feel it, Y/n?” Harry ground into her with his eyes on hers, rolling his hips sensually and making sure he was smushing into her button. He knew what he was doing. He knew his cock felt good inside of her and that once he added the stimulation of her clit she’d be coming soon. All his girls loved his cock. Loved their clit touched while he was inside of them. And he could see it was no different with Y/n.

“Harry, yes! I feel you. It feels so good. I’m gonna come…”

Harry groaned loudly and slammed his hips into hers. He massaged her tits as he kept himself still for a moment to catch his breath, “You wanna come, Y/n? Like how it feels?”

“I do! Harry, please…” she begged as she bucked her hips up into him to get him to start moving. She was so close.

Harry grunted a laugh and circled his hips, digging his cock into her cervix and she hissed at the ache, “You don’t even have to beg here unless that’s what you like. I’m always gonna make you come, Y/n.” He was breathing hard as he spoke.

“I want it every day. I love this. I want her next,” Y/n lifted her neck and made eye contact with Carrie who was softly cooing. She’d already come but she was still rubbing her pussy and moving her hips.

“Then you can have it. And Carrie too if you want.”

Y/n moaned and nodded as Harry began to move again. Inching back and then pressing himself into the hilt. Over and over again until it was skin smacking wetly and loud choked moans and gasps.

Her tits bounced back and forth as Harry ravaged her pussy, fucking into her perfectly until she clamped down on his cock and began to pulse around him, pussy fluttering and gushing as she cried out.

“That’s it, Y/n… Come for me… just like that… good girl…” he watched her face screw up as she orgasmed and he held himself back. He could have released into his condom but he wanted Y/n to feel everything the way it was meant to be felt. The inner walls of her spasming cunt, pressing and pulling Harry’s cock in as she rammed into her turned her into a melted puddle.

When she opened her eyes she saw Harry watching her with a grin, “Want to eat my come out of Carrie’s pussy?”

Y/n moaned and nodded, “Fuck yes.”

She sat up as Harry pulled himself out and removed his condom. He dragged Carrie toward him by her ankles and the girl laughed with a squeal. Y/n loved this. She was feeling so good after her orgasm and now she was about to get to play with another person and eat come from the pretty girl’s pussy. It was a dream.

She watched as Harry flipped her over to her tummy and swatted her bottom, Carrie laughed and angled her hips so Harry could enter her.

He leaned over Carrie and spoke lowly, but still loud enough for Y/n to hear, “Such a good fucking little girl for me, baby. Want Daddy’s cock and his come?”

She whined and lifted her hips again, hoping he’d just enter her, “Yes, Daddy!”

Y/n wondered if all the girls called him daddy or if it was different depending on the girl.

With Carrie’s tummy pressed into the mattress, Harry spread her cheeks and plunged into her in one go as she grunted and moaned.

Y/n climbed up closer to watch Carrie’s pussy spread open for Harry’s bare cock and she was immediately horny again.

He rocked into her and he moaned softly until his thrusts grew sloppy, his hips were jerking and he began to whimper, “Oh shit… Fucking gonna come, baby,” he panted, “Y/n… I’m coming inside of her, watch,” he whined as he gripped Carrie's hips and Y/n could see Harry’s balls tighten and throb as he released into Carrie.

Carrie moaned into the blankets below her face as Harry coughed out a loud groan. It was so hot. She loved having such a good view of two people having sex.

When Harry pulled out with his chest still heaving he grabbed Y/n’s hand, “She’s all yours now, Y/n. Filled with my come.”

Y/n smoothed her hands over Carrie’s soft bottom and lifted her hips up before she tongued up and down Carrie’s entrance, first tasting Carrie’s slick arousal and then as Harry’s come began to drip out of her opening she caught it and swallowed it down little by little as he leaked from her.

“Get on your back so I can really eat you out,” Y/n directed Carrie.

Harry sat up against his headboard and watched the girls. Carrie spread her legs as she was on her back and Y/n stuffed her fingers inside, watching Harry’s come coat her fingers as she pushed it back inside of Carrie slowly.

When she put her mouth back onto Carrie she slurped his come from her. There was a lot. But Carrie was loving the attention as she rolled her hips and moaned.

Y/n used her tongue to clean up as much of Carrie as she could but Carrie was so wet and slippery it was quite the task. A yummy task, but still.

When she felt Harry’s hands on her hips she turned to look at him.

“I’m gonna eat you out while you eat her out and then I’m gonna fuck you again because I’m ready for round two already. Okay?”

Y/n grinned widely. She had hit the jackpot with this setup unless it was just a dream. But she would revel in it as long as she could. She put her lips around Carrie’s clit as she felt Harry’s fingers inside of her cunt before he lapped her up with his tongue.

She was sure she would enjoy living this way with Harry and all the girls. She couldn’t wait to try each one of them out. But for now, Carrie tasted diving and Harry’s tongue was magic and she needed to put in her two week’s notice at the bakery.

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this and would like more I'd be so grateful to you for joining my Patreon!! xoxo

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[notroosterbradshaw]

slow dancing in a burning room - seven

word count: 6k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

a/n: no man's land. I hope you enjoy it. thanks to those who read, reblogged and commented on previous chapters. you’re doing god’s work. I truly appreciate your effort to show your support and if you like it… please comment and reblog it! x

You’d be lying to say you hadn’t been distracted all morning… not in the best frame of mind, half heartedly urging young teens, “Just another 50m, you got this”, because God knew, you certainly did not have this.

But you were just so tired. You hadn’t been sleeping well, you were just eating enough to say you were eating. You just felt average and it made you so angry how much you’d tangled yourself with Bradley. Self-care had taken a backseat to bury yourself in the pool’s redevelopment, you weren’t bothering with your morning ocean swim - and of course, it had nothing to do with bumping into Bradley on his morning run.

Nothing at all. 

Annie was on your case to pull yourself from your funk where you continually reminded her you were not in. You were in fact quite productive. Between the work, pool and constantly moving things around the apartment (you wished you'd never started to be honest because you just couldn’t make things work as well as they did before you nearly moved), your days were pretty full and you went to bed exhausted.

You’d just finished the early session when the first text came in. Shivering at your desk and wrapped in a sopping towel, just wanting to release the wet, tangled bun on top of your head and a hot shower to dechlorinate your irritated skin after teaching all morning, you knew protecting your peace was going to be difficult today.

Today, Bradley was to be arraigned. 

It had been a beast of a process for him. The last year his life had been so tumultuous - from deciding to move back to California, the highs of falling in love with each other, deciding to take that ridiculously quick step of moving in together. He gets the keys to his parents' villa and renovates it to build a life and a family. Everything he’d wanted for so long, to Maverick’s return. The only family he had that had destroyed all his hopes and dreams, was the Dagger mission… and subsequent crashes. His injuries, forced leave, and his mental health shattered to you leaving a man who didn’t know how to cope and not giving him the benefit of the doubt to try and help more. Your guilt crushed you in ways you’d never imagined you could ever put on another person. 

You bent in every direction for him, and it still wasn’t enough.

But the hidden truths. Your trust in him was shattered, and protecting yourself, something you were always taught, what we’re all taught but sometimes unable to walk away from someone who can’t change… but Bradley needed more help than you. And when he was put on forced leave, that was the final straw because… 

Because he almost died and when you found out through all the mistruths, he broke you. Maybe he didn’t mean to, maybe he wanted to protect you, protect what you had, but the world was bigger than what is redacted at the end of the day.

But without honesty, what the fuck did you have together? Very little, it turned out. Sex wasn’t going to save you, nor the way your heart found a new rhythm when Bradley was with you. Or how safe you felt in his arms, the way his big hands snuck under your shirt and wrapped around your soft tummy to pull you closer to his strong chest - 

Natasha Trace: He has been found not guilty. Don’t ask me what miracle or deity is on his shoulder, but to be released on Article 92 is wild! 

And you were so relieved and not just because you couldn’t compartmentalise didn’t mean those who were overseeing his case couldn’t. That was their job. Their job wasn’t to love Bradley unconditionally and feel the hurt you did for him… with him. Alone. 

It must have felt revolutionary. Your fingers found the characters to reply somehow. You were shaking, your phone trembled in your hand. Where were your glasses?!

You: How is he? Is he okay?

Natasha Trace: Disbelief. Absolute disbelief. Relief. He’s okay.

You: Thank God, thank you for letting me know, Nat.

Natasha Trace: Of course. We’re going for a celebratory drink. Do you wanna join us, or is that still the stupidest question in the world? 

You: The dumbest. 

You: But thank you.  

Natasha Trace: Can I tell him I told you?

You: I don’t think he will care, but ok. Tell him I’m happy for him and hope he’s excited to get in the air again.

Natasha Trace: I think he will get orders pretty quickly…

It sure seemed like a hint. Talk to him now before you lose him for months on end again. 

You: I’m sure he’s very excited about that. MEDHOLD? 

Natasha Trace: Awaiting TBI and psych assessment but he thinks he’s pretty close.

You: Don’t tell him I’m crossing my fingers for him.

Natasha Trace: …no, never 😉

After showering and dressing with a little more pep in your step thanks to Bradley’s good news, your brain got the best of you and you thought maybe it’d be nice to send him a small, “I’m really happy for you. I hope you enjoy getting back up in the skies” message.

Retrieving his number that was no longer your ICE, no longer the top of your Favourites, and unblocking it made your body quake, and like it was a warning, the barrage of texts you’d not received overwhelmed you.

One by one, begging, pleading for your notice, the raw, the anger, the language.

He had given you a few days of quiet before the texts started.

Bradley 🐓: Love, are you sure this is what you need? I can give you anything, let’s just please try and make this work. I’ll give you some time, whatever you want x

Bradley 🐓: I got a Not Delivered back. You’ve blocked me?

Bradley 🐓: You’ve blocked me. Shit.

Bradley 🐓: Okay, I get it, you want space, I’ll give it to you. 

Bradley 🐓: Hey you… checking if I’m still blocked.

Bradley 🐓: YEP. 

Bradley 🐓: Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d ever block me. 

The thing is, you never thought you’d ever have to block Bradley and as you eased back in your chair, your inherent need to nip something irritating to him made your fingers itch. 

Bradley 🐓: Okay, if this is what you want, I’ll leave it to you to come back to me.

Bradley 🐓: I’m so fucking sorry about tonight. I hope the door didn’t hurt you too badly. 

Bradley 🐓: Still fucking blocked. Ok. I won’t bother again. You've made your point. On me for stupidly not believing we are at this place.

You had to wonder if it was even worth sending one of your own. You couldn’t match his tone, his anger and disappointment. The congratulations text just didn’t seem to cut it but before you knew it, the “Natasha told me you’ve been acquitted. I am happy for you, Rooster. Enjoy getting back to work, I know you’ve missed it” text had written itself but it didn’t mean it was as easy to hit the send button.

And it felt colder than it sounded. You hoped he was sitting on his phone and ready to respond but when you were still waiting the next day, you had to admit you weren’t very surprised. Like he cared that you were happy for him, he deserved to move on and not deal with you and your bullshit in his life anymore. 

You desperately wanted to block him just like before, heart not prepared to see his name in your notifications again.

You hit send before you could think anymore and hoped maybe you were blocked on his end too.

“Knock, knock. Favourite granddaughter is here,” you announced, the tiresomeness in your voice evident after the barrage of Bradley’s texts weighed heavily on you as you walked into your grandparents' home for a cheeky late lunch later that day. Washed and primped (washed and in your activewear, naturally. You were a swimming teacher, not a goddamn office drone), you wandered past the photo wall to find Grandpa and… Maverick in the kitchen. Well, fuck. Your luck was the worst.

There wasn’t a midlife crisis motorbike parked out the front… this would teach you to turn up unannounced. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Grandpa smiled, raising his arm for you to fall under with a hug in greeting. “Whatcha doing here?”

“I, uh…” you tried not to stammer. “Lunch. Thought I’d come over and say hi.”

