#but it is mostly people who just want to take a cheap shot at taylor and her fans which like fine. whatever. do you.

[likefolksongs]

my favorite taylor swift release day tradition, people taking lyrics out of context/lyrics where she’s being purposefully lighthearted and fun to “prove” she’s a bad writer, continues apace 🙃

[justlookfrightened]

4, 5, or 35 ? Because I’m indecisive as hell and love your writing.

From this prompt list: 4. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”; 5. “But I’ve never told you that before.” ; and 35.  “Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you.”

Bitty played hockey and Samwell and went on to be a cookbook author; Jack went directly into the NHL.

Bitty’s eyes traveled up the the shelves of the cupboard, wondering what ingredients he could reasonably expect someone who did not cook or bake for a living to have.

Flour, of course, if they were volunteering to be on a baking show. Most likely all purpose. Sugar (white) and salt (iodized). Butter. Maybe they usually used margarine, but Bitty would not compromise on that. Butter surely counted as a common ingredient. Shortening, too.

What about spices? Most people probably had cinnamon in their cabinets, even if it was twelve years old and devoid of flavor. Would nutmeg or allspice be too much? Maybe.

And this contestant had requested a fruit pie. If they were going for common ingredients, that would most likely mean apple. Apples were nearly always plentiful and cheap at supermarkets, so if this pie was going to use fresh fruit (and it was), it would be apple.

*

Bitty had misgivings about appearing on “So You Think You Can Bake,” the new Food Network show that pitted expert bakers against celebrities. The idea was that the expert would develop a recipe they thought was suitable for an inexperienced home cook.

Then the expert and the celebrity would both make the dish in separate kitchens while being filmed. 

The expert baker and celebrity contestant would have their creations scored anonymously. If the celebrity chef received at least eighty percent of the score of the celebrity baker, they won money for the baker to keep and the celebrity to donate to charity. Total scores counted toward the final competition at season’s end, when the three best pairs would be brought back for the final, competing for a $50,0000 prize.

There were so many things that could go wrong. Bitty could get paired with a celebrity chef with no palate, or no coordination, or even no real interest in winning. Some people could mess up a perfectly good recipe by not measuring accurately, or doing steps in the wrong order, or even mistaking the salt for the sugar. If the celebrity chef messed up, it wouldn’t just look bad for them. It would throw shade on Bitty, whose job, after all, was to explain how to bake in a way that people would understand. Relatable was his brand.

But Eileen, the PR rep who handled his books for the publishing house, thought it would be a good idea.

“This show is literally made for you,” she said. “And the exposure would be great. Think of the campaign for your next book.”

So Bitty agreed. Then he found out who his assigned celebrity was.

“A hockey player?” Bitty asked. “Whose only memorable sound bite is ‘Eat more protein’? Which did not go viral for the reasons he thinks it did. I mean, I wasn’t expecting Beyonce, or even Taylor Swift, but why not a Kacey Musgraves?”

Bitty wasn’t at all bitter that, at 24, he no longer had regular access to an ice rink. He could pay to rent ice to figure skate, but it was hard to find the motivation since he was no longer in competition, and he hadn’t yet found a men’s league hockey team where he felt comfortable.

“I know Jack Zimmermann isn’t who most people think of as a home cook,” Eileen said. “But the producers were thrilled. They think he’ll bring on a whole new demographic.”

“How’d they rope him into it anyway?” Bitty asked, scrolling through interview after interview with Jack talking saying, “We win and lose as a team,” and “We have to protect the neutral zone and get the puck down low,” and “We need to keep our feet moving and have a shoot-first mentality.”

It was like they taught him six phrases in media training and he used them over and over again, in random order.

He wasn’t hard to look at, Bitty would give him that. And the physique -- yeah, his nutrition plan was definitely protein-heavy. Why would he agree to do a baking show? 

*

“My agent said it would be a good idea,” Jack Zimmermann said when he and Bitty had their first meeting. “He said it would humanize me. Actually, he said it would be the beginning of an arc of character development I wasn’t expecting, but that’s just the way he is.”

The actual first meeting was in the green room, waiting to go on-set for the “first meeting” taping. Jack had been sitting in a chair along the wall when Bitty came in, reading an actual, honest-to-God book.

Bitty had to shove his phone in his pocket as he cleared his throat to get Jack’s attention. It seemed like Jack kept reading for a few seconds after he noticed Bitty, which was annoying, because the book would always be there, but Bitty was prepared to be gracious.

“Mr. Zimmermann? I’m Eric Bittle,” Bitty said. “We’re going to be working together. Pleased to meet you.”

“I know,” Jack said. 

Okay. 

“When we start the taping, I’m going to ask you about any experience you have baking, any favorite desserts, things you’ve always wanted to learn to make,” Bitty said. “Anything you want me to steer the conversation toward? Or stay away from?”

“Are we supposed to be doing this?” Jack said. “Talking, I mean.”

“Um, yes?” Bitty said. “It’s not like we’re concocting a fake story. We just want the on-camera talk to go smoothly. So have you baked before?”

“No.”

“Any favorite desserts?”

“I don’t really eat sweets.”

“Well, you’re going to have to eat something sweet,” Bitty said. “Anything you want to make?”

Jack shrugged.

“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?” Bitty asked.

“Uh, you can call me Jack,” Jack said, then launched into his explanation about his agent, a man with the improbable name of John Johnson.

Bitty shook his head at that, and tried to keep the conversation going.

“You’re Canadian, right?” 

“Dual citizenship,” Jack said. “But I mostly grew up in Montreal.”

“Anything special from back home?”

Then the assistant came to bring them on the set, dressed to look like a home kitchen, each of them seated at a table with mugs in front of them. The mugs just held water, but the audience wouldn’t see that; it was supposed to look like two friends talking over coffee.

Bitty decided to pick up the conversation where he left off in the green room, since it was the only thing he hadn’t struck out on already.

“So, Jack, I understand you’re from Montreal. Do have any memories of classic desserts or baked goods from your childhood?”

Jack paused and looked like he was really thinking, like he didn’t want to disappoint the producers.

“We used to have tarte au sucre at the holidays,” he finally said. “I liked that.”

“Sugar pie?” Bitty said, thankful that at least the cooking terms had stuck from his college French class. “We could do something with that.”

“But I’d like to do something that has some healthy ingredients,” Jack had said. 

“Is fruit healthy enough?” Bitty asked. “Maybe a fruit pie? You might not know this, but that’s kind of my specialty.”

Jack had offered a smile at that, and said, “Good to know. Maybe we can win this thing, eh?”

The taping didn’t last long, and soon Bitty was collecting his things from the green room.

“Wait, Jack, I forgot to ask you, any allergies? I wouldn’t want to kill you for a silly TV show.”

“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” Jack said. “But no, no food allergies. Is there anything I should practice beforehand?”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that,” Bitty said, starting to feel like maybe Jack wasn’t as wooden as he’d seemed at first. He seemed to relax once the taping ended. Maybe this would be okay after all.

*

Bitty started by making an apple pie, trying to write down the steps as precisely as he could just as he did them.

It didn’t work.

Sure, he could measure and mix the dry ingredients for the crust, and tell Jack to make sure his butter and shortening were cold, but how could he explain the twisting motion for the pastry cutter? When he had to start by explaining what a pastry cutter was? 

And how would Jack know when he was done cutting and should add the ice water? Bitty had read recipes over the years saying the mixture should look like everything from rough crumbs to small peas … which were not the same thing by a long shot. Bitty had learned what it should look like at his MooMaw’s elbow; sure, he’d tried to put it into words in his cookbooks, but there was a reason he always included photos.

Jack had said he’d never baked. He wouldn’t know what it should look like.

Bitty called the producers to ask if he could include pictures in the recipe he developed for Jack.  The answer -- hand-drawn sketches were fine, as long he drew them himself, but no photographs -- was not encouraging.

Bitty started over and this time took a photograph of the dough mixture just before he added the water. He could use that  to write a description, he decided. Then he had to think about how to explain when the dough was wet enough.

Once he had the dough made, the process for making the filling was easier. Peel and slice apples, coat with flour and a little cinnamon and sugar -- and, a last-minute brainstorm for Canadian Jack, a little maple syrup -- and set aside. He toyed with the idea of including maple sugar for the crust, but the studio pantry probably didn’t have real maple sugar. He could boil some syrup down -- but that wasn’t something Jack could (or would) do, probably. Better to just do an egg wash and sprinkle some sugar on for the sparkle.