“Do you wanna sandwich or something?” Viper said, jumping into gear. “Can make a tuna melt - ”

“That’s okay, I’ll go,” you started making excuses. You didn’t want to be around Mav and your brain didn’t have the tolerance to try and fight anymore today. “I didn’t realise you had company…” 

Viper caught the gist and nodded slowly. “You gotta eat.” 

“I have food at home,” you told him but kind of waited for Maverick to take the goddamn hint to get the fuck out. This was your safe place; you didn’t need it tainted by Pete Mitchell. 

“I should probably make a move anyway,” Maverick said, knowing fully well that the discomfort in the kitchen was all because of him. How self-aware, you thought glumly.

“No, you stay,” you tried so hard to be polite, but the tension that bubbled in your bloodstream sort of made you kind of want to curse the day the Navy dragged him yours and Bradley’s way again. 

“No, it’s ok – ”

“Don’t Mav. I’ll leave. You stay,” you tried to bite back your exasperation but it certainly didn’t appear that way. 

“Hey,” Viper warned you. He wouldn’t expect you to talk to anyone like that. 

“Look. I’m real sorry, kid,” Maverick tried, and gee, age had worn him.  

You tried to remain passive, but the frown seemed to speak volumes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why were you so angry at him? Did Mav even know the impact he’d had on your relationship? How Breadley would come home like a bear with a headache, angry, snide. And for that, you just couldn’t seem to disconnect your past from the present and it only made you seethe further. 

“I know I should have done this before because I know I'm the catalyst of a lot of Bradley’s problems. And in part, that burden fell on you.”

You wanted to tell him you didn’t know what he was talking about, to forget it, but as every emotion you had bubbled under the surface, you hissed back, “Well, it’s all very convenient now, I suppose. You get your kid back; you both get back up in the air and live happily ever after.” 

“That’s fair,” Maverick just seemed to take the lash of your tongue in his stride. How pathetic.

“Hey,” Viper said again, a little more warning in his voice.

“Grandpa, Mav almost got Bradley killed,” you said finally.

Viper’s gaze drifted to Mav. “I know the whole story, sweetheart.”

Taken aback, you look at your grandpa. “What?” 

“Bradley came and told me the whole thing.”

You were slow to respond, probably because your brain was overprocessing Grandpa’s reply and the sting it caused. Because Bradley came here when he couldn’t come to you? Because even though he loved you, he felt he couldn’t share this, so he came to Grandpa. 

And he couldn’t come to you?! 

“Jesus, what did you do so right to get some honesty out of him?” you retorted. 

“He was scared, kid. Bradley has already lost everything. He’d lost you. He thought his career was gone too. He needed someone to talk to.”

“I was right there, taking care of him when no one else was able to,” you could feel the rage build within you. “I was right there and he didn’t tell me until he was told - ”

“Because you were the hardest to tell, sweetheart,” Viper told you, the evenness in his voice riling you more. Why wasn’t your blood as furious as you were?! “The person who means the most in the world, who may or may not already have a vendetta against the Navy. How was he going to tell you?”

“How was he going to keep it a secret? When he wakes up screaming with nightmares every night?” you demanded, and Viper nodded slowly because he knew – you remembered vividly the nights you heard Grandpa wake screaming and Nana begged him to calm for your sake. “He’s had PTSD from the Navy since he was four and he still thinks it’s the only place he belongs.”

He belongs with me, you wanted to scream but thankfully managed to bite back.

“He will always have something to prove. With you, without you,” Maverick said your name evenly. “Regardless of anything that ever happened. He barely knew his old man and for a while, he got away with no one knowing Goose Bradshaw was his old man - ”

“So, what… now he’s got more to fight against?” you muttered.

“In a way, yes.”

Oh, you could fucking punch him and resisting it was becoming futile. You turned to him. “Please don’t say another word,” and there was so much threat in your cautioning. You felt feral, every emotion you’d been pushing down since everything exploded was waiting precariously on your tongue and in range was the one who it all centred around. 

Maverick nodded and for a minute, you thought he’d respect your decision… but nope. “I know him so well. It’s what he hates most about me. I knew his father better than he ever did and Rooster is just like Goose. Always bred for more. Always striving for that next part.”

“If you never came back, he’d still be with me, and we’d be happy. Since you walked back into his life, you unapologetically ruined him again after he fought for everything he has now. And I was there. Trying to fix him when he didn’t know how to fix it himself. But it fell on deaf ears because he didn’t trust me enough to tell me - ”

“He trusts you, kid,” Maverick told you evenly. “You are the only one he trusts and that is what makes it worse for him.”  

It was like a car accident. Bradley’s hand was so close to knocking on the weatherboard of the Metcalfe residence and hearing you, the absolute venom in your tone as you lashed Maverick inside. Bradley had never heard you like this, even when you fought with him, your voice was never as cool and callous. 

“I loved him. I wanted my future with him, and it was taken from us.”

“There’s still time - ” Mav tried and for a moment, Bradley stopped breathing because if what came next from your lips gave him the slightest piece of hope, he was going to walk inside and take you in his arms, right where you belonged and make you see reason if it was the last thing he ever did.

“There isn’t - he doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. He’s got plenty of other options out there, Mav,” you hissed. “You think I’m stupid enough to think he hasn’t moved on? When I saw him at the bar a few weeks ago, he looked right through me. Then his date - whatever she was - followed him out. Trust me, I’m aware Bradley has moved on.”

The men remained quiet, because they knew Bradley hadn’t moved on. Bradley was not thinking about moving on. Bradley was only thinking about you. 

“You didn’t get to Viper’s and invite him for a drink?” Maverick asked a while later, cold beer in hand and sliding another across the bar to Bradley, free Bradley, Bradley who was ready to get up in the air again and get his life back on track after one of the worst periods of his life.

And shit, he’d had a lot of them in his short time on the planet to compare. 

He gave Mav a wary side-eye. “No, by the time I got back from the gym, I thought it was rude to pop over around dinner time,” Bradley lied spectacularly, and he knew Mav could see right through him. He'd watched his godson from the moment he walked in, rigid, terse and for a guy who had the world at his feet again, Mav knew something was still troubling him.

“Talk to me, Bradley.”

“Mav, I heard her.”

“Heard who?” Mav was clueless to Bradley’s less-than-subtle hints. Who else was she?

Bradley sighed, easing against the sticky bar as Javy came past, shaking his shoulders happily. “Congrats, brother. So fuckin' happy for you!” he exclaimed as Bradley gave a sheepish grin in reply and Javy said he’d be back with drinks shortly. 

“Bradley,” Mav got his attention again.

He sighed, sipping his beer to wet his throat. “I heard her yell at you, at Viper and I almost didn’t recognise her voice because of the anger laced in it. And it was because of me she was that heated.” 

Of course. Bradley had come to invite Viper for a drink and caught your vitriol instead. Mav sighed, contemplating his next words. Because even though he’d just got him back in his life, he knew his fractured relationship with Bradley was going to take time to heal fully. Knowing what he knew about Bradley, if he pushed too hard, he would resist. He was so headstrong, and at times, unable to see the forest for the trees, but Mav persisted carefully anyway. “Something tells me, like you, Bradley… she’s had this vendetta lined up for a while. Viper, her old man, now you, and probably me because of my involvement in the last few months... years, I suppose.”

“Doesn’t give her the right to take it out on anyone,” Bradley reminded him.

“She probably never has, and that’s why this smarts so much. You’re more alike than you think. Allathis,” Mav motioned around them at the Naval paraphernalia hanging around the bar. “It’s all you both know. She hasn’t felt the joy from it you do. She lost her faith a long time ago. And for now, you are collateral damage from years of turmoil.

When did this motherfucker get so smart? It left a bitter taste in Bradley's mouth he could be receiving such frank advise from MAv after everything they'd been through.

"But if it told me anything, son, it's that woman loves you and that’s what is making everything so much harder for her.” 

Staring hard at the older man, Bradley guzzled the cool beer down his throat and for once, didn’t know what to say, so Maverick continued, “If anything, have faith that she is still crazy about you. And it’s not over, but it will take time. And it’ll need to be the right time.” 

“When’d you start dishing out all this maturity?” it was all Bradley could find himself saying as Mav broke into a smirk that was almost permanent on his face as a younger, much more careless man. The years had matured him. Gone was the flashy, wide unbeatable grin that was constantly in competition with Ice for the biggest ego and accolades, replaced with a softer version, one that had listened and learned from the auxiliary noise around him. 

One of Mav’s biggest regrets was never settling down and having a family. When it didn’t work with Charlie all those years ago, and it took so long for him and Penny to see eye to eye on where they wanted to be in life, he knew he had to step back and re-evaluate how to get where he needed to. And that didn’t always mean fighting for it, it sometimes meant to take that step back and let fate take its course. 

When Goose died, Mav tried to step in to be the father that Bradley had lost, and for a long time, Bradley let him try and fill that void of a father figure. But it only took one betrayal on Mav’s behalf to become Bradley’s enemy and the resentment that Bradley had for him shook Mav to his core. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take again. He knew better and would do what was needed to support his family the way they needed it. This time, he was going to be everything Bradley needed even if it was to his detriment.

It was only a few days later after your showdown with Mav that you’d gotten word Bradley had flown out, and you were free as a bird to leave the house and see what the outside world had turned into while you’d turned your back on it. Why, you wondered at this time, you’d bothered, was another thing.

“So, if you don’t have a boyfriend, why can’t I buy you a drink?” the young officer asked as you chewed your tongue and could swear, you tasted blood. What was it with these Navy fuckboys who thought anyone was fair game after a few drinks? Not all that much had changed, not even the quiet seething Bob displayed a few seats up, prepping himself to step in.

What was wrong with you to think coming here was a good idea… at any time… anymore?

“Because I have a drink,” you explained quietly again, showing he couldn't take no for an answer, your glass. “I don’t need another. I appreciate the gesture, but no.” 

“Come on, just one.”

“Holy shit – ” you finally snapped but you felt his body heat behind you before you could get the words out. You’d know it anywhere. When did he walk in? …how much had he seen? He wasn't supposed to be here!

You stiffened and maybe more agitated than you were before. 

“Lieutenant,” the young pilot straightened, and it all but confirmed you knew Bradley Bradshaw, who was supposed to be on a boat somewhere in the middle of the big blue was behind you. You were going to kill Hangman. Kill him.

“Nice to see you, Rhodes. Heard you got blown out of the sky today…” Bradley said, the amusement in his voice paramount but you didn’t once let your guard down. You didn’t need him to fight your battles for you. 

“Uh, yeah…” the meekness in the young officer’s voice was obvious. You didn’t always realise the command Bradley had over others. Of course, you knew how people were drawn to him, but seeing him with a subordinate was infatuating, to say the least. You didn’t often see him in a position of real power, and it would be shameful to admit, it was sexy. 

“And by Hangman no less,” Bradley laughed quietly, that amused chuckle that you knew had a whole other hidden meaning. “Would probably be a good idea to stop drowning your sorrows and prepare for tomorrow, huh?”

“Guess so…”

“And apologise.”

“Look, I didn’t think you guys were dating anymore – ” Rhodes tried but didn’t offer an apology.

“What difference does that make?” you snapped, confidence growing in Bradley’s presence. You felt him stand a little closer, his heat prickling your back, behind you you wondered if he noticed it too.

“If you think that is what this is about, your ego is more outta check than you’re letting on."

You heard Rhodes mutter, “I’m sorry,” while he skulked away, and you finally breathed as Bradley stayed quiet behind you. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” you heard him mutter as he joined his other friends. 

“You okay?” Bradley asked gently. 

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, the slight snipe still in your voice. But you didn’t dare turn to face him, because if you looked up at him, that would make this whole thing real - that he was right there with you. You weren’t surprised when your stool was slowly spun towards him and his friendly, impish smile graced his handsome face… his beard was well grown in and manicured to the navy’s specification, his sun-kissed curls a lot longer than you’d ever seen on him and you swear, he’d never looked more handsome. “Hi.” you managed and God, he looked desperate to be kissed. You missed those plump, beautiful lips. 

“Hello,” he replied, holding your gaze. Not hard, just… tender. 

“Thanks. You didn’t need to… do that.”

“I know I didn’t. And I know you’re perfectly capable of standing up for yourself. I just wanted to make sure that little pissant knew what he was getting himself into if he went ten rounds with you.”

And you couldn’t help it as you bit back a giggle, hiding your burgeoning laughter behind your hand. Because if he knew one thing about you… it was that you were the dirtiest fucking fighter around and that poor kid would have been laid out with your lash of the tongue alone. “Well, you’d know…” you admitted as he licked back a smirk of his own and hummed. “Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?” you offered softly, and you weren’t sure he’d even heard you in the commotion of a Friday night. You barely heard the sound of your voice from the raging heartbeat in your ears.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking back at the fellas… all of whom were keenly watching on. Unabashed and gawking. Fuck those guys, he rolled his eyes and came back to you. “I shouldn’t…” 

“Get her a drink, you goddamn pussy!” Hangman mouthed viciously and Bradley pretended he couldn’t read his wingman’s lips. He wished he couldn't.

“Yeah, okay. The least you can do is buy me a beer.”

“Hangman has a tab,” you informed him, that devious glint in your eyes shining. 

“Top-shelf whiskey,” Bradley replied confidently.

You gave the order and times it by two, Bradley raising an interested eyebrow. You stayed together in a strange silence for a while, both waiting for your drinks to whet your palette and bring up the courage to say something that was simply… kind… to the other. God knows your last conversation was anything but. 

Taking your first thankful sips, you both laughed as the exact same line came out to the other, “How have you been?” you both dropped your eyes bashfully, uncomfortably and you tried asking him again.

“Not too bad,” he admitted. 

“I was told you had shipped out.” You would still kill Hangman.

“Checking up on me?” his upper lip twitched as you ducked your head. “Phoenix?”

“Hangman,” you corrected him as he chuckled quietly. 

“Dick,” he muttered shortly. “They extended my medical leave just another few days. Paperwork.”

You looked at him, he looked right as rain. 

“And you were right about the shitty shrink stuff,” he pointed to his head while he read yours. “PTSD.”

Well, yeah, you wanted to say it was the least shocking thing he could tell you. “Oh. Oh, Bradley,” you said delicately.

He nodded and shrugged. “Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve seen that whole look my whole fuckin’ life, I just can’t stand you looking at me like that too. This is what I’ve been trying to avoid from the get-go.” 

“Then you’re gonna really hate me after this,” you gently touched his ribs, knowing their previous injury and left your hands to skim his cotton tee before wrapping him in your grasp, the muscles tense under your touch. “I’m sorry, Bradley,” you murmured into his chest, and he sighed, his breath against you shuddered. Your shampoo invaded his nostrils, and goddamn, if he didn’t miss that fuckin’ perfect scent and how it lingered. 

He couldn’t fight it if he tried and he wrapped his arms around you, trying to desperately not lose it and do all he really wanted to do – cry. Cry for him, cry for you, cry for how badly you’d both fucked up. And he’d be lying to say that being in your arms felt so good. He missed the warmth of your curves, maybe a little less than he remembered, and he breathed you in, his love. And the hardest thing he ever had to get over.

Because, unlike his other losses, who left his life, wholly? You were there every day while he tried to make it without you. That sting of trying to get over you in every facet of his life and he just couldn’t move on from you. And that made it worse. 

“It’s not all bad,” he said, lips so close to your ear. “A long story short, I did get clearance and I’m out in 48 hours. Just for the record. The counselling has to continue weekly.”

“Just like me,” you said, a little sing-song. 

Bradley scoffed, humoured. “Yeah… just like you. A pair a’ damaged goods.”  

“Jesus Christ,” you exclaimed, breaking the revelry as Bradley’s arms were covered in cool liquid and he figured, so was your back.

“What the fuck?” he pulled back, alarmed as he looked at some of the younger officers getting into each other’s faces, glasses hitting the floor, drinks flying. It was broken up as quickly as it escalated, Bradley pushing you gently behind him to avoid getting caught in the fracas. “You okay?” he asked over his shoulder as you were reaching for the napkins on the bar just out of your reach. He moved before you and retrieved them, helping you dab away whatever had - yep, drenched you, the back of your hair dripping and the back of your dress sopping. 

“Yeah, just a drink or something,” you sighed.

“Lemme help,” he said, carefully turning you around and tenderly mopping up the bare skin on your back. And he’d be lying to say that if he just reached a little lower, he’d be able to kiss that freckle behind your ear, but blinking that image away, he knew this was not the time to be fantasising about the woman whom he fantasised about every night. 

He sighed and removed his shirt, white V-neck underneath. “Take this,” he said your name a few times over the commotion in the bar after the almost fight.

Raising your hands, you told him not to worry. You’d just take off and get a shower. “It was a bad idea coming out tonight. You know when you feel it’s not the time?”

“Well, you did think I had already flown out, so you probably should have trusted your intuition.” 

And you stared up at him, watching him biting back a grin and as he wrapped his shirt over your shoulders, watching you slip your arms into the sleeves, all he wanted to do was pull you in tight again, kiss your hair and tell you how he was still so in love with you that it was keeping him awake at night, that it was you that he still jerked off and willingly spilling into his hand and all over his stomach to. He imagined you riding him, giving him the messiest head like only you knew how, kissing him while he made love to you, and he held your arms trapped above your head as you trembled beneath him, as you came around him. 

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” he asked, chewing his lip, and fixing the collar on the shirt. But you were so swept up in his smell that lingered, and as you tightened it around yourself, your eyes changed just for that flash that told Bradley that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just him who was feeling the way he was. “Can I drive you home?” 

You shook your head. “It’s okay. I know you have things to do tomorrow - ”

“Come on,” he offered gently, nudging his head towards the door and as he collected your bag and urged you to wander out before him, you knew it was going to take all your strength to just allow this to happen. “Lemme get you outta here.” 

And who were you to argue? Because honestly. You’d follow him anywhere. The man you loved, the man you’d hurt so badly. Nodding gently and seeing that sweet gentleness in his honey-coloured eyes, you let him usher you ahead, his strong hand easy on your lower back, just like it was any other night, the way he’d guide you through the masses, softly, securely, protectively. 

You wriggled as the cool alcohol pressed into your back, and Bradley flinched, thinking you wanted his hands off you – when it couldn’t be any further from the truth. He took his palm away and opened the door as you exited. “You really don’t have to drop me home,” you told him. “I’ll just grab an Uber.”

“It’s fine, really. I had, like, two drinks. Probably best I call it a night and make sure I’m organised anyway,” he replied, leading you to the Bronco. He unlocked your side and naturally opened the door, offering his hand to help you step in.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking his offered warm palm and he helped hoist you in with the slightest of assistance. Buckling up, your eyes followed him to the driver’s side, and he just looked so handsome. You were surrounded by him with his shirt and cologne filling your senses. It all felt too familiar and that scared you terribly. He was fiddling with the keys before popping in and hopping into the seat. He gave you a small smile as he buckled up and gunned the engine, unsurprisingly Al Green low through the stereo. 

It was a quiet trip towards your apartment, keeping your eyes on the passing coastline, scared if you looked at him, you’d do something stupid and just revelling in being the closest you’d been to him in months. 

“You see they demolished that old villa near Penny’s place?” he mumbled. 

“Yeah, how ridiculous,” you said to him. “It was such a gorgeous home. I think they’re dozing it for apartments or something,” you continued the small talk as you passed his villa. You noticed the ladder out front and scaffolding around the roof. “How’s it all going here?”

“Ahh, okay,” he shrugged, trying to focus on the road. “You know, a lot to be done still.”

“I can imagine,” you agreed, studying his face. His profile was completely different with his neat beard, but the rest of him was bigger and stronger. He’d laid countless hours into the gym while on leave and you could see the proof. Your eyes travelled over his tanned biceps and the way the white tee sleeve strained over them, following the vein to his inner elbow and wrist, hand clutching the gear shirt, long fingers wrapped around it. “Thanks for the lift home.”

“Anytime,” he replied, peeking a look back at you and a small smile crept to his handsome features, knowing he was sprung. But alas, so were you. “What?”

You shook your head gently, mortified inside that he caught you checking him out. But what were you to do? He was always so incredibly handsome, and you just missed being near him, being around his warmth, even if it wasn’t something you could bathe in like you used to. 

As much as he made you nervous to be in this proximity again… you felt incredibly content just being with him. His quiet calm always had a way of reassuring you, even before you started dating. 

A few more moments in relative silence aside from the stereo, Bradley pulled into the apartment carpark and put the car in park.

Ask him in, your brain screamed.

Kiss him, it added.

Fix this, your brain had officially melted down.

And when all you muttered was a “thanks” for driving you home, for giving up his shirt, for being the bigger person to be able to do both… you sunk into a funk that you just weren’t expecting tonight. Because even though the night was a happy accident, there was so much unsaid.

“No problem,” he said, hands gripping the steering wheel like if you tried to kiss him, he would let you, like if you asked him in, he’d willingly follow. He was anticipating your next move but you didn’t know what it was. 

“Bye,” you unbuckled and opened the door, scooting out before you made more of a mess of everything than you had to now. 

“Night,” he said, sadly lips pursed together as you gently closed the door over and refused to look back as you went to the stairs and forced one foot then the next to continue climbing the flights until you were safely at your door. 

With one last glance back, you weren’t surprised to still see Bradley’s Bronco parked and you waved timidly, not willing to see if he returned the gesture before finding solace in your apartment.

You tossed your bag on the bench and made a beeline for your bedroom, spent. Mentally, your brain was fried. Physically, all you could think about was Bradley and how he could amp you up with very little attempt on his behalf. You wrapped his shirt tightly around you, taking in the Acqua di Gio that lingered.

You missed the way the scent drifted around the apartment and how much it truly reminded you of him. You carefully slipped it off and folded it just like he would have if it were him removing it before unzipping your damp dress, the alcohol stinging gently against your skin and discarded the dress in a pile at your feet. 

Needing a hot shower, you rinsed yourself of the mess of the evening but as you hung your towel up after your evening skincare, Bradley’s cologne wasn’t lost on you in the small room. His smell overwhelmed you and as you moved towards the shirt again, bringing the collar to your nose, you knew the time had come to fix this. 

To fix you.

To fix him.

And to fix you back together.

masterlist.

Big thanks as always to @sometimesanalice for helping me get this fic over this line when this chapter really needed it! x

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Red-teaming the SCOTUS code of conduct

Tomorrow (November 18) at 1PM, I'll be in Concord, NH at Gibson's Books, presenting my new novel The Lost Cause, a preapocalyptic tale of hope in the climate emergency.