The instructions for rolling out the dough were simple enough, provided Jack followed them. That was the hard part. Most people couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone with pie dough.

Bitty moved to his laptop and wrote at the top of the instructions:

“A general note on making pie dough. Do less than you think you need to. Don’t work it too much. If you do, it will be tough. So if you’re not sure if you should stop messing with it, stop.”

Then he did his best to put into words what it should like with all the fats cut in (“If you don’t see any powdery flour, it’s probably good”) and with the ice water added (“It should be moist, not wet”).

Then he thought about the top. Normally, people thought of lattices as being hard to do. But if the baker was methodical and followed directions, it wasn’t so bad. And it would be easier to put strips on top of the pie than to pick up the whole top crust and put it on intact. It didn’t really matter if the bottom was a mess; this wasn’t the Great British Bake-Off with Mary Berry and her hatred of soggy bottoms. The pie would be served from the dish, and no one would know if the bottom crust was torn and mended as long it still tasted good.

So, a nice, tightly woven lattice for the top. Bitty set to drawing a detailed diagram.

*

Bitty printed the recipe he developed -- all ten pages -- to bring with him and hand to Jack. He’d already supplied it to the producers to make sure they agreed all the ingredients were things a home cook would have in their pantry, or at least have ready access to.

“Real maple syrup?” the production assistant had asked. “What about something like Pillsbury pancake syrup? That’s what most people use.”

“My baker is Canadian,” Bitty argued. “He’d have the real stuff.”

“Fine, I guess.”

Bitty was dressed for TV in dark skinny jeans, a light T-shirt and a Samwell red button-down over it with red Chuck Taylors. The provided apron, he knew, would be beige with a dark red logo.

Jack came in dressed in charcoal gray tailored slacks and a light blue shirt, almost exactly the same color as his eyes. Yeah, he was good-looking. Bitty wasn’t sure if he would bring in the sports-loving young men the producers were hoping for, but it wouldn’t matter. The women would love him. And the gay boys like him. But no one ever counted them as their own demographic.

When the got into the studio, Bitty handed over the recipe.

Jack’s eyes widened when he saw how long it was.

“Does this take all day?” he asked.

“I can do it in about two hours,” Bitty said. “Counting chilling and baking time.”

“You’ll have three hours to complete the challenge,” the host said. “As long as you finish in that time, any differential in how long it takes won’t count against you.

Jack nodded, a determined set to his jaw. Bitty was almost glad they would be separated so he didn’t have to worry about cutting himself on that jawline.

Then Bitty was escorted to his studio kitchen, where he proceeded to make a pie, narrating each step, just like he was making a vlog post.

He made sure to turn the top of the bowl to the camera when he was done cutting the fats in, and again when he added the water. 

“You see those streaks of butter and shortening?” he said, when he gathered the dough into disks to chill. “You want those to make flaky crust.”

He made sure to slice the apples evenly, and mix them gently with the flour and flavorings, then he rolled his dough out.

He clucked at himself -- but didn’t say anything -- when he realized he’d forgotten to tell Jack to make sure he had the thinnest possible layer of fat on his work surface before he scattered flour over it.

Then, once the pie was done, he actually slapped himself upside the head.

“I never said anything about covering the edges with foil at the beginning,” he said. “Poor guy is definitely gonna have burnt edges. Oh well.”

Bitty’s pie came out of the oven at the two-hour mark, and he donned oven mitts to be filmed carrying it into the judging room.

“You’ve got some time if you want to head to the green room relax,” the production assistant said. “Someone will come get you before Jack is ready to bring his pie in.”

Bitty flung himself onto the couch and groaned. He could have used the $5,000 prize from this stage of the competition to get ahead on his rent for a couple of months … and maybe even rent an ice rink for a couple of hours to clear his mind. He didn’t regret his choice of career -- writing cookbooks, running his vlog, making appearances like this -- but the money tended to come in fits and starts.

He realized he’d never even asked Jack what his charity was. The show must have asked him at some point, so Bitty was sure he’d find out eventually. He hoped Jack would donate to his chosen charity regardless. He could certainly afford it. The only real advantage for the charity to having Jack appear on the show was publicity. Well, and convincing people that straight, athletic young men could bake and enjoy it.

But Bitty forgot to tell him to use foil to guard the edges, so they probably wouldn’t advance, and it would all be Bitty’s fault. Jack -- he had to be competitive, right? -- well, it didn’t matter if hated Bitty. They hardly knew one another. 

*

“Eric? Jack’s pie is done. Time to go to the judging room.”

Bitty roused himself from the sofa, resigned to his fate. If nothing else, he’d learned a lesson.

He took his place behind his pie and waited for Jack and his pie with its inevitable burnt edges.

He was sitting there when Jack came in, carrying his beautiful golden brown pie aloft. Jack set it on the empty cooling rack next to Bitty’s and stepped back.

It was beautiful. The lattice was maybe not quite as straight, not quite as even as Bitty’s, but it was close.

Bitty couldn’t help a pleased grin, first at the pie, then at Jack, who had finished with fifteen minutes to spare.

“Okay, you two. We’re going to break for lunch while Jack’s pie cools,” the production assistant said. “We need you back in an hour in the same clothes, so don’t mess them up.”

Bitty was about to head out when Jack said, “Want to grab a sandwich? There’s a place down the block.”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “I have some questions for you.”

“And me for you,” Jack said.

Once they had their food and settled at a table, Bitty said, “How did you keep the edges from burning?”

“I made foil collars,” Jack said.

“But I’ve never told you that before,” Bitty said.

“You always do it on your YouTube channel,” Jack said.

“Wait … you’ve seen … but you said you’d never baked,” Bitty said. 

“I hadn’t,” Jack said. “That doesn’t mean I’ve never watched anyone else bake on YouTube. When Johnson said you were doing this, it seemed like a good opportunity to meet you.”

“To meet me?” Bitty really had to start thinking of some of his own words instead of just repeating Jack’s.

“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “Someone showed me your videos when you were at Samwell, and I was intrigued by a hockey player who baked. Made me wonder what it would have been like to be on a college team, or whether I’d develop any other interests.”

“Someone?”

Jack actually blushed. “My mother. She went to Samwell.”

It was almost a physical effort for Bitty to push that out of his head. Jack’s mother was … nope. Not going there.

“So you wanted to make pie because you’d see me make it before?” 

“A lot,” Jack said. “But the instructions were really helpful.”

“I thought we’d lost it when I realized I’d never said anything about the foil,” Bitty admitted.

“But I figured you could make a donation to your charity anyway.”

Jack nodded.

“I plan on adding to it even if we win,” he said. “What do you want to do with the money? Bitty was not going to tell Jack Zimmermann that he needed money to pay his rent. Not this unexpected Jack Zimmermann, who for some reason had been interested in Bitty for years. Despite, Bitty reminded himself, being straight. Almost certainly.

“Some of it will buy ice time,” he said. “I miss skating, you know? I used to figure skate before I played hockey.”

“I’m not sure what I’d do if I couldn’t skate every day,” Jack said. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t say that. Don’t want to make you jealous.”

“Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you,” Bitty said. ”I have the job I want. I just want to be able to skate for fun. Like you want to bake for fun, I guess.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jack said. “It was pretty stressful. I kept wanting to make it perfect, but you said not to overwork it. But maybe it would be more fun if it wasn’t being recorded for TV.”

“Maybe we could bake together sometime?” Bitty said. 

“Then skate?” Jack suggested. “On our practice ice.”

“That would be really great,” Bitty said. “Ready to go back? By the way, you never said what your charity is.”

“You Can Play,” Jack said. “I’m thinking of coming out next year.”

[manatehispants]

Entertain Me!

“Okay. You can stop now. Like right now.”

Harley kept her arms wrapped tightly around Floyd who despite his words was doing very little to actually make her stop. The wild card blonde acted like she didn’t hear a word the assassin said. She continued to rub her pale skinned face against his cheek like an affectionate cat who had just got done hitting the cat nip. Lawton rolled his eyes. He gave it two more minutes before he attempted another protest.