On Monday (November 20), I'm at the Simsbury, CT Public Library at 7PM

Last April, Propublica's Joshua Kaplan, Justin Elliott and Alex Mierjeski dropped a bombshell: Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas had been showered in high-ticket "gifts" by billionaire ideologue Harlan Crow, who subsequently benefited from Thomas's rulings in the court:

https://www.propublica.org/article/clarence-thomas-scotus-undisclosed-luxury-travel-gifts-crow

This was just the beginning: in the coming days and weeks, more and more of Thomas's corruption came to light, everything from the fact that his mother's home had been bought by Crow, to the fact that Thomas's adoptive son went to a fancy private school on Crow's dime:

https://www.propublica.org/article/clarence-thomas-harlan-crow-private-school-tuition-scotus

The news was explosive and not merely because of the corruption it revealed in the country's highest court. The credibility of the court itself was at its lowest ebb in living memory, thanks to the two judges who occupied stolen seats – Kavanaugh and Coney Barrett. One of those judges – Kavanaugh – is a credibly accused rapist. Thomas is also a credibly accused sexual abuser:

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2021/10/01/30-years-after-her-testimony-anita-hill-still-wants-something-from-joe-biden-514884

Then, this illegitimate court went on to deliver a string of upsets to long-settled law, culminating in the Dobbs decision, which triggered state laws that force small children to bear their rapists' babies:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/06/09/health/abortion-bans-rape-incest.html

That was the context for the Thomas bribery scandal, which was swiftly joined by another bribery scandal, involving Samuel Alito's improper acceptance of valuable gifts from Paul Singer, another billionaire who brought business before the court:

https://www.propublica.org/article/samuel-alito-luxury-fishing-trip-paul-singer-scotus-supreme-court

This string of scandals and outrages naturally prompted public curiosity about the Supreme Court's ethical standards, and that triggered fresh waves of incredulous outrage when we all found out that the Supreme Court doesn't have any:

https://www.poynter.org/fact-checking/2023/why-doesnt-the-supreme-court-have-a-formal-code-of-ethics/

When Congress made tentative noises about providing minor checks and balances on the court, the justices erupted in outrage, telling Congress to go fuck itself:

https://int.nyt.com/data/documenttools/supreme-court-ethics-durbin/cf67ef8450ea024d/full.pdf

Chief Justice Roberts went on whatever the opposite of a charm-offensive is called (an "offense offensive?"), a media tour whose key message to the American people was "STFU, you're hurting our feelings":

https://news.bloomberglaw.com/us-law-week/roberts-defends-high-court-against-attacks-on-its-legitimacy

To the shock of no one except billionaires and Supreme Court justices inhabiting the splendid isolation from societal norms that is the privilege of life tenure, America didn't like this. The Supreme Court's credibility plummeted. A large supermajority of Americans – 79%! – now support age limits for Supreme Court justices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/18/the-people-no/#tell-ya-what-i-want-what-i-really-really-want

Support for packing the Supreme Court is at an historic high and gaining ground, now sitting neck-and-neck with opposition at 46% in favor/51% opposed. Among under-30s, there's a healthy majority (58%) in favor of appointing more SCOTUS justices.

As Roberts' wounded bleats reveal, SCOTUS is very sensitive to its plummeting legitimacy. After all, the court doesn't have an army, nor does it have a police force. Supreme Court rulings only matter to the extent that the American people accept them as legitimate and obey them. Transformational presidents like Lincoln and FDR have waged successful wars against the Supreme Court, sidelining its authority and turning it into an unimportant rump institution for years afterward:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/26/mint-the-coin-etc-etc/#blitz-em

Now the Supremes are working their way through the (mythological but convenient) five stages of grief. Having passed through Denial and Anger, they've arrived at Bargaining, with the publication of the court's first "code" "of" "conduct":

https://www.supremecourt.gov/about/Code-of-Conduct-for-Justices_November_13_2023.pdf

It's…not good. As Max Moran writes for The American Prospect and The Revolving Door Project, the proposed code amounts to "security theater," a set of trivially bypassed strictures that would not have prevented any of the scandals to date and will permit far worse in the years to come:

https://prospect.org/justice/2023-11-17-supreme-court-objectivity-theater/

The security framing is a very useful tool for evaluating the Supremes' proposal. The purpose of a code of conduct isn't merely to prevent people from accidentally misstepping – it's to prevent malicious parties from corrupting the judicial process. To evaluate the code, we should red team it: imagine what harms a corrupt judge or a corrupting billionaire would be able to effect while staying within the bounds the code sets.

Seen in that light, the code is wildly defective and absolutely not fit for purpose. Its most glaring defect is found in the nature of its edicts – they are almost all optional. The word "should" appears 53 times in the document, while "must" appears just six times:

https://ballsandstrikes.org/ethics-accountability/supreme-court-code-of-conduct-hilariously-fake/

Of those six "musts," two are not pertinent to ethical questions (they pertain to the requirement for a justice to get prior approval before getting paid for teaching gigs).

When the code of conduct was rolled out, the court and its apologists pointed out that it was modeled on the ethical guidelines that bind lower courts. In the wake of the Thomas revelations, these guidelines were a useful benchmark to measure Thomas's conduct against. The fact that other federal judges would have been severely sanctioned or even fired if they had engaged in the same conduct as Thomas was a powerful argument that Thomas had overstepped the bounds of ethical conduct.

But as Bloomberg Law discovered when they compared the lower courts' codes to the Supremes' draft, the Supremes have gone through those lower court codes and systematically cut nearly every mention of "enforce" from their own draft. They also cut the requirement to "take appropriate action" if a violation is reported.

If you are a bad judge or a bad donor, all of this is good news. Nearly everything that it condemns is merely optional, which means that if a judge can be convinced to ignore a rule, they won't have violated the code. What's more, even widespread rulebreaking doesn't trigger an investigation. That's a very weak security measure indeed.

But it gets worse. The Supremes' code also omit key definitions found in the codes that bind the lower courts. The most important definition to be cut is for "political organization," which the lower courts define expansively as both parties and "entit[ies] whose principal purpose is to advocate for or against political candidates or parties." That definition captures "nonprofits, think tanks, lobbying firms, trade associations, grassroots groups" – the whole panoply of organizations whom federal judges must maintain an arm's length distance from in order to preserve their objectivity. Federal judges may not lead, speak at or donate to these organizations.

By omitting this definition, the Supremes open the door to involvement with precisely the kinds of PACs, thinktanks and other influence organizations funded by the billionaires who have benefited so handsomely from the judges' rulings.

What's more, the Supremes carve out an explicit exemption for speaking to "nonprofits, think tanks, lobbying firms, trade associations, grassroots groups," and to serving as a director, trustee or officer of "a nonprofit organization devoted to the law, the legal system, or the administration of justice and may assist such an organization in the management and investment of funds."

As Moran points out, this exemption would cover – among other institutions – the far-right Federalist Society, which satisfies all those criteria. That means a Supreme Court justice could sit on the board and raise funds for the FedSoc without raising any issues with this code – not even one of those squishy "shoulds." Nothing in this code would stop Clarence Thomas or Thomas Alito from accepting lavish gifts, private jet rides, or luxury tour buses from billionaires with business before the court:

https://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/justice-thomas-267000-loan-rv-forgiven-senate-democrats-104303972

As Moran writes, these definitional vacuums are a well-understood class of weaknesses in ethics codes. Congress gets a lot of mileage out of this ruse – for example, by narrowly defining "lobbying" to exclude things that most people understand that term to mean, Congress engage in improperly close relations with lobbyists while still maintaining that they hardly ever talk to a lobbyist at all:

https://www.politico.eu/article/jeff-hauser-opinion-watergate-european-union-qatargate/

The same ruse goes for campaign contributions – if you want to accept a lot of campaign contributions that would fall afoul of ethics rules, just narrow the definition of "campaign contribution" until all the money you're receiving no longer qualifies.

Moran closes by calling on Congress to formulate a real, meaningful code of conduct for the Supremes, one that orders Supreme Court judges not to accept corrupting gifts and to maintain the arm's length neutrality that the rest of the federal judiciary is required to keep. Rather than this new code of conduct constituting proof that SCOTUS can be its own oversight, its gross deficiencies should put to rest any question about whether the Supremes can be trusted to regulate themselves.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/17/red-team-black-robes/#security-theater

Image: Senate Democrats (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:United_States_Supreme_Court_Building,_July_21,_2020.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[thislovintime]

The Monkees with CFUN DJ's Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner in Vancouver, April 1, 1967.

“Regina: CKCK’s Terry David Mulligan claims to be the first Canadian air personality with an interview with the Monkees and he has a tape to prove it. Anyone wishing a copy can take Mulligan up on his boast by sending him a blank tape and he will return a dub to sender. Terry also did a 30 minute Christmas show with Peter Tork, his sister and brother. They sang cuts from the Monkees new LP (Mulligan sings too)[,] sang a few carols and just chit-chatted in a relaxing mood.” - RPM Canada, January 28, 1967 (this Christmas 1966 anecdote was previously posted here and more about Christmas 1967 here)

“History records that The Monkees played their first Canadian concert in Winnipeg on April 1/1967. What never gets mentioned is that the first time all four Monkees set foot on Canuck soil was many hours earlier, in Vancouver, while en route to Manitoba’s capital city. Top 50 radio station CFUN assigned two deejays—Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner—to meet Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork at Vancouver International Airport. A photo op ensued in a private waiting area as the lads waited, shortly after sunrise, to board a connecting flight. 'If you study that picture, you could tell two of the guys (Davy and Peter) were really into it and the other two (Micky and Mike) didn’t really want to be there,' recalls Mulligan (second from right in photo). 'They weren’t pissed off at us. They were just tired and weren’t particularly into having their picture taken that early in the morning.' Nevertheless, all six exchanged pleasantries. Despite the early hour, Davy Jones seemed friendly and 'Mike Nesmith was so whip smart, while Micky Dolenz had this interesting Hollywood vibe about him,' remembers Mulligan. Terry and Peter got the opportunity to renew acquaintances. The previous year, when Mulligan was spinning discs at CJME Regina, 'who should walk in but Peter Tork. Of course, I asked: "What are YOU doing here?" And Peter answered: "My dad (Halsten John Thorkelson) teaches at the University of Saskatchewan and I dig your radio program."' Peter would take a couple of additional breaks from Monkees commitments to visit his family. Each time, he’d visit Mulligan at CJME. 'We’d always have really good off-air chats, in between as I was playing records.' For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner (second from left in photo) boarded the plane bound for Winnipeg with The Monkees. 'I remember being at the tail of the plane while The Monkees and their entourage were much further forward. I walked up there at one point and noticed some of them were sleeping. So I went back to my seat as I didn’t want to bother anyone.' Prior to the late afternoon Monkees concert at the Winnipeg Arena, Tanner said he killed some time walking 'what seemed to be the coldest streets in Winnipeg.' Indeed, band insider David Price would mention the frigid 17 degrees Fahrenheit daytime temperature when he subsequently wrote a four-page article titled My Life With The Monkees—That Wild Canadian Weekend for 16 magazine that detailed the April 1 concert in Winnipeg and the ensuing show in Toronto on April 2. Price, who also served as a decoy for Davy Jones (in addition to other band duties), claimed The Monkees came to Canada aware of rumours that attempts might be made on their lives during the two concerts. In the 16 magazine piece, Price wrote: 'Mike asked me and his friend Charlie Rockett and Mike’s wife Phyllis’s brother Bruce Barbour to make sure that any packages that landed onstage were thrown off again, because one of them might contain a bomb.' In the end, the only ‘bomb’ at the Winnipeg show was a water bomb hurled at Micky Dolenz atop the seven-foot high stage just before opening song Last Train To Clarksville. Seconds before, the four Monkees burst out of phoney amplifiers on either side of the stage, with the boys having hidden themselves within when the house lights were momentarily turned off. Likely backing up The Monkees onstage was Candy Store Prophets. If so, that band’s members—including guitarist Tommy Boyce and keyboardist Bobby Hart—had played on many early Monkees studio tracks that Boyce and Hart produced. Winnipeg-based Electric Jug & Blues band opened the show. Press reports later revealed that before the concert, rambunctious fans charged past about 30 police officers as the band left the Hotel Fort Garry for the arena. Monkees publicist Don Berrigan described the incident as a 'near riot' adding 'Mike and Davy were knocked down. It was really nasty.' There were apparently well over 400 police and security inside the arena. Perhaps it was the security concerns that resulted in Winnipeg and Toronto fans receiving slightly shorter concerts than about a dozen previous American shows in late 1966 and early ‘67—13-song setlists, three less than south of the border. The Winnipeg concert marked the first time Peter Tork-sung Your Auntie Grizelda, was played publicly. 'He really dug it, and so did the audience,' wrote Price. [...] Back in Winnipeg, after final song I’m A Believer, the band rushed to limos to return to the hotel, before taking an evening flight to Toronto. A subsequent Canadian Press article noted that one policeman was taken to hospital after a wire retaining fence collapsed on him when 'thousands of fans surged towards the rear exits in an unsuccessful bid to catch a glimpse of their departing idols.' The officer was treated for cuts and abrasions and released. The official capacity of Winnipeg Arena was 11,800. But Price claimed that several hundred additional tickets were sold just before showtime, resulting in an attendance closer to 12,500. Later that Saturday night, The Monkees checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport in what Price described as near-blizzard conditions. For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner got a kick out of the 'wild and crazy' show he had just witnessed. 'It was kind of a thrill being there.' The photo taken back in Vancouver earlier that day would be published in the April 8 copy of the C-FUNTASTIC FIFTY survey given away at Greater Vancouver record stores. Part of the photo ID read 'They said it couldn’t be done' — likely a veiled reference to doubts that The Monkees would trek north for concerts so soon into their existence.” - Richard Skelly, Facebook, April 1, 2022 [x]

[saltpepperbeard]

OBLIGATORY THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS™ TOWARDS THE NEW OFMD S2 PICTURES

hi y’all. hi besties. every time i think i’m solid and stable on my feet, new footage absolutely pULLS THE RUG OUT FROM UNDER ME ANDNW. EVERY TIME I THINK I’VE SUSSED OUT THEORIES, NEW FOOTAGE IS LIKE LOL NOPE.

So let’s Ramble let’s Discuss because djwndnsnd MANY THOUGHTS HEAD SCRAMBLED-

So this one is the ✨easiest✨ (IN THEORY), and also so very delightful. BECAUSE LOOK AT THEM. LOOK AT THESE SMILEY SWEETHEARTS. LOOK AT THEIR OUTFITS AND TEA AND FOUND FAMILY VIBES!!!

I would assume this is on a different ship, or maybe on the “floating market” that was teases in one of the articles. I’m of course leaning towards the Red Flag Fleet based on previous material, but I can’t really figure why or WHERE in the season.

Employing help to catch up with the Revenge? Attempting to stay hidden because Stede ran from the Naval Academy and is subsequently a VERY wanted man? A bit of both?

Either way, CUTIES. (Also that SKY 😩😩😩)

And this one,,, THIS ONE,,,,, 👀? 👀👀🧐🧐???

The first knee-jerk reaction I had to it is an immediate post-reunion shot. He looks very confused—very SHOOK, if you will lol. And he’s still wearing the same shirt he’s been traveling around in for some time. It’s also relatively dingy, which tells me a bit of time has passed.

And that flooring behind him,,, Is that the DECK OF THE REVENGE???

SOOOOOO reunion taking a bad turn? Him tripping back over himself because Ed reacts ENTIRELY differently than he expects? Him just RECOILING in shock???

But then also, I’m like 👁👁, because I feel like it COULD be a misdirect. It COULD be something entirely different. Because I feel like they love doing that with previews lol. Something ENTIRELY innocuous and unrelated to what it APPEARS to look like.

Because, I will say,,, the gloves,,,,,, who is She.

AND THEN THIS ONE,,, 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

does edward teach know i want him carnally

He’s just so so beautiful, but of course we all knew that. WE ALL FIGURED AS MUCH.

I will say though, something that caught my attention in this shot are the marks/cuts on his face. Particularly, the mark/cut on his lip, because it matches up with-

THIS shot. And this in particular is really scrambling my brain l m a o because,,,

My running theory for this was that it was Ed going through some sort of “battling his past phantoms” type journey, and was working towards healing on his own. LITERALLY on his own, because I also thought this came after him falling off the ship/getting thrown from the ship.

And I ALSO thought that him meeting up with the bunch again would come with happiness/healing as a result.

SO SEEING HIM STILL LOOK SAD AND STOIC WITH A BLUNT??? HONEY????? HONEY DARLING??????? I THOUGHT WE WERE GOOD LMAO WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE STILL SAD 😭😭😭

Unless it’s just something more serious, and he IS indeed feeling better. I mean, he doesn’t have his makeup or anything, so he COULD just be in a more grim situation of some sort.

But I digress. #EdDeservesToSmile2kForever

ANNNNNNND THEN THIS LMAO. THIS. THE MOST CONFUSING OF THE BUNCH RIGHT HERE,,,

The position they’re in,,,,,,, 📸🤨

But what REALLY snagged me was Ed’s facial expression qkdjwjdjw like babe WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WHAT ARRRRR YOU DOING WJDNWN

My brain just immediately shouted “FERAL BEHAVIOR” because that looks like me whenever I’m like 🤪. JUST BUG-EYED AND CHEWING ON FLOOR TILES IDK.

…BUT THAT’S ME GOING BONKERS OVER FOOTAGE SO LIKE QJDJWNS,,, IN WHAT CIRCUMSTANCE WOULD ED LOOK LIKE: THAT.

like is frenchie carrying marmalade and ed saw it and pounced and is like ⚫️👄⚫️

because honestly that’s Valid.

But it’s also VERY interesting, because Ed’s makeup is off, and his HAIR is in that one lovely updo. So again, AGAIN, it makes it very difficult to tell what the motivations are/what the characters are feeling, because it’s like,,, ED BABE ARE YOU GOOD??? DO YOU FEEL BETTER??? OR WHAT AKDJWJDS

Regardless, REGARDLESS, I don’t know how they manage when I’m already through the ceiling, but I’m somehow vibrating at an even GREATER level than before. I cannot, and I mean, CANNOT wait to know the context behind all of these.

And cannot BELIEVE we’ll know in ✨less than a month✨

[lol-jackles]

Hello, I’m sorry if this gets a bit long. I’ll try to edit it down once I’m done

So, I’m not saying this to downplay its importance to fans or Jared’s truly wanting to help people, but Jared was also very smart to come out with the Always Keep Fighting campaign, no? I could be talking out of my ass I this, because I wasn’t in the fandom at the time, but as well as being brave to share his anxiety/depression with fans, it also seems smart to share it on his own terms before it could be used against him. I think I’ve read on your blog that actors with MHI are often considered a liability to a production because if they “lose it” or walk off of the project, the higher ups are screwed. But, by Jared volunteering his personal information to the huge SPN fan base (and I assume some amount of press coverage), isn’t this a good way the give himself a bit of insurance? If his bosses are starting to think he looks expendable, they can’t now act on any desire to get rid of him without him or even his fans being able to turn around and call them out for discrimination.

I’m not saying these thoughts were the reason for AKF but do you think Jared had the foresight to sort of protect himself with the campaign as well, or was it all risk for him?.

I’m asking this because I read your recent response on possible reasons Jensen isn’t as sought after as Jared post SPN, despite being the clear favourite of some crew on the show.

Jared must have an amazing reputation to overcome the possible mental health stigma, and the fact that some SPN crew seem to blatantly favour Jensen (Wanek, Phil Segricia, Bib Singer, etc).

On a side note: who on the production crew do you think favoured, or even just backed Jared over Jensen? Or treated them equally even?

Okay, this was a lot. But I’d be interested in seeing your insight on any of this (I know you’ll pick what you would prefer to focus on) because from what I can tell, you really do have a pretty good read on what was likely going on behind the scenes.

I think you’re on the right track because it was also my first gut reaction the moment the Variety article came out. For Jared to come out when his career is still hot is pretty telling, normally actor don’t admit to mental illness until their career is drying up.  It’s one less thing he has to hide and therefore one less leverage others BTS can’t use against or hold over him.   

"I wasn’t in the fandom at the time"

During the early season there were rumors circulating that Jared was always late to the set. My first thought was, "They're setting him up to have a difficult reputation". It's producer tactic 101, put out fake news that the actor is a diva who is always late and if the actor doesn't toe the line, escalate it to "difficult actor" so that the studio is not the bad guy if the actor suddenly leaves. 7 years later we find out that Jared was looking to break his contract, so the producer(s) were preparing to make him the fall guy. Once Jared stayed on, the "late to the set" rumor immediately evaporated.

I bring this up because it ties into our speculation that Jared's decision to out himself for mental illness was at least partly motivated by removing a leverage against him BTS.

It was also the right time because he proved that as the principal lead of the longest continuous genre series in America, he's not a risk because filming schedule was never disrupted, which costs a lot of money. Even when he had a breakdown on set in season 3, he still finished out the season. His subsequent breakdown after season 10 could have derailed that, but he returned for season 11 and again lead the show through it's rating resurgence. Impressed, CBS arrived two years later at his doorstep with a holding deal.

"On a side note: who on the production crew do you think favoured, or even just backed Jared over Jensen?"

My immediate thought was Jeremy Carver. He was not in favor of the season 10 Dean-centric arc that Robert Singer and Jensen were angling for, and even tried to head off their campaign during Comic Con prior to season 9. His wife is currently the showrunner of Walker. There's also writer Adam Glass, I'm not sure why but he just vibed being all about Jared.

ETA: thanks to others' reminder, I would also add Sera Gamble. I can't believe I didn't immediatley thought of her as she's one of my favorite writers.

[scotianostra]

On 28th September 1928 Alexander Fleming, a Scottish researcher discovered penicillin.

I know we all like to blow our own trumpets and us, as Scots gave the world a lot, certainly punching above our weights, per head of population, but let’s be honest, Fleming never had much of a clue what to do with his discovery at first.

Often described as a careless lab technician, oor Alex returned from a two-week holiday to find that a mould had developed on an accidentally contaminated staphylococcus culture plate. Upon examination of the mould, he noticed that the culture prevented the growth of staphylococci. Staphylococcus is a bacteria that can be found normally in the nose and on the skin.

That’s not to  say he wasn’t clever, he knew this was something special and in an article he had published in the British Journal of Experimental Pathology in 1929 he wrote;

 “The staphylococcus colonies became transparent and were obviously undergoing lysis … the broth in which the mould had been grown at room temperature for one to two weeks had acquired marked inhibitory, bactericidal and bacteriolytic properties to many of the more common pathogenic bacteria.”

At the time Fleming was actually working on the flu virus, penicillin was a bi-product of what most of us men are guilty of, - not doing the washing up! 

Fleming’s laboratory notebooks are sketchy, and his subsequent accounts of the discovery are contradictory. The evidence of the first culture, which he photographed, indicated that he observed lysis, the weakening and destruction of bacteria—as in his lysozyme studies. But sometimes he described the key observation as an instance of inhibition or prevention of bacterial growth in areas affected by the mould “juice,” evidenced by a clear zone surrounding the mould.

Although these two effects occur under quite different conditions, Fleming probably forgot which observation came first, for in the months subsequent to the original observation he conducted many experiments while varying conditions systematically.

He discovered that the antibacterial substance was not produced by all moulds, only by certain strains of Penicillium, namely, Penicillium notatum. Although he could not isolate it, he named the active substance “penicillin.” He studied methods of producing the impure product and determined its stability at different temperatures and over various lengths of time. He investigated its effect on many microbes, curiously omitting the familiar spirochete that causes syphilis (which Salvarsan controlled but did not eliminate). He tested its toxicity on a laboratory mouse and a rabbit. Forever after, it has been a puzzle why he did not inject these or other laboratory animals with staphylococcus or other disease-causing bacteria before injecting them with the fluid containing penicillin. Perhaps the explanation lay in his belief that cures come from within the body itself, rather than from an external agent. So he was not looking for a curative agent but rather focused on his new find as a topical antiseptic. In later years he claimed that the difficulties he had experienced in isolating and stabilizing penicillin, let alone the problems of producing sufficient quantities for clinical trials, had prevented him from realising the full fruits of his research.

So the main point of me saying this is it looks like he ran out of ideas because come 1931 he had stopped working with penicillin. In fact apart from his own work, little notice was taken by the scientific community of  the paper he published.

However his research was continued and finished by Howard Flory and Ernst Chain, researchers at University of Oxford who are credited with the development of penicillin for use as a medicine in mice.  It wasn’t  until 1939 that  Florey and Chain, led a team of British scientists who successfully manufactured the drug from the liquid broth in which penicillin grows. 

They, along with Fleming, were given the 1945 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine for their roles in the discovery and development of this agent, and the pair deserve as much credit for carrying on with the development of penicillin, so yes well done Alexander Fleming, but let’s not forget the others. 

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Darkness Lane by Joan Hassall [ x ] - the piece that most inspired my recent woodcut-style piece.