“I ain’t playing around, Harley. Let go or I’mma shot you right in the face. Last warning about this.”

This time he did try to push her away from him although there was no real force to it. He’d never say it out loud, but he liked the crazy jester. Somewhere along the line she had become meaningful to him. Harley knew it too. She knew Deadshot wasn’t going to ever say he liked her let alone cared for her, but his actions showed it in his own way. And this time it wasn’t all in her head either like it had been with Joker. Nope! This was real. Harley faked a pout, but finally she disentangle herself from the man. She leaned back on the hotel couch laying her head onto Deadshot’s shot and swinging her legs over the other side. Her platinum blonde pigtails dangled just off of Lawton’s lap. He let out a small grunt and wondered why she always did that with such force. He also wondered for the zillionth time why she stuck around him. Was she really so fucked up from her time with Joker that she thought Lawton was as good as it got? He glanced down at Harley, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His heart quickened when his eyes locked onto her’s. They were full of something he knew he didn’t deserve, love and adoration. Laughing Harley winked at him almost as if she knew what he was thinking. Maybe she did. Maybe she knew far more than Lawton credited her for.

“We should go see that Taylor Swift concert the one that is in town tomorrow! I have the perfect outfit! Oh! We could get matching outfits! It will be so fun! I’ll post all the pictures up on Instagram! Eat your heart out Bats and Robin, there’s a new dynamic duo in town!”

Where the Hell had this damn idea come from!? Lawton pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Nope! He didn’t even want to get into that aspect of it with her. It would only give him a headache.

“We ain’t doing that. I told you already I am in town for work. That’s it. And never ever compare us to Batman and his kid sidekick again. Better don’t pretend there is an us cause there ain’t.”

“But I am bored. Come on. Entertain me! Pretty, pretty, please? With a big fat cherry on top? Oh! And sprinkles. We can’t forget those. Great! Now I want ice cream.”

Pouting again Harley sat back up and leaned herself onto the assassin’s muscular body. She ran one hand down his chest her hand stopping to rest on his stomach. Floyd’s body reacted by tensing. It usually wasn’t good when someone touched him in such a vulnerable spot. As much as he wanted to trust Harley.....She was still crazy and crazy people do well, crazy things. He forced himself to relax by inhaling deeply onto his cigarette. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling as he let out a perfect ring of grey-blue smoke. He watched as it slowly rose up. One more was blown out before he bothered to answered her.

“Nobody asked you asked you to stalk me out and break into the hotel room. Which you still haven’t explained why you did.”

He should be pissed with her for that, but he wasn’t. He was actually sort of glad she was her or at least he was when she was making off the wall comments and crushing his balls with her head. Really who the Hell “rested” their head down with that much force? Harley’s darkly painted lips vibrated together as she waved off Lawton’s words.

“Stalking and breaking in are such strong words ta’ be throwin’ around! What I did is more like enthusiastic followin’ against ya wishes with a surprise stop by!”

Floyd gave Joker’s ex girlfriend a blank stare. Harley rolled her eyes and dramatically collapsed herself onto his shoulder. Locks of her shocking blond hair pouring onto him. Like he had done so many times today he again rolled his eyes at her giving off the impression of being put out by this. But both knew the truth, he loved it. He liked having someone in his life who was crazy enough to not only accept all parts of who he was, but to embrace them. Unlike others, Harley understood what the dangers of his work entailed. Sure she liked playing house, but she wasn’t going to force Deadshot to be someone he was not. Just as he would never change her into someone she wasn’t. He didn’t write her off as by product of Joker or see her as a tragic warning story about loving the wrong man. When he looked at Harley that’s what he was looking at.....Harley. There was so few in her life who did this. Sure, there was Ivy and Harley loved the woman to death. But with Ivy it wasn’t that simple. Ivy meant well, but she always wanted to fix Harley. She wanted to take Joker and all parts of him away from her. She didn’t understand that no matter the Clown Prince of Crime would forever be a part of Harley. To be with Ivy meant she would have to give up part of herself, and selfishly Harley wasn’t willing to do that. Maybe there would come a day when she could, but right now she couldn’t. She couldn’t be whatever it was others wanted her to be. She needed a chance to be her own person. Free of Joker, free of being named a sidekick. Ivy always said and did treat her as an equal. This was true, but with Ivy everyone still viewed Harley as a sidekick. They saw Ivy as her Joker replacement. The Harlequin of Love buried her face against Floyd’s shoulder. It was so very child like that for a moment Lawton thought of his daughter.

Outside Harley that was the only person who truly cared for him and who he too cared for. She was why he continued down this path. She was why he would never retire from this work. It was her face that haunted his mind any time he considered turning his gun his next target and onto himself. Lawton finished the last drag of his cancer causing stick and tossed the bud to the floor. Suddenly his heart ached for the one he could never be near and for the life he discovered he would never be able to have. Carefully as if she was made from glass Floyd touched the back Harley’s head. Smiling against his shoulder the wild card nuzzled his shoulder and then looked up at him. God damn her and the things she made him feel. He didn’t want to feel anything! Right now he only wanted the world to be shut out. Maybe he could get to help with that. He cupped Quinn’s face in the palm of one hand, and like clockwork she did as was expected. She understood what was happening. Floy was connecting with her the only way he knew how to be affectionate with another person through sex. She leaned her face into his hand nuzzling against. Her perfectly painted lips laid a soft kiss against his palm. Moving his hand so that part of his palm was now under the infamous bombshell’s chin, Lawton tilted her head up to him and leaned forward kissing her upon the lips. His free arm went around her slender frame pulling her near him. Instantly Harley had both her arms wrapped around him. She needed this as badly as he did. Her body melted against his and her lips felt perfectly at him on his. The taste of cheap beer and cigarettes danced onto her taste buds as she deepened their kiss, pushing him for more.

Almost roughly he tugged her closer now to him. His tongue dipping into her welcoming mouth. Exploring every inch of it as if it was there first time together. Her mouth was sweet. She tasted of cotton cotton candy and cherries.....A mask of innocence. It was as intoxicating as the liquor he had been drinking away all night. Her love is a crazy deadly one and in the end Lawton knows she’s going to fuck him over somehow. She always did, but she also always came back to him. Joker will come calling or someone more attractive will show themselves to her, but for moment in time she belongs to him. It’s thrilling and he’s always been a sucker for a head rush. The jester’s tongue dances into his mouth and soon their tongues entangled with another fighting for dominance. The soft moan that escaped her was quickly making Floyd realize his pants were far too tightly. He pulls his mouth away off her’s. Quinn is staring at him her sapphire eyes clouded with lust. Harley runs her black painted nails down his back and Lawton feels his desire for her.....For what comes next growing. A shiver of pain mixed with pleasure goes down his entire spine.

“Ya gunna be my Prince Charming, sweep me off my feet and take me ta’ bed now or not?”

He shouldn’t do it. Harley shouldn’t be encouraged. He’s going to get burned by her. It’s only a matter time. But fuck it, you’re only going to live once, right? Or that’s what he keeps hearing. He might as well get his rocks off while he still can. He swoops the ex gymnast expert up off the couch and into his arms. Instantly her arms around looped around his neck. Her lips are crashing into his in what will surely be a bruising kiss for the both of them. Not that either care. The small sting of it only adds to the pleasure they are both becoming overwhelmed with as Lawton carries Gotham’s infamous wild card to bed. Tomorrow he has a job that needs to be done. Tomorrow he will be back to being the professional he prides himself on when it comes to work. Tomorrow Harley will be off on yet another on of her crazy adventures proving herself to the word, but mostly proving to herself she can be a solo act. But that’s all stuff of the future. For now the two are more than a little content for what the presence holds for them between the sheets. They will make the most of the night and for awhile neither will worry about that aching loneliness that eats away at them.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #334

"i dreamed i was missing  /  you were so scared  /  but no one would listen,  ‘cuz no one else cared”