When I found out I was drawing for @gorgeousundertow's regency AU fic, Half Agony, Half Hope, as part of the @ineffableidiotsbigbang, I started looking up Jane Austen novel illustrations for inspiration and ended up finding some really cool art and websites! I'm posting about some of the images and resources I found because I think it may be interesting to others too (and even if it isn't, I'll have gotten the infodump out of my system haha).

Illustrations from Mansfield Park by Joan Hassall [ x ]

The link above points to a gallery on pemberley.com which has deliciously old-school DIY website HTML and a wealth of Jane Austen illustrations, as well as references for regency clothing. This was where I discovered Joan Hassall's work and decided I wanted to do a woodcut style piece (and then subsequently regretted it many times during the process of making it because I had no idea what I was doing). The detail, visual texture and dramatic lighting in her work is so cool and I just got more obsessed the more I saw.

See more Joan Hassall on tumblr via @uwmspeccoll (a very cool account!) here, here, and here.

The gallery on pemberley.com also had a bunch of Charles Edmund Brock illustrations, which I could not get enough of and so returned to the searchpage and found Molland's Circulating-Library. SO COOL! Jane Austen fans have bought illustrated editions of her novels and uploaded scans of them and oh my gosh they are all so beautiful.

Northanger Abbey watercolour illustrations by C.E. Brock [ x ]

Side note about Henry Tilney (Catherines' love interest in NA), I also came across this old fan page for him from a mostly-broken-links-now site called THE CULT OF DA MAN and um it's great haha, check it out. (reviews of artists representations of him, more delicious HTML, and pixel art (!) of da aforementioned man)

There's also an article on Molland's about Charles and Henry Brock and their Jane Austen works that I found interesting. Charles is better known and did far more JA illustrations, but I do really enjoy Henry's tinted line pieces! (the article also dunks on some bad reproductions of them haha)

Pride & Prejudice tinted line illustrations by H.M. Brock [ x ]

C.E. Brock also did really cool title pages and when I found out that fic banners were a thing I knew what I wanted to do! (with the help of the symmetry tool and undo haha, so much respect for traditional art)

Title pages illustrated by C.E. Brock [ x ] and my banner - the banner design uses elements of both of the Brock images.

So, research in hand/bookmarks folder and banner completed, I decided on a scene from Chapter 10 where our beloveds are standing beside the Thames in the moonlight after walking around London for hours together and talking (CUTE). I wasn't sure what buildings to include in the background, so @gorgeousundertow gave me a few suggestions: Old Southwark Bridge, London Bridge, Southwark Cathedral, and Clink Prison. I realized after a bit of sketching that bridges would be hard to show with the straight-on view I wanted to do, so I decided on the Cathedral, partially because I had also considered drawing a scene that takes place in Salisbury Cathedral in Ch. 7.

OK BUT HOW? I struggled finding reference images for a while until I realized this was LONDON and would be very Google Earth-able. Big ups to Frank Cosgrove, whoever they are, for uploading this haha. This was also where I found out that all the suggestions were from a very small area!

View of Borough High Street, London, 1830, by George Scharf [ x ]

The building in front of the cathedral looked too new, so I went searching for an older image and found the second image. It's a completely different angle but it was enough to get me past the 'oh no idk what do'.

the much brighter concept vs the much darker finished product, featuring a barely-visible Southwark Cathedral

While looking for images of the Thames pre-Google Earth, I also found this website called Dictionary Of Victorian London which has a whole bunch of old images and excerpts from newspapers, etc on a variety of topics. One of the categories, Sex > 'unnatural offences', had this excerpt from The Times (1863), which reads:

Thomas Lane, a coffeehouse keeper, No.9, Love-lane, Eastcheap, city, and James Mortimer, a seaman, were charged with unlawfully meeting each other to commit an unnatural offence. ... The Magistrate committed both prisoners for trial.

Ugh. I hate that so much. Some sexy stuff happens right after the moment I'd chosen, and reading that reminded me that such things would be much more comfortable and safe in darkness (or if ppl just stopped being homophobic, but barring that). I wanted them to feel alone, like the whole world was asleep and it was just them, outside of time.

With that in mind, the iconic Thames Walk Lamp had to go bye bye, and when rendering the background I tried to minimize any light - it's just the suggestion of buildings. I also added tree cover! I tried to imitate how Joan Hassall does trees in some of her artwork, but when she rendered trees like this they were usually farther away/smaller, so my version looks more stylized with how prominent they are.

The ribbon border and book quote presentation is of course more Brock, but by making it black and having the interior image use it as a border instead of a fade-out inside it, I made it a bit of a reference to the very cool foliage edges you see in the very first Hassall image at the top.

I used the procreate brushes from this post on the Procreate Folio forums if anyone wants to try them!

Also fun fact! The font for the quote is called Chanson D'Amour <3 (I initially downloaded it when making the banner before changing the banner font to one called Dark & Black)

------

That's all I have to say about the process for the piece, but here's a comic from Dictionary Of Victorian London, Thames > Sanitary condition that I thought was cute (and gross ig? but also cute):

a Punch comic from 1850, I can't link the page due to how the website URL system works but it's from the Thames > Sanitary condition page

[k-ng116]

Its a horror watching scenarios from kdrama comes alive.

I have been a kdrama and kpop fan for some years. Been learning Korean for about a year, with the intention of visiting and I was diligent in learning the language. My Kpop idols are world stars and they love their country like patriotic citizens, always telling their fans the good things about their nation. They promote good notions through the lyrics in their songs, healing fans with their singing and raps. We are their family and they are ours too.

What happened in Korea over the past 3 weeks killed off any interest I have for the country. The scenes from the dramas came alive! Corruption, bullying, manipulation, gender inequality. I honestly thought these were fictional. Only by experiencing the worldclass bullying inflicted to a member of my favourite group that I was brought to my senses! Our Idol was caught in a DUI accident involving an electric scooter with no injury and no damage. He apologised with an official letter the next day and this probably causes the biggest hoo-ha in Korea for 2024. About 200 articles were churned out each day and with threats of serious consequences if he did not present himself before their notorious and illegal "photo line". He was caught in this media frenzy because of WHO is he, and not because of what he did. Like a drama, the plot slowly unfolds. Media were putting out misformation and to the extent of a fake video on the accident. Despite authentic footage being released subsequently, media continue their witch hunt at their own free will. I am disgusted with how media is being manipulated to cover up big scandals while known celebrities are being used as scapegoats. This country ranked high in suicides for a reason.

At this time when I am writing about this, there are other bigger issues which should be on the headlines but instead, the news were nowhere to be seen. The return of the new Nth room, involving more than 212,000 men plus the shocking exit of another known Idol who is accused of committing sex crimes. Its amazing how the media didn't consider these as more newsworthy.

All these left me thinking. People in Korea, are you not news-savvy? How to you find out about things there are happening in the country you reside, if journalists are not doing their due diligence with accurate and honest reporting?

Anyway, at this point, the case of my idol is coming to almost a month with no conclusion yet. However, journalists are still covering this like it is Day 1 news. I am not sure if the ending of this drama will go as per how they direct, but what I know is, his fandom and the watching eyes from all over the world will not be the obedient audience.

Thanks media. You have successful changed my perceptions. I am no longer following your news, because they could be lies, could be fabrications, and nothing worthy to read. I have stopped watching kdramas for the toxic content. This country is no longer on my bucket list to visit. But, I will continue learning your language, continue to love and protect my "family".

To Yoongi, BTS and Army:

Don't worry about the situation. Everything will be fine. Even when everything else change, we remain unchanged. Yoongi did not disappoint us and BTS will always be 7.

Army, Singapore

[midnightcreator12]

The Portal Home is Built with Roadblock - Chapter 27 - Welcome Home, It's Changed Since You Left

AO3 Link

Chula is back in her original reality. She had been expecting things to be different but...not this different.

Chula had prepared herself for a number of things upon her return.

Maybe the Republic had won. Maybe the Separatist had won. Maybe the war was still in full force and she really would have to kidnap Astra and the battalion. Maybe the Clone War ended and a new one had started up.

Dozens upon dozens of possible things could be waiting for her. So, naturally, the moment she got a good signal on the other side of the gateway she pulled up the holonet and started catching up.

And was completely unprepared for what she found.

She stared in horror at the first article she’d found in relation to the war’s end. And bold, flickering blue text stared back at her.

JEDI DECLARED TRAITORS TO THE REPUBLIC.

And that…that could not be right. There was no way that was what had ended the war. She could see a few Jedi turning on the Republic, a name or two even came to mind, but…all of them? The faces of the entire damned war, Kenobi and Skywalker? The high counsel?

Astra?

No, definitely not her, not in a hundred years. Astra, for as much as Chula loved her, had a blind faith in the Republic that would never let her betray it.

And even if she did…the article said that the clones had had orders to open fire on any and all Jedi and she knew not one person in the two-forty-fourth would ever turn their weapons on Astra. 

And the more she poked around, the worse it got.

There were kill on site orders for any and all Jedi, Canoculer Papatine had declared himself the Emperor of the Republic and subsequently changed it into ‘The Empire’. The Clone War was over but small conflicts were all over the place, people protesting against the Empire's new rules and regulations.

And subsequently being labeled terrorists that needed to be taken care of by the Imperial forces.

Her blood ran cold when she spotted a small press release on ‘The Siege of Lasan’.

There was so little actually written about what had happened but if it was anything like what the Empire had done to the Jedi…what they were still doing to the Jedi.

Chula closed out everything, heart pounding in her ears and breath coming in small, panicked gasps. She knew, deep in the back of her mind, that she needed to calm down but that first headline was blaring at the forefront of her mind, crowding out any other thoughts except for one.

What the hell had happened over the last six years?

—------------

Lasan was a beautiful planet.

The surface jumped between searing heat and pleasant warmth almost year round, covered in grasslands and forests and towering mountains. The cities and villages were always teeming with life and color, Lasat’s trading, working, laughing, living.

It was Chula’s second home, especially after the New Mandalorians won the Clan War. It was where she’d reforged herself after her Buir died, where she heard stories of her mother. Where both her parents had been cremated and their ashes scattered.

It was a warm but fierce world, in both its environment and in its people.

Now it was dead.

Chula stood where the capital had once been, the crown jewel of Lasan. The towering trees and buildings, the markets, the homes, the royal family’s fortress of a palace…gone. Reduced to nothing but ash.

Chula had been expecting a lot of things upon her return but this…this had never once crossed her mind.

Because she’d never imagined the Empire.

She’d never thought that the Jedi would be wiped out, the Clone’s largely dubbed obsolete, for the Force-damned Chancellor of the Republic to turn out to be a power hungry dictator who had the entire Inner Rim wrapped around his finger and was slowly suffocating everything else.

She still couldn’t fully wrap her mind around it, despite all the articles and reports she’d managed to dig up on the public holonet, even after seeing just how far this new government's ruthlessness would go.

She stood on the crumbling remains of the castle entry, body feeling numb but also wanting to explode with….something.

Anger, sorrow, rage, grief, dozens of feelings all fighting for which was the most important one.

It all bubbled out of her mouth in a loud, screeching roar, filled with agony for the people that had once lived on Lasan. Her scream echoed back from the empty, desolate streets before slowly fading away, unheard by anyone but her own ears. Tears streamed down Chula's face as she started storming her way up to the remains of the fortress.

The surface structure may be gone but she prayed to every deity she knew that the surface had been the only thing the Empire had been interested in.

Years of not being on planet and the lack of walls to guide her made her search difficult but she eventually found where the armory had once been. There weren’t any weapons or armor left, likely all picked over by the Empire and by scavengers looking to sell the now unreplicatable weapons.

The thought made another enraged roar burst out of her mouth.

She redirected the anger, the hurt, the pain, she used it to help drive her in her task. She clawed and dug through the remains of stone and metal and wood, vision blurred by dust and tears as she uncovered what remained of the flooring. She felt along the cracked and broken boards, searching until her claws finally scrapped what she’d been looking for.