Sunrise or sunset? Sunset has prettier colors, imo, but I enjoy the pastel nature of sunrises, too. Are you mentally ill? Oh brother. Are you physically ill? I don't have any serious physical health issues, no. Introvert or extrovert? I'm a very strong introvert. What do you think when you look at your body? That it's fucking disgusting. What have others said when they look at your body? When I was healthy, I was complimented every now and again. With the body I have now? I'm glad people keep their months shut. Do you have a particular song that you feel deeply? There's a good 'ole handful or two. Talk about a time in your life where you have felt most alive? It's weird, I'm not a city person at all, but possibly when I was walking the streets of Chicago with Sara and her dad one evening. There was just so much life, so many new sights, that it was impossible not to. Plus, I was at a very happy point in my life, so. I just enjoyed a lot. Are you confident wearing a bikini? FUCK NO. Have you ever been hurt physically or mentally by a family member? Mentally, obviously. Everyone has at some point. I've never been seriously physically hurt by family, but Mom did spank my sisters and me as kids if we did something wrong. Biggest lie you have told? I don't really know. I get really uncomfortable telling even minor lies, so making a big one would be excruciating. I'm not saying I've never said a biggie, I'm sure in 25 years of life I said something stupid at one point, I just don't remember it. Do you believe in the Illuminati? Nah; there's some compelling evidence, but I just think it's way too big of a secret to keep. Regrets in your life? Blaming the breakup entirely on Jason and saying just plain cruel things to him afterwards. Also sending an appallingly hateful letter to Dad to vent after the divorce. Flirting with my then-best friend's boyfriend at the time behind her back. Dating Tyler (it's a small one, but still a regret). There are others, those are just the only ones coming to me right now. Achievements in your life? Lots of academic success and awards (before college, anyway...), artistic accomplishments like having my work put in a museum, surviving a traumatic breakup, (mostly) recovering from massive depression... What did people say about you in school? Nothing, really. I was a quiet student who just did her work and tried hard. Is there something you have never told anyone? Yes. If you had two days to spend one million dollars how would you spend it? First, I'm paying off college debt. Then Mom gets a new car, followed by me getting new glasses and renewing my permit. I'm getting a good terrarium setup for Venus. Then, it's tattoo time, baby, haha. I can't really do the mental math on how much this all would cost, but those are the high-priority things I can think of. Describe your first kiss? Was it how you imagined? Jason and I were playfighting in bed, and he had me pinned. Our faces were close, and I decided to kiss him. It was a fairy tale moment, in my eyes. He looked so bashful for once (he's far from shy) but also really happy, and I was too. Growing up were you in a wealthy, average, or low income household? Low, I think. Or maybe average, when Dad was still around. Have you been raised by a solo parent? When I was around 17, my parents split, so kinda-sorta. Do you know both your parents? Thankfully, yes. Have you abused drugs or alcohol? No. Are you comfortable accepting compliments? Ehhhh, I really appreciate them and they can make my whole day, but I'm very awkward about it. I get shy. Are you comfortable giving compliments? Oh yes. I honestly love giving compliments; I know how happy they can make me, so why not share that with others? Is any mental illness hindering your life? Guess. (: Is any physical illness hindering your life? Well, it's not an "illness," but the muscles in my legs have severely atrophied from leading such a horribly sedentary lifestyle, and that has greatly affected my ability to work without the risk of just collapsing. Walking at all is painful. Are you preparing for an apocalypse? No. I'm not really one to worry about "prepping." If it happens, it happens, man. I'm not spending loads of money on a "maybe." Are you interested in cults? Not really, no. Are your parents good cooks? Mom is fine, but it's hard to really judge Dad's cooking since he barely ever did it, plus I haven't had his cooking in many, many years. I remember he was great at making breakfast, though. That was like a rare treat, him deciding to make breakfast for everyone. Have you ever been to a chiropractor? Did you like it? No. Do you know anyone who is an actor? No. Have your wisdom teeth come through yet? They never did. Have you ever used a public pay phone? No. Have you ever made an item of clothing? No. Have you taken someone's virginity? No. Is confidence cute? "Confidence, yes. But cockiness and arrogance, no. That’s a whole different area that’s definitely not cute." <<<< Nailed it. Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh? Doubt it. Are you one of those people who never drinks soda? No; rather, I drink too much of it. I'm trying really hard to lay off of it, and I drink nowhere near as much as I used to (when oddly enough, I was healthy and fit), but I'm still not comfortable drinking a can and a half a day. Listening to? "Castle of Glass" by Linkin Park. Kinda obsessed. Ever used a bow and arrow? No, but archery is cool. Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer? I don't think this has happened since my senior shot in HS. Take a vitamin daily? Daily, no, but I really should. I take a Vitamin D capsule every Sunday, though. Favorite Taylor Swift song? I only really like "Love Story" and "Picture to Burn." Have you ever cried because you were so happy? Yeah. Which are better: black or green olives? I don't like olives period, but I guess black. What’s your 3rd favourite animal? Huh, never thought of #3, just #1 and #2: meerkats and opossums. Maybe snakes? Do you like mushrooms? NO. NO NO NO. What dream do you remember most vividly? One I don't talk about. A childhood nickname? Mom called me "Twinkie" and still sometimes does. ;-; Does anyone in "real life" know that you take surveys? Would you be embarrassed if they found your blog? Just Sara. And yes, regarding some people. Who was the last person you blocked on social media? Did you have an argument that lead to that happening? I'm unsure, but probably. I don't tend to just like... randomly block people. What was the first social media account you remember signing up for? Are you still a member of that particular website, if it even still exists? Of course it was MySpace. It's still floating around somewhere in cyberspace. What website from your childhood/teen years do you wish still existed? I get nostalgic over the Animal Planet forums sometimes. Have you ever met up with anyone in real life that you first met via the internet? Did you get on as well as you thought you would? Yes, Sara. I felt like it would go just fine, but it went even better than I expected - I was oddly very comfortable around her and her family. Have you ever tried any of those meal replacement shakes? Are you a fan of things like that in general? Yeah; I tried many brands until I settled for Equate, surprisingly. Cheap does not equate to bad quality, my friends. We always have the chocolate ones in the house, and they're really not bad at all. Are you the kind of person to enjoy taking naps? I love me my daily nap, man. What's your favourite kind of cheese to have on a pizza? Idk, whatever cheese is normally used, lol. What's a hobby you loved when you were younger but no longer enjoy for whatever reason? I guess video editing. I can't say I'd no longer enjoy it at all, but now the idea sounds far more like a chore than fun. Is there a popular food/drink that you can't stand? What is it and why don't you like it? I could name five dozen, but here's just a few: coffee, pie, tea, fried chicken (or is that just a Southern thing to be obsessed with?), and... of course now that I'm asked this question, I'm blanking on the huge number I know exist. As for "why," that varies, but it's either just simply a taste or even a texture thing. How would your wedding boquet look like? I want a gothic-themed wedding, so imagine a mix of black and maroon roses... whew-wee. You’re at a bar, and you witness a man drugging some girl's drink. What do you do? No hesitation, I'm decking the motherfucker. Fuck my fear of men, he's getting knocked out, and I'm immediately alerting the staff, as well as of course the girl. Kids? How many? Why? Names? Boy or girl? Y'know, loads and loads of scaly and hairy ones. Got plenty of name ideas depending on what they are and how they look. The only baby whose gender matters to me is the tarantula because females live waaaay longer. Fuck them human babies, not for me. Are you an organ donor? Absolutely. I sure as hell ain't usin' 'em once I'm dead, so consider it my last act of selflessness. Whats the most you’ve ever lost gambling? I don't gamble. What is something you can never give up (that's not love or family)? My pebble from my "graduation" from my first partial hospitalization program. It's meant to symbolize how great pain and trials can file you into something beautiful. It was passed around group, everyone holding it in their hands as they wished me well and spoke their piece about me. I'm honestly just fighting back tears remembering it. Have you ever waited in line overnight for something? No, I'm way too impatient for that shit.. Do you think having an expensive phone is a good investment? Hm. I guess it depends on what you use it for. Have you ever witnessed a birth in person? A human birth, no fucking thank you. I've only ever seen pet cats give birth. Does anyone in your family smoke? My dad does, big time. He quit drinking, but never quite managed to stay away from cigarettes. Have you ever had a pet escape and run away? Seeing as I grew up with outdoor cats that we couldn't afford to fix, pretty much all of our tomcats left for roving once they came of a certain age. Do any of your exes know each other? Juan and Jason know each other, Jason and Girt know one another as well, and Sara and Girt have met. What’s an opinion you find impossible to take seriously? I simply cannot fathom the belief that "dinosaurs never existed." Explain the fucking fossils, like come the fuck on. It's absolute denial in the name of religion. What was the very first election you voted in? This one that just passed, actually. What is one random fact about you? I want like 20 tarantulas but Mom says no. :( Do you spend a lot of time outdoors in the summer? Fuck no, I will do anything to stay inside in summer. Do you wear band tees? if yes, which one is your favorite? I love band tees, yeah. My Ninja Sex Party shirt is the most comfortable, but comfort aside, it's hard to pick a favorite. Possibly my Otep one, 'cuz the design is dope. Do you ever re-arrange your room? No. What season do you want to get married in? Fall. What is the highest name-brand thing you own? Oh god, I don't own expensive brand stuff. I guess the only exclusion would be my Cloak shirt, but even that's not like, mad pricey. What color GameBoy did you have as a kid? Red. What was your favorite GameBoy game? Maybe that Catz game? Even though the music was the most fucking obnoxious meowing ever lmao. What was the last compliment you remember someone gave to you? Who was it? It was this guy in my PHP group; my therapist surprised the fuck out of me by sharing with everyone my most recent poem (I trust him a lot, and he urges me to send him my art, so I've done that twice), and I nearly fucking died from cardiac arrest. However, this Nick guy, who's a poetry major, told me it was better than stuff he reads in his Master's program. I almost cried. Have you ever personally been friends with a stripper or prostitute? No, not that I'm opposed though or anything. If you have tattoos, which one that you have was the most painful? The one on my inner forearm. Have you ever actually met and talked to someone who’s famous? No. When was the last time you got a parking ticket for anything at all? I never have. Do you have any pets who will bite anyone else out there, besides you? No; Roman won't even come close enough to a stranger TO bite, haha. It's funny, he's so goofy and you'd guess outgoing, but instead, he's terrified of people he doesn't recognize. What’s your favorite type of sushi? I don't eat sushi. What’s your favorite patriotic song? Don't have one. Have you ever read a book about a character in a psych ward? No, and I'd really prefer not to because it would just drag me back to dark times. Have you ever been in a mental hospital as a patient? ^ Have you ever had an ulcer? No. Do you like soy sauce? omfg no What’s your favorite store to browse around? Morph Market. @_@ It's a hub for reptiles for sale, and I have my days where I just browse the ball python morphs for like an hour or so, haha. What’s the name of the most recent baby a friend had? Christ, half my friends on Facebook are having babies, idr. I don't know who was the most recent. Do people normally say you’re a fast typer, or are you rather slow? I'm very fast. Have you ever been considered the "smartest person in school?" No; that was my friend Hannia. I'm pretty certain she would qualify as a genius. Her GPA was fucking incredible. Were you named after anyone famous or anyone on television? No.

[banjodanger]

X-Men Origins: Wolverine(2009)

I’ve got a lot to talk about, so I’m going to jump right in with a very unpopular opinion. This may SHOCK and OFFEND certain readers, but I’m not one to shy away from speaking my mind. More sensitive readers should beware, however, because I’m not going to shy away from rattling cages and saying what NEEDS to be said!

So, ready yourselves, because...

Origins is not the worst X-Men movie.

There. I said it. PBBBBBBTTTT!

I’m not arguing that this was a good movie, hell, there’s a good argument that this isn’t even a competently made movie. But this movie is also responsible for some of the absolute best movies to come from Fox’s X-Men. First Class and Days of Future Past are two of the absolute best movies of this series, and it’s doubtful the other two Wolverine solo movies would have aimed as high as they did if this movie hadn’t been so widely mocked. If you go back to watch this movie, try to keep in mind eight years later this series would get nominated for a screenwriting Oscar. Whatever your opinion of awards, that’s a hell of a turnaround, considering the story this movie tells is like three separate stories stapled together. Finally, however much this movie misunderstands Deadpool, it was right on in casting Ryan Reynolds and eventually gave us better Deadpool movies than we could have hoped for. It shouldn’t go unnoticed that both of those movies use Origins as a solid foundation for jokes. I’m not going to talk too much about Deadpool in this movie, because I plan to cover it in more detail when I get to the first movie.

But I’m not discussing those movies, I’m discussing Origins, and Origins is not very good. The CGI looks cheap and outdated, not just by the standards of the time it was released but by the standards of five years previous. And the movie makes said terrible CGI hard to ignore because, to quote the philosopher Michelle Branch, it is EVERYWHERE. Most people are quick to bring up Wolverine’s claws effects, and they should because they somehow look worse than any of the three previous movies and it’s the most easily noticeable. I’m not expecting them to have Hugh Jackman actually fighting and jumping around on top of a nuclear vent but it looks like they’re doing it in front of computer wallpaper. That hill outside the Hudson’s farmhouse literally looks like the default Windows XP desktop. I’m surprised Agent Zero isn’t hiding behind the recycle bin. This isn’t to say I don’t expect lots of CGI in my comic book movies,but I expect better when someone is dropping over one hundred million for a guy with metal claws to fight a mute with impossibly long sword fists.

I could ignore all the bargain basement effects if there was a good story, but there isn’t one. There’s about two or three stories and they’re all bad. Gavin Hood wanted to make a throwback sevnties-style revenge movie, completely self-contained and R-rated(Hey, does that sound familiar?), but the producers wanted extra characters they could spin off into their own films. And as much as I want to excoriate them for that, I can only get but so mad. This was a big franchise that was approaching ten years since its first film. They were looking towards the future and that’s what their job was. The problem is that failure to find a common ground comes through on the screen. Some of the strongest scenes are between Logan and Victor, to the detriment that most of the other characters who come off as unnecessary cameos. That boxing scene between Logan and Fred Dukes could be a thirty second phone call without really losing anything.

It’s disappointing, too, because a lot of the performances in this movie aren’t bad. Believe me, I wanted to hate Will.I.Am. I was going to drag him and talk about all the terrible music he made but...he’s not bad in this movie. I’m not going to say he missed his calling by not becoming an actor full-time, but I enjoyed his performance and wish the movie had used him a little bit more.

My humps is still one of the worst goddamned songs ever.

Gambit was great in this movie too. Taylor Kitsch had this bizarre run of putting in good performances in hated movies. After this, he did John Carter then the second season of True Detective. That’s a shocking run of bad luck, and too bad to, because he’s good in all three. We missed out not getting at least one more movie with his take on Gambit, because he gets maybe fifteen minutes of screentime but he manages to be memorable, charismatic and charming.

Helicoptering with a bo staff still isn’t part of his goddamn power set though.

And I’m not going to forget Liev Schrieber, who makes an absolutely compelling villain. The only problem with his character at all is that he puts such a great performance that it stretches belief to imagine this is the guy that becomes a silent henchman in the first movie. There’s simply nothing in his performance to suggest they’re the same person. It would be like if the twist of Phantom Menace was that Darth Vader was originally Jar Jar Binks, or if they hired Nora Ephron to write a Hellraiser prequel. 

Even the Scott Summers we get in this movie is pretty good despite looking like a guy that steals copper wiring out of abandoned gas stations. Although I really question why Gambit watches them run off and I guess just assumes they’re being abducted by a good guy.

That leads me into the whole problem with prequels. Things happen in this movie and characters seem to live simply because earlier movies dictate that we have to see them again. It simply does not make sense for Kayla to leave Stryker alive. She has every reason to kill him, but she doesn’t, because he needs to be the villain in X2. Gambit doesn’t chase after the kids because they didn’t want to have him interact with Professor X. Sabretooth survives because he has to fight Wolverine on top of the Staute of Liberty while making no reference to their apparent relationship as siblings, or any words of any kind. This movie is awkwardly shoehorning itself into the lore established by the previous movies and it results in characters saying and doing things that go against what this movie seems to lead up to. The ending of most of those seventies revenge flicks was a bloody murder. Here, Stryker hurts his feet a little. It’s just not the same thing.

Ok, are you ready for the problematic parts?

Let’s start with Native American representation, because it ends up being a pretty big part of this movie. Lynn Collins’ Wikipedia says she claims Cherokee ancestry, so I’ll give the movie credit on that, but as near as I’ve been able to suss out, the myth she tells does not exist outside of this movie. First off, Wolverines do not howl. At all. They’re not wolves, they’re related to weasels. They’re small, vicious bastards. That information was readily available in 2009, by the way. Furthermore, the information I can find says that the moon in Native American mythology is predominantly gendered as male. Now, that’s not a blanket statement. This was the research I was able to conduct, and mythology, as with a lot of oral traditions, are a pretty mutable thing. Given that I was unable to find any mention of this myth that didn’t quote it from the movie, I feel pretty comfortable calling this myth nonsense.

Hey, what’s your tolerance for fatphobia? Because that’s going to impact how you feel about Blob’s character. Look, from his very first appearance he’s been a fat joke. That’s it. He’s a rude fat guy whose mutant power is being fat, hell, part of his power set is described as a “personal gravity field.” So while I can’t blame the movie entirely for this character being problematic, you’ve got to ask why they chose this character as the one that had to stay true to the comic book. He was in poor taste when he was created, when this movie was made, and now. And I absolutely can blame the movie for making him a fat joke.

At least they didn’t go the Ultimate comics route and straight up show him eating another character. Small blessings.

On a more final note, there’s that very strange character choice in the beginning credits. I know that they want to illustrate early that Wolverine doesn’t view violence the same way Sabretooth does, but why would they choose nazis as the villain in that moment? Even if they weren’t the most enjoyably killable villains in history, the last three movies have made the atrocities of the Holocaust a huge emotional linchpin of a major character. So it comes off as a genuine shock that this movie would use, in its introduction, a moment of sympathy for these very same villains. So you needed to show Wolverine with sympathy? Have a bar fight in France after liberating the country. Have them fight in the Korean war. Maybe Wolverine mourns a kid shot on the front lines. There’s a hundred choices that don’t involve Wolverine getting sad over a bunch of nazis.

So, why don’t I think this is the worst X-Men movie? I’m clearly not calling it a forgotten classic, and I’m not recommending you watch it unless you’re a weird completionist blogging about your arrested development on Tumblr. Sure, there’s some forgotten performances in here that deserve some consideration, but the movie is mostly a mess, a result of too many cooks with diverging visions. There’s a good revenge flick here, but it gets buried and muddled by a desire and knowledge that this movie has to simultaneously explain the past that led to the first movie and set up future installments. It tries to do too much and ends up not doing much of anything. I followed up on some of the people involved in this movie. Obviously Ryan Reynolds had the last laugh, but it still took seven years and a leaked teaser. Hugh Jackman learned from the mistakes in this movie and the rest of the Wolverine movies are pretty great. Gavin Hood, who got this job after being nominated for a foreign language Oscar, directed another big-budget flop with Ender’s Game. However, earlier in 2020 he apparently bought a four million dollar house so I don’t feel bad for him. Also, the flop of Ender’s Game could possibly involve Orson Scott Card being a vocal and unapologetic homophobe. Seriously, what is it with beloved fantasy authors and hate towards LGBT groups? You can conceive of wild, uncharted space and magical realms but the idea that two guys love each other is too far out?

Next in the series, from failure comes success, as we meet Xavier and Erik as frenemies and launch a million slash fictions.

[blvckhvert]

[ DAVID CASTAÑEDA. CIS MALE. 29. ] Welcome to New York City, [ ANTONIO SUÁREZ ]. [ HE ] is affiliated with [ THE HORSEMEN ] and spend their days as a [ BOXER ]. They have lived in New York City for [ EIGHT YEARS ] and are known for being [ STAUNCH & RESOURCEFUL ], as well as [ FLIPPANT & VENGEFUL ]. They were [ FIFTEEN ] when they found out they had the power of [ DARKNESS MANIPULATION ] and have been classified a [ LEVEL 3 ]. (KIP. 24. SHE/THEM. EST) / [ HITMAN ] 

murder tw & death tw !

Basics !

Name: Antonio Suárez (will respond to Tony but prefers Antonio)  Age: Twenty-nine Hometown: Chicago, Illinois  Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Ability: Darkness manipulation  Occupation(s): Boxer & hitman for the Horsemen Education Level: High school (made it to senior year, but never graduated)   + Traits: Staunch, resourceful, & assertive - Traits: Flippant, vengeful, & cocky Mini Playlist: Another One Bites the Dust -- Queen // Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap -- AC/DC // Kill of the Night -- Gin Wigmore // Cold Blood -- Dave Not Dave // Used to the Darkness -- Des Rocs // Dead Inside -- Younger Hunger // Everything Black -- Unlike Pluto & Mike Taylor // Don’t Stop Me Now -- Queen

Backstory !

Born to two loving parents on a hot August night fifteen minutes after his twin, Marco -- Antonio never knew a moment without the other.

As they grew and developed their personalities, it became clear the pair couldn’t be more different from each other. Marco was always so serious while Antonio couldn’t help cracking a joke -- even in the most inappropriate times. Overwhelming pessimism and never ending optimism, cautious and reckless, reserved and loud mouthed -- whatever Marco was, Antonio wasn’t and vice versa. Despite all their differences, the brothers got along well -- balanced each other out even. Every time Antonio was ready to leap in head first, there was a gentle hand to hold him back and give some thought to what he was actually about to do and in turn Antonio would be one of the few to get Marco to actually loosen up.

Of course it’s not all sunshine and rainbows with siblings -- arguments are bound to happen. It was a particularly heated one over some dumb stunt Antonio pulled during a warm September afternoon that triggered everything. Antonio disappeared in a cloud of darkness only to reappear a few feet away and Marco accidentally shot a beam of light a few inches to the left of where Antonio was standing. Once the shock wore off -- Marco decided it was best if they kept this between them, to which Antonio agreed. Who knew if both their parents were gifted or not -- best not to risk it.

It seemed fitting that they find out at the same time and that their abilities be polar opposites of not only each other, but also their own personalities. If nothing else, Antonio thought it was another humorous stunt pulled by the universe. 

A few days and minor accidents passed and Marco finally decided it’d be best if the pair (Antonio really) were more responsible with their newfound abilities. So they started practicing in an abandoned warehouse (it’s truly a miracle neither one accidentally killed the other one). 

Antonio and Marco weren’t from the best neighborhood in the city so it wasn’t uncommon to see crimes (mostly small ones) take part around them. Rather impulsively, Antonio suggested that they actually put their abilities to good use rather than simply fucking around in a warehouse. Plus, two young gifted doing the city a bunch of favors couldn’t hurt the gifted public image. Marco wasn’t for the plan, but Antonio told him he was going to do it regardless so Marco decided to tag along -- if not only to ensure Antonio didn’t get himself killed.

So there they were -- two dumb kids in even dumber outfits armed with nothing but a very amateur handling of their powers out to deal with some crime in the streets of Chicago. And it surprisingly worked for a little over two years. It wasn’t a every night thing -- Marco insisted that they get rest and not neglect their school work (if Antonio’s grades got any worse there would be no hope for passing) and Antonio insisted he maintain some sort of social life. They largely went after smaller criminals -- knowing better than to bit off more than they could chew. If either were noticeably injured, they told their parents that they were jumped while walking back home (their parents definitely started getting suspicious towards the end).

It was all fun and games until it wasn’t. The fated night came when the duo bit off more than they could chew. It happened in a flash -- Antonio got careless and naturally Marco stepped in and ultimately paid a price for it. Antonio tried his best to get Marco to the nearest hospital in time via shadow teleporting several times, but it was too late -- Marco died in his arms.

The first few months after Marco’s death passed slowly. Antonio was consumed by his grief and guilt -- rarely leaving his dark bedroom. The rest of the world carried on as if nothing had happened. Sure, the justice system was “looking into it”, but it wasn’t going to likely end with any real justice -- not when Marco was a gifted. His grief started to twist into a dark need for retribution where the justice system was failing to deliver.

Several more months passed by -- all a dark blur of lurking in the shadows in an attempt to find the man responsible for Marco’s death. Still only a teenager, he relied heavily on using his ability to intimidate and harm whoever he could get his hands on for information. Eventually he came face to face with the man he was seeking and after quite the struggle, he got his revenge. It wasn’t what he expected though -- he thought he’d feel better, but he didn’t. Feeling even more confused and lost, he fled and never looked back.

The years in between running away and reaching New York are a hazy mess of fruitless efforts to fill some kind of void. He worked a few odd jobs here and there and sought out all kinds of distractions in places he never intended to stay before up and leaving again.