A lesser known aspect of Lasats was their habit of squirreling away the most prized items among their people. Secret cupboards, hidden chambers, hidden away from outsiders in order to protect what was most valued to their people.

And very few items were more valued among the Lasat than the Honor Guards Bo-Rifles.

Chula strained as she pried the hidden entrance open, the hinges groaning in protest as she forced them to move. The heavy durasteel finally gave up its fight, slamming to the ground with a loud crash, letting light filter down into the underground chamber.

Chula had never been so thankful to step into a room clogged with dust and cobwebs. Because it meant no one had been down there in years.

The chamber wasn’t very large but it didn’t need to be. When collapsed, Bo-Rifles didn’t take up much room and very few were stowed away under the armory. Tradition dictated that if a Bo-Rifle was not won in a Boosahn Keeraw it was to be stored away until it could be passed to an Honor Guard decedent who had claimed the same title. And it was not uncommon for children of Honor Guard members to follow in their parents footsteps. Thus, less than a dozen Bo-Riles were in limbo.

Chula had never even entertained the idea of being an Honor Guard, so she had never expected to hold her mothers weapon in her lifetime.

Any other circumstance, she wouldn’t have. Lasan may not have been her first home but she respected it’s traditions and customs.

But circumstances had changed more than they ever had before and she wasn’t going to leave it here to rot with the remains of Lasan. Or for a lucky scavenger to dig up.

Each rifle was contained in a box and each box had the names of their former wielders engraved on the front. Chula’s fingertips skimmed over the names, some vaguely familiar but most completely unknown to her.

Except one.

Mara Tane.

Chula removed the simple wooden box reverently, running her palm over the top to remove the layer of dust before opening it.

Despite the grim surrounding it, the inside of the box remained pristine, safely holding the hybrid of wood and metal that made up Mara Tane’s Bo-Rifle.

Chula had never seen it before. The weapon had been placed in storage when Chula had still been an infant. She only knew about it because of Garazeb.

She hoped he’d made it out of the massacre…somehow.

Chula inhaled, choking down another cry as she shut the box and resealed the hidden chamber, even replacing some of the rubble to hide it.

She could justify taking her mother’s Bo-Rifle but she couldn’t bring the rest. Hopefully, no one would disturb them. Or a Lasat with the proper authority would come move them to another location or pass them to a new Honor Guard.

The sun beat down on Chula’s back as she trudged back to the Tortuga, rifle case clutched to her chest as her thoughts and heart rate finally started to calm.

She didn’t want to stay, she wanted to go home and cry until she was numb, curl up with Leo and his brother and let the sound of their breathing sooth her aching chest.

But she had to make sure she didn’t leave anyone behind. Because once she left this reality, she was never coming back.

There wasn’t anything left for her in this galaxy.

—-----------

It would take time to find somewhere she could discreetly get into a secure records database.

And in the inbetween, she looked up her other homeworld.

What she found made her feel sick and enraged all over again.

Because apparently, Death Watch had been largely dissipated during the transition from the Republic to the Empire and at some point, Clan Saxon had moved into the power vacuum created. Gar Saxon had plenty of interviews where he very publicly supported the Empire, and since Saxon was the most powerful clan on Mandalore now, she definitely couldn’t risk going anywhere near that system.

There wasn’t much beyond that but Chula knew Mandalorians, especially the ones left in the wake of the Clan War. And she would bet the Tortuga that all the smaller Clans were too busy fighting among themselves to form any kind of rebellion against Clan Saxon or the Empire occupation. 

Chula inhaled sharply and closed the net browser. Public databases could only give her so much, she needed to find an outpost that she could easily get in and out of.

—----------------

She found an outpost station, far in the Outer Rim, with very few guards. Taking them down quickly and quietly wasn’t a problem, but she did bare her teeth under her helmet when she saw the armor they wore. It was clearly a new version of the clone armor, probably rolled out right after the war ended.

Not one of these skanah's deserved to wear it.

She’d admit slicing wasn’t her strongest suit but…well, very few were brave enough or foolish enough to deny a six and a half foot Mandalorian towering over them and demanding to be let into the system.

The database the trooper had access to was limited but…there was almost nothing. It confused Chula, how little information there was about pretty much anything pre-Empire. Most of it was almost exactly like the public Nets, only adding some names and places, but largely, it was all surface level placations and all detailed reports were made after something called Order Sixty-Six.

The only somewhat useful thing she managed to dig up was a database on Jedi that had not been accounted for after Order Sixty-Six.

But there was no mention of Astra or the two-forty-fourth battalion in it.

Chula growled and slammed her hands into the console, hard enough to leave a large dent and make the screen go dark, before storming away. 

Looked like she was relying on word of mouth to figure out what had happened to her clan.

—----------------

Chula must be distracted, that was the only reasonable explanation she could come up with when a blaster clicked right behind her and she was actually surprised by it.

Someone had managed to sneak up behind her on a Lothal sidestreet and she’d been too wrapped up in her own head to notice.

Damn, she was getting old. Or she’d gotten used to how much safer the turtle’s dimensions were.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve wearing that armor,” the owner of the blaster growled.

And…oh, that was why Chula hadn’t heard her coming.

Very few people could sneak up on her, even few were still alive to do it twice. And she was so, so happy to hear one of those few after so long. Right when she had been starting to feel hopeless again.

She inhaled shakily, trying to keep her voice steady as she answered, “Why would you care?”

“Just because you slapped a new paint job on it doesn’t make it yours,” the woman snarled, voice much more gravely than Chula remembered but undoubtedly the same person. “That armor belongs to Clan Verd.”

“So it does,” Chula turned, slowly raising her hands to remove her helmet.

Seena Ader, in her full mercenary kit, face bare, the scar along her cheek a few shades more faded, stared at Chula in shock, all the color draining from under her dusty blue fur, “What…what the hells?”

“Gotta say, didn’t know you cared so much about the sanctity of my armor.”

“What…how…”

Chula tilted her head as Seena spluttered, jaw opening and shutting with nothing of substance coming out. It was almost funny to watch and Chula couldn’t help but cheekily ask, “Do you need a minute Miss. Ader?”

“Do I need a minute?!” Finally, Seena seemed to find her voice. Very loudly. “Do I need-? You kriffing asshole! I thought you kriffing died! Where the kriff have you been?”

“Oh, now that’s a story,” Chula let out a shaky huff, leaning back until she hit a sun-warmed stone building. “How much do you know about the Yaotl guy we were chasing down?”

Seena shrugged, “I may have…dug into him a little after you…from what I found, he was a nutcase.”

“Well, that nutcase's theories on multi-dimensional travel actually had some merit. I’ve been stuck in an alternate reality for the last six years.”

Seena blinked.

Her mouth went through another cycle of opening and shutting.

Chula waited.

Finally, Seena shook her head and mirrored Chula’s leaning position on the opposite building of the sidestreet, “The weird part of that is that I actually believe you.”

“I’ll prove it later,” Chula straightened. “Right now, we need to get Astra. I’ve been diggin’ for intel on where she and the kids are but I haven’t found anythin’. And I know all that osik about treason and the Clones turnin’ on the Jedi is propaganda nonsense from Palpatine. We both know the two-four-four wouldn’t do that in a million years but I can’t…why are you looking at me like that?”

Seena’s expression had become pinched and when Chula pointed it out, she quickly looked down. Her arms moved up to cross over her chest, “Verd….the two-forty-fourth disappeared during the Clone War.”

The good cheer building in Chula was gone in an instant, snuffed out like a candle, “...what?”

“The Paragon disappeared a little over a year before the Clone War ended, same time you did. And the Empire has erased pretty much every record from before that damn order went out. Palpatine has been scrubbing anything that doesn’t feed into the image he’s trying to build of himself and that includes Jedi who actually gave a damn like Astra. But…by gods, I’m almost glad their gone, Astra would have hated all of this mess. There are small rebellions here and there but….have you seen what happened on Lasan? That’s…that pretty standard whenever anyone gets too noisy for Palpatine's liking.”

She had, she had seen Lasan and she didn’t want to think about that or Mandalore or anything except Astra and her kids, because they disappeared…

They disappeared…

“When did you say the Paragon disappeared?”

“The same time you did,” Seena shrugged. “Only report I could dig up was some kind of massive energy spike in that area but it was out in the middle of no-mans-space so the only thing they had to work of was random sensors floating around and The Paragons-”

“Forget about that, we gotta move!” Chula sprung forward, grabbing Seena’s wrist and tugging her back towards the main streets.

“Wait, wait, Verd,” Seena tugged, nowhere close to stopping Chula but managing to slow her down. “What in the hells are you all excited about?”

“I got launched into another dimension because Yaotl’s ship basically opened a wormhole in space and time and dragged the ship in. And right before everything went dark, The Paragon had dropped out of hyperspace, I remember getting a communication from Astra before I hit my head which means the Paragon got pulled in too!”

“Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now? I just told you, the entire ship vanished-”

“And so did I,” Chula stopped, turning to face Seena. “I disappeared into another reality but I made it. I shabbin’ lived for six years in another reality. And I have seen so much and I’ve learned so much and I met these kids, brilliant kids, amazing kids, who helped me get here and they can help us find the rest of our clan and we can finally…we can finally have an actual home.”

Seena’s eyes narrowed again, head tilting.

Chula pressed on, emotions spinning wildly in her blood again and making her babble, “We have a multiverse to pick from. We can stop doin’ all of this, fightin’ other peoples wars, running for our lives every damn second. There was barely anythin’ keeping us here and now we can just…just leave it all. You won’t have to run from you father anymore-”

“Oh, I took care of that ages ago.”

Chula paused, ears flicking forward, “Pardon?”

“Yeeeah, that’s also a story. Short version, dear ol’ dad caught up with me, tried to have me executed in the same way he murdered Tarsi. Turns out, being a merc for most of my life and training with you worked well for not getting ripped apart by starving beasts and I burned his precious little fortress to the ground with him in it.”

Chula blinked.

Than huffed a laugh, releasing Seena’s arm to clap her shoulder, “You’ve been busy.”

“Had to,” Seena muttered. “I was the only one of us left.”

“Not for long,” Chula started moving again, slower now so that they could walk side by side. “Trust me, we’re gonna go back to Donnie and we’ll start a plan to look for Astra and the battalion. We’re goin’ to find them and…and things will be perfect for once.”

“Well, you’ve certainly become more optimistic in your sabbatical.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, I met some amazing kids. I think you’ll get along great with them.”

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

Translations:

Skanah's - Fuckers (very hated person(s))

Kriff - Fuck

Osik - shit

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

.....guess who's writing a third arc for this series?

Also, new Boss Bitch, check out Seena's Profile here!

[fiendfriend]

i'm reading articles on plagiarism (published poetry specifically, i just find it fascinating) but i found this weaky pedia article about a YA book that was published and subsequently pulled by the publisher for revisions in 2006 and oh my god. truly the definition of egregious. especially when paired with these statements from wiki:

When asked about her influences in an interview given to The Star-Ledger of Newark, New Jersey (before any allegations of plagiarism had surfaced), Viswanathan responded that "nothing I read gave me the inspiration" to write the novel.

as well as

Viswanathan suggested that some of the plagiarism may have happened because she read both of McCafferty's books multiple times and has a photographic memory.

the author was fresh out of high school when all this came out so i can only assume she is past this & hasn't been affected longterm. fascinating.

[fairfieldthinkspace]

Calculating Christmas: Hippolytus and December 25th

T.C. Schmidt, PhD

Assistant Professor of New Testament and Early Christianity

Thomas Schmidt's article “Calculating Christmas: Hippolytus and December 25th" originally published in the Winter 2022 issue of Biblical Archaeology Review and is republished here with permission from the Biblical Archaeology Society. 

Many readers will be familiar with the common refrain that December 25, Christmas, was originally a pagan holiday, perhaps corresponding to the Roman festival of Saturnalia or the feast of the sun god Sol. As the chorus goes, the date was chosen for the birth of Jesus to make Christianity chime with a polytheistic society already attuned to December 25 revelry. But is the old song true?