Eventually he found himself in New York. The first year was more of the same purposeless motions until he caught wind of the Horsemen. Fighting for mutant rights -- sounded like something Marco and him would’ve done had they been more mature, more realistic in their dreams, so he said fuck it and joined up with them.

Having a purpose, a direction to follow -- it was good for him. He seemed more like himself than he had in years -- even if it was initially just for appearance’s sake. He even got a steady job boxing (lack of a diploma or GED and odd job experience left him pretty limited -- but hey, he could take and throw some punches).

Now he’s living it up with the Horsemen and ya know, disposing of anyone he’s told to.

Headcanons !

This guy is obnoxious with his shadow teleporting whenever he’s somewhere where he knows he’s not going to have to put up with prejudice for being a gifted. Like need him to go somewhere more than ten steps? He’s going to shadow teleport. 

His role in the Horsemen is rather dark, but he cracks jokes or makes smartass remarks about it all the time. Very “If you’re going to kill a bunch of people -- you might as well have some fun with it.” kinda has some Zsasz energy from Gotham tbh. 

He keeps most of the details of his life before New York vague -- claiming he’d like to keep an air of mystery around himself to keep things exciting, but in reality there isn’t much of his life that didn’t involve Marco and it’s a subject he’d still rather not touch.

Antonio is a real ride or die bitch for all members of the Horsemen. It doesn’t really matter to him if they don’t have a close personal relationship or if they don’t necessarily get along -- he’ll still put his ass on the line for any of them without a second thought. 

“Am I a murderer? Yes, but I’m a loyal murderer so I still think I deserve nice things.”

Again, he’s pretty indifferent to his role in the Horsemen -- sometimes the ends justify the means and it’s not as if he’s a stranger to violence or a little murder.

There really is no color in his wardrobe -- which in his defense is smart because he blends into shadows easier when dressed in black from head to toe but still. 

He has a little minimalist light bulb tattooed on his wrist for Marco, but if asked about it he simply shrugs and says he was drunk and blindly pointed to something on the wall to get tattooed. 

Listen, my man only has resources from his role in The Umbrella Academy so we’re just going to roll with the facial scars. When you live a dangerous life (amateur vigilantism, boxing, contract killing...)  you’re bound to get a few anyway!

Wanted Connections !

Can be found here !

Anything you want to throw at me! 

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

Not My Mistake Pt 3

Pairing: Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: Roger slept with her roommate and Y/N did him a favour

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol

A/N: Sorry there’s been such a long wait since the last part but I lowkey love how this one turned out so please remember to let me know what you think - like, comment, reblog it really helps me want to write more parts :)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six

“That girl’s looking at you,” Brian informed Roger, nodding to the other side of the bar. “She’s been watching you all evening.”

“That’s hardly new, Brian,” Roger scoffed cockily and the curly haired man rolled his eyes in response.

“She’s hot is all - definitely would be your type,” Roger finally gave in and followed Brian’s gaze to where the woman was sat between two men, some friends surrounded her, one of which Roger was painfully familiar with.

A half smile lifted Roger’s lips as he looked at the woman Brian had indicated. Y/N grinned at him and Roger couldn’t help himself as he winked back, knowing full well the action would cause his friend to roll her eyes. Of course, she did just as Roger predicated, though she accompanied it with a laugh. The laugh that never failed to make his heart flutter.

Three months had passed since Roger had accompanied Y/N to her apartment. He had spent the night on her couch with her, the two of them having collapsed there together after indulging themselves in a few more bottle of beer and cider. Nothing had happened, though. When they awoke the next morning Y/N’s head was on his chest but she had been quick to move away with an embarrassed apology that Roger had found so endearing. 

They had exchanged numbers, met up for coffee frequently and Roger often found himself walking her to her university lectures.

He was completely enamoured by her. Not that he would ever admit that, especially to himself.

“Hey, mate, do me a favour and get that girl over there a rum and coke?” Roger asked, pulling out his wallet and indicating at Y/N. The bartender nodded and set about mixing the drink for Roger.

“Rum and coke? That’s an acquired taste, Rog. What happened to playing it safe and just ordering beers?” Brian asked, laughing at Roger’s decision. Roger shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell Brian that he knew Y/N. He wasn’t ready to share her just yet.

“She seems like that kind of girl,” Roger told his friend instead, well in the knowledge that rum and coke was Y/N’s favourite drink. A fact proven by the way her eyes lit up as the bartender presented her with the drink and how she grinned at Roger.

Brian whistled, clearly shocked by the overwhelmingly positive reaction from the woman. 

“You going to talk to her?” He asked. Roger shook his head, standing from the barstool he had been seated at.

“There are plenty of girls here, Bri, best give them all a shot.”

Y/N couldn’t deny the way that her heart appeared to sink when Roger moved out of her eyesight, with the curly-haired man who played guitar in their band. Brian, the astrophysicist. Roger had described him previously as being ‘lanky and awkward, a bit of a nerd but an all-round great guy’.

One day she’d like to meet them properly, form her own opinions.

Though she wasn’t sure when that may be.

“Come on, you’ve been moping over lover boy all night,” her friend Beth moaned, tugging at Y/N’s arm as she took a drink from the rum and coke Roger had bought for her.

“Leave me alone,” the woman groaned, pulling her arm out of Beth’s grasp.

“You’ll see your boyfriend tomorrow, I’m sure, so now you can dance with me,” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Y/N argued but allowed Beth to pull her over to the dance floor, drink still held securely in her hand as she began to move to the beat of the music playing.

Over the course of the night she saw Roger multiple times. Mostly he was surrounded by pretty groupies. If he caught her eye he’d give her one of his famous winks and set her heart beating a million times an hour.

At the end of the night, however, he joined her as she waited for a taxi, Jamie and Caleb having gone to spend the night elsewhere. Roger lit up a cigarette as he joined her outside the pub.

“Can I join you?” He asked, breaking the comfortable silence that lay between them. A slight smile grew on her face as she observed her friend from the corner of her eye.

“So long as you pay half,” she said. Roger chuckled around his cigarette, the smoke curling from his fingers, momentarily mesmerising Y/N as she took in his profile.

Admiring his beauty.

It wasn’t fair for him to be that pretty Y/N thought as she looked at him. He would make a prettier girl than her if he so wished. The thought caused a giggle to escape her lips and Roger turned fully to look at her, a soft smile reserved only for her on his face.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t pay?”

“When have you ever tried to be a gentleman, my love?” She teased in response. Roger let out his loud, full laugh and tossed his cigarette to the floor, using the heel of his foot to stomp out the flame. He placed his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her to his chest upon feeling how cold her skin felt against his.

Roger’s fingers ran up and down her bare arms, attempting to get some warmth back into her lightly shivering frame as he hugged her.

“When are you going to start bringing jackets?” He scolded, though his tone was soft and gentle, almost adoring.

“When I get a boyfriend and stop having to dress up to fool people into thinking I’m functioning?” Y/N suggested, pleased to hear Roger’s laugh fill her ears once more.

“You can’t form a relationship based on deceit, sweetheart,” he teased as a taxi pulled up at long last.

“I’m not your sweetheart, Rog,” she grinned, stepping out of his arms and climbing into the taxi, immediately missing the comfort his embrace provided.

The ride back to her apartment was silent, the way it always was. Y/N was not quite sure why the two of them lapsed into silence, retreating into their thoughts as soon as they entered the taxi, but they always did. Her head rested on Roger’s shoulder and his scent filled her nose: a mix of cigarette smoke, traces of women’s perfume, his aftershave and an underlying tone of vanilla that she knew came from the cookies they had made together earlier that day. It was a mix that should not smell good together and yet, a mix that was just so wholly, comfortingly Roger.

“No groupie tonight then?” Y/N questioned as they entered her apartment. Roger moved straight for the fridge and Y/N knew it was because she had begun to buy his favourite of beer when she went out shopping. Roger let out a laugh at her question.

“You know I’ll always come home to you, Y/N/N.”

“We don’t live together, Rog,” Y/N laughed, though she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“Well I’ll always come home at the end of the day anyway,” Roger winked at her, his next words causing her heart to skip a beat despite the drunken slur they were spoken with. “And you’re my home.”

“Careful, Rog, or people will think you’re loosing your rockstar edge,” Y/N joked in an attempt to divert attention away from her burning cheeks.

“Please, I’m ore rockstar than ever before,” Roger waved her off dismissively as the two of them collapsed onto her bed, facing one another.

“What do you mean by that?” Y/N asked, going completely still as she waited for Roger’s explanation. A beautiful, joyful smile spread across his ethereal features.

“We’re going on tour of America!” Y/N launched herself into his waiting arms, laughing loudly as Roger readily embraced her, his laugh joining hers.

“No way!” She said breathlessly as she straddled him, not thinking about how it must have felt for him or considering the consequences of their overly affectionate actions. Roger didn’t appear to mind, though, as his hands came to rest on her waist. “I’m so proud of you!” She beamed, her joy completely genuine and unfiltered, her smile infectious.

“I knew you would be,” Roger declared and Y/N hit his chest, affectionately scolding him for his somewhat cocky tone.

“When did you find out?” She asked.

“Earlier today - Brian told me as soon as I got home from yours. He was absolutely buzzing,” Roger chuckled. Y/N moved from her position on top of him. “Where are you going?” He asked and he could feel his gaze on her as she left her bedroom.

When she returned five minutes later, Roger had changed into a pair of his sweatpants and a hoodie he had begun to leave at her apartment and sat with his back against the headboard. He looked completely angelic and to anyone unacquainted with the two of them it would look as though they were a regular couple, as opposed to the ‘just friends’ branding they gave themselves.

“We need to celebrate properly, my love!” Y/N announced, dropping two mugs onto her duvet. Roger picked one up and raised his eyebrows at her.

“Fancy.”

“Fuck off, you prick,” Y/N laughed as she struggled to open the bottle of cheap champaign Sally had bought a few days ago - she’d have to replace it before her ‘friend’ caught wind of Y/N having drunk it.

“Give it here, dipshit, you’re making a right mess of it,” Roger chuckled affectionately at her struggles to open the bottle. Y/N sighed and passed it to him.

“We don’t have proper glasses,” she said by way of explanation as she held up the two mugs she had fetched from the kitchen for Roger to pour the liquid into.

“This is perfect,” Roger assured her, taking his mug from her and clinking them together.

The action caused Y/N to chuckle and she joined Roger with her back against the headboard and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Promise you won’t forget me when you get all big and famous?” She sighed, wrapping her fingers around the mug clasped tightly in her hands.

“What if someone better comes along, though?” The teasing edge in his voice was clear and Y/N gasped, elbowing him gently in the ribs, making Roger erupt into a fit of giggles.

It was moments like these that she adored - sitting with Roger, a man she had befriended not all that long ago, teasing one another and making each other laugh. It was moments like these that she thanked God that Roger had been stupid enough to sleep with Sally.

The thought brought an amused smile to her face as she rested comfortably back against Roger.

“I’m only joking, sweetheart, I could never forget you,” Roger promised. Y/N turned to stick her tongue out at him playfully and Roger held his hands up in defence, though there was a soft smile on his face, an expression near to adoration. “I know, I know, you’re not my sweetheart,” he put in before she could utter a word. He relaxed his arms down, this time resting one around her shoulder and allowing her head to rest on his chest.

“You’re learning” she decided, though she couldn’t deny the way her heart sped up every time he called her by the nickname. Perhaps that was why she was so opposed to the term of endearment.

“Though, I suppose if you’re not my sweetheart then you won’t be wanting me to call you while I’m away,” Roger teased. Y/N gasped, taking his playful joke as a serious thread, moving from her comfortable position against his chest to glare at her now-close friend.

“You better call me, Roger - at least once a week,” Roger chuckled and pulled her back into his embrace, dropping a tender kiss to the top of her head.

“I promise I’ll call you after every show,” he vowed.

“You won’t get distracted by groupies?” She asked.

“How could I when my favourite groupie is right here, waiting for me to call?”

“Fuck off,” Y/N laughed, pushing him gently. “I’m so proud of you,” she sighed.

“You’re getting drunk,” Roger informed her, his eyes twinkled in amusement as he watched her.

“Doesn’t change what I mean,” Y/N huffed.

“Get some rest, Y/N/N, you’re helping me pack tomorrow.”

[amyscascadingtabs]

you’ll keep me intact

read on ao3

They were going to see Hamilton. That’s what she’s most upset about.

They had been planning the date night for two months, weeks before they got a positive pregnancy test, and she’d been so excited. David had given them the tickets after receiving them as a gift when he bumped into Lin-Manuel Miranda on the street, discovering that the two of them looked like twins.

(“It was crazy”, he’d told Amy over the phone. “But anyway, I don’t really follow pop culture, so you can have them if you want.”)

Amy had been stoked - Jake was sure to love this play much more than he’d tolerated the first one they saw together, and they were going to have dinner at a proper nice restaurant while wearing actual fancy clothing. She had been thinking of busting out the red dress she wore at their first real date, and yeah, she may have been longing for the chance to see her husband in a tux again, so sue her.

The play starts in ten minutes and Amy’s in bed.

She should be sitting in a red plush seat holding hands with the love of her life and waiting to see the musical they both know too much of the lyrics to performed live in front of them, and she’s in bed.

She’s furious, and she’s too exhausted to do something about it, because being in your first trimester of pregnancy is everything but energizing. The excitement and gratefulness aside, Amy feels as if someone took one of the worst hangovers she ever had and extended the duration of it to weeks and months, then subtracted the fun alcohol-part and added extra mood-swings. She can’t drink at Shaw’s anymore and lacks energy to do anything else but go home and sleep the moment her shift’s over, she struggles to follow a conversation when she’s busy fighting a wave of nausea, and now she’s cancelling date nights. With the thought of her baby still an abstract concept she struggles to fully wrap her head around, the whole situation is mostly aggravating.

The lighting in the room is not as striking bright as before, creeping closer to sunset but not there, so Amy figures she must have slept for a while. It’s the kind of golden hour out now that she’d adore a romantic walk in, capturing a few cheesy couple selfies with her phone while enjoying the view, and she considers calling for Jake to ask if they can take one before realizing he's the one who decided they weren't going out tonight, not even for a walk or Hamilton. She's too tired, was barely able to keep her eyes open during their drive home, and it's a bad nausea day on top of it.

(“You're going to sleep,” her husband had stated when she insisted one last time that maybe she could do it, even though she'd had to throw up at the mere consideration of different food smells at a restaurant. “You need it. C’mon, I'll let you be the little spoon.”)

There had been no way for her not to fall for his offer, and she drifted asleep minutes after changing into pajamas and curling up in his arms.

She's alone in their bedroom now, but there's a folded neon orange post-it on the pillow next to her. The squiggly handwriting scribbled on it is one she’d recognize anywhere, and she grins as she reads it.

Went to the store to buy ice cream, the note says. Plus more saltines and orangina bc i know you like that best (you’re orangina!). Love youuu.

He’s drawn a collection of uneven hearts after the message. Amy traces one of them with her index finger, waking up slowly to the background noise of Taylor Swift being played from the living room and telling her Jake must be back by noe. She wraps the comforter around herself and sneaks out into the hallway.

He’s watching the Reputation Stadium Tour. It’s the All Too Well-performance, a favorite for them both in the two hour five minute-recording of the show, and she expects him to be so focused on the television it's a surprise when he turns around, eyes lighting up when he sees her.

She's tired and she's bitter about the cancelled date night and she's felt sick for the entire day, but once she sees the content, dreamy smile he meets her with, all of the world’s misfortunes seem less disastrous. All the miracles appear brighter, too - a joyful spark in her heart reminds her they're having a baby together, and every bit of suffering she's going through will be worth it thousandfold less than seven months from now.

“I would ask you if you managed to get some rest,” he comments playfully. “But I checked on you a bunch of times and you were out like a light for all of them. How are you feeling?”

“A bit better. I’m sorry”, she mutters. He wrinkles his forehead at her apology, so she explains it further. “For being boring. This isn't exactly the exciting date night we’d planned from the start, and it’s all my fault. ”

“Stop that.” He gestures for her to take the spot next to him on the couch and she does, resting her head on his shoulder for extra closeness and letting his arm snake around her waist. “Ames, you