I myself used to sing this kind of anti-carol, but then, while translating a treatise of Hippolytus of Rome, I came across a passage stating that Jesus was born on December 25.1 Now, Hippolytus was a Christian author who wrote in the early third century A.D., and Saturnalia and the feast of Sol were not celebrated on December 25 that early in Roman history; Saturnalia never was, and the feast of Sol only came to be later. So Hippolytus clearly could not have chosen the date to please pagan sentiments.

This discovery was exciting, yet as scholars have long known, the manuscripts of Hippolytus’s treatise are divergent, with some claiming Jesus was born on December 25, but others giving one or two alternative dates. Because later Christians marked the birth of Jesus on different days in December and January, many have concluded that subsequent scribes must have changed Hippolytus’s original dating. These changes then ultimately contaminated the manuscript tradition, leaving us to sort out the mess. In all likelihood, though, Hippolytus did have in mind an exact date for Jesus’s birth—but was it December 25?

Image Credit:  Statue of Hippolytus Everett Ferguson Collection | Licensed under Creative Commons 4.0.

Fortunately, an early Christian artifact shines light on this question. I speak of the famous Statue of Hippolytus, perhaps the oldest extant piece of Christan art that can be precisely dated. This statue is now in the Vatican Library and depicts a figure seated on a chair. On the sides of the chair are extensive inscriptions extracted from the works of Hippolytus and dating to 222 A.D. Intriguingly, in one of the inscriptions Hippolytus states that the “Genesis of Christ” occurred on the Passover of April 2, 2 B.C.

Scholars have typically interpreted the Greek term genesis as referring to the “birth” of Jesus, but in an extensive study I have shown that the word most likely refers to the “conception” of Jesus. This is why the Gospel of Matthew says, “The genesis of Jesus Christ happened in this way: After his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with child by the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:18, author’s translation).

And this is where we must do a little math. A typical gestational period is, of course, around nine months (a fact recognized already in antiquity), and nine months from April 2 is pretty near to December 25. So Hippolytus could have believed Jesus was born on December 25, but did he actually?

What we need is another good clue. Happily, this can be found in a different work of Hippolytus, one called the Chronicon. In this, Hippolytus makes all sorts of chronological calculations involving the dates of biblical events and personages. Careful examination of these calculations makes clear that Hippolytus believed Jesus was born precisely nine months after March 25, the vernal equinox of the Roman calendar. And naturally, nine months from March 25 is exactly December 25, the Roman winter solstice.2

Though it is not certain that Hippolytus believed that Jesus was born on December 25, it does seem to be the likeliest interpretation of the evidence as a whole. What is more, once we see Hippolytus’s computational thoughts for what they are, we can see other ancient Christians making similar calculations, beginning with Clement of Alexandria (195 A.D.) and continuing on with many other later writers. For they too believed that Jesus was conceived on Passover and was, therefore, born approximately nine months later—albeit with some selecting slightly different dates for his birth.

Was Jesus really born on December 25? The current evidence suggests that Hippolytus did not derive the date of December 25 from pagan celebrations, but that he also does not seem to have drawn on any ancient tradition for the actual birthday of Jesus either. Otherwise, why would he and his fellow early Christians give slightly different dates for Jesus’s birth? As I said, some, like Hippolytus, do give December 25, but others place the date a bit earlier or later in December or January.

It seems then that these various dates for Jesus’s birth were chosen because Hippolytus and others thought that God organized and balanced the cosmos so as to ensure that profound spiritual moments would coincide with important points in the solar and lunar year. In this way, such sacred happenings would be literally spotlighted by the various cycles of the sun and the moon. Hence, Hippolytus and most of his fellow Christian writers believed that the date of creation, the conception of Jesus, and the crucifixion of Jesus (or, in some cases, his resurrection) all occurred on the solar vernal equinox, or the lunar Passover, or both.

The oldest and strongest tradition, however, concerns the date of Jesus’s conception, which all the earliest sources agree occurred on Passover. And this very consistency explains the diversity of calendrical dates for Jesus’s birth. This is because the lunar Passover drifts back and forth between late March and mid-April. Given this, the dates for Jesus’s conception (and his birth nine months later) would differ in proportion to the date which an ancient Christian chose for the Passover of Jesus’s conception—for the ancients had much trouble calculating lunar phases far into the past or future and consequently often arrived at slightly different dates. This is why some ancient Christians give the date for Jesus’s birth in mid-December, others December 25, and still others early January, since all those dates are about nine gestational months removed from when they each thought the Passover of Jesus’s conception happened to occur.

So, if this is how Hippolytus and others settled on the day of Jesus’s birth, where did they get the idea that Jesus was conceived on Passover? 

This remains a mystery. They may have derived it from even more ancient traditions or from theological beliefs about how God organized the world. What is clear, however, is that Hippolytus’s choice of December 25 for the birth of Jesus won out. His choice must have been helped by the fact that only in Hippolytus’s theory would Jesus, the light of the world, begin to shine on the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year; and only on this day could the carol truly be sung:

O come, thou Day-Spring come and cheer Our spirits by thine advent here Disperse the gloomy clouds of night And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

[man-in-crisis999]

Questioning Friendship (Full Article)

FRIENDSHIP IN MIDLIFE? 

I’ve started to think about the term ‘friendship’. If you are a man circumferencing middle age in the UK what does friendship actually mean to you? Men and women approach friendship in different ways, us men have misunderstood what friendship actually means.

  Remembering back to my teenage years I had much closer friends. Before the times of regular pub dwelling, friends and I would meet often, play football, talk about girls, music, movies, computer games, fashion, popularity, sex and other limitless conversation topics. The conversation would inevitably lead to prospective talks on losing one's virginity to girls that were far beyond our attraction remit. Our bonds were much stronger in youth, we still teased each other and laughed at each other's shortcomings but that wasn’t the foundation of our friendships. If any of my friends were in trouble I would always have their back and defend them, in return they would have mine.

My experience in adulthood has been somewhat different. When alcohol and pubs entered the fray my male friendships started to change and deteriorate. No longer did we go to the movies or have outdoor excursions together, we didn’t camp or go fishing, we didn’t paddleboard or holiday together. Instead we developed a weekly meeting in the pub. These weekly public house meetings quickly grew into an array of group slander banter for a cheap laugh over a booze up. General conversation had left the building. And I was taking part and not really noticing how my friendships were changing. 

I have always been quite a deep thinker which probably arises from the music, art and movies I am influenced by. As I matured as a man I began to understand the shallowness of the weekly pub meet. This meet was simply an excuse to go out and drink alcohol, to get away from the missus and enjoy that ‘Male Banter’. Now don’t misunderstand me, I like a good laugh just as much as the next person but at some point the banter (I detest this word) has to stop. Our relationships became less about friendship and more about convenience. We never phoned each other, we never met up for coffee or a chat, we never spoke much outside of the pub. I looked at my friends and eventually could only see empty people. I had absolutely no connection with them whatsoever, I didn’t even like them anymore. 

It was only when I met my ex-partner did I start to enjoy another person's company again. We developed that bond that I was so desperate for. Subsequently we met other couples, shared dinners and house parties. We’d host Eurovision nights, family evenings and talk with our new friends about almost everything. I was happy. I firmly believe that happiness comes from good relationships with others. We are not designed to be alone. Which is why I felt so alone in my 20’s even though I had many many so called ‘friends’. 

Inevitably in modern day society my romantic relationship faltered and my partner and I separated. The friends that we had made together I had to let go of. I tried to stay in touch with them but it phased out and I was back to the weekly pub meetup. This time it was even worse and I could hardly even stand listening to the crap they came out with. They would try the banter and teasing with me but I’d lost the capacity for it and just laughed it off whilst swallowing the vomit from my stomach. Why was I here again with these people? I had nothing else. 

At this point I was approaching my 40th birthday. I had no real friends, no children and no partner. I was at a low point. I could see why so many men struggle after relationship breakdowns. Sometimes we are literally left with nothing. I am sure this is a huge contributing factor for the rise in male suicides we see across the country because I have been there, and have had thoughts about that at the time. I had lost my partner who I’d built my life around, lost all the friends we had together, lost the family bonds we had built. I was living alone. The weekly pub meet was never going to be enough for me and I quickly stopped and phased out those people from my life. I had to rebuild everything. During this time I had to be very strong and rely on my immediate family for support. For that I am so grateful. 

As a middle aged man, making new male friends is extremely difficult. People usually, by this age, have made their family and friends and are comfortable in the life they have.

 Fortunately I have found good friendships and have made one or two close friends. Those friendships are real and we regularly meet up for all sorts of different activities. The new friends I have now have all felt the way I was feeling after their own separation or divorce; completely alone. We now realise our mistake of not having built our own foundations/friendships to rely on. We understand what friendship is and how important it is. What we have to realise is that us men; are extremely vulnerable to loneliness. Imagine a man in his 50’s. He’s going through a divorce and has two children with his wife. His wife gains majority custody of the children and the man has to move out of the family home. He has to move somewhere new entirely. His life has been literally ripped from underneath his feet. He has to start again from scratch in his 50’s. His wife would usually keep the friends she has and the ones thay have made together and the man is left with absolutely nothing. How do you think he feels in his new life? Where are HIS friends? These are the building blocks of depression leading to suicide and men need to start supporting each other and being there for one and other like we did in our youth.

[chilled-ice-cubes]

caravan magazine's series of articles on justice loya's death really drives in the sheer hopelessness of our justice system

Other questions, too, remain unanswered. Why was the family not informed when Loya was taken to hospital? Why were they not informed as soon as he died? Why were they not asked for approval of a post-mortem, or informed that one was to be performed, before the procedure was carried out? Who recommended the post-mortem, and why? What was suspicious about Loya’s death to cause a post-mortem to be recommended? What medication was administered to him at Dande Hospital? Was there not a single vehicle in Ravi Bhavan—which regularly hosts VIPs, including ministers, IAS and IPS officers and judges—available to ferry Loya to hospital?

According to Biyani, “My brother was offered a bribe of 100 crore in return for a favourable judgment. Mohit Shah, the chief justice, made the offer himself.” She added that Mohit Shah told her brother that if “the judgment is delivered before 30 December, it won’t be under focus at all because at the same time, there was going to be another explosive story which would ensure that people would not take notice of this.”

[...]

On 30 December, around one month after Loya’s death, Gosavi upheld the defence’s argument that the CBI had political motives for implicating the accused. With that, he discharged Amit Shah. The same day, news of MS Dhoni’s retirement from test cricket dominated television screens across the country. As Biyani recounted, “There was just a ticker at the bottom which said, ‘Amit Shah not guilty. Amit Shah not guilty.’”

It is unlikely that the frenzied activity the judges described in their statements was a quiet affair. The deterioration of Loya’s health, the call Kulkarni placed to Barde, the subsequent arrival of Barde and Rathi in the car, the conversation between the judges when Loya came “down,” and the eventual departure of the judges with the ailing Loya for Dande hospital—all would have likely caused a significant amount of noise, if not a downright commotion.

Yet, according to the 17 current and former employees of Ravi Bhawan, none of the staff members who were on duty that night—from reception, to room service and miscellaneous duties—realised that a guest had been taken to the hospital early in the morning on 1 December 2014. “We didn’t even know that one of the judges staying at our premises at that time had died. We only found out when the papers started writing about it [in 2017] and the inquiry began,” the third employee I met told me. Fifteen of the 17 current and former employees told me that they learned of Loya’s death the same way. The remaining two were not even aware that a guest had died until I interviewed them.

[...]

The question of Loya’s personal belongings is key: The Caravan reported earlier that according to Loya’s sister, Anuradha Biyani, the family was handed the judge’s phone three days after his death. Who took out Loya’s personal belongings from Ravi Bhawan—and whether he was in fact staying there—remains unclear. That 17 current and former employees of Ravi Bhawan had no knowledge of his death until three years later, and could not recall any details regarding the chain of events the judges described, reiterates the troubling nature of the circumstances surrounding Loya’s death.

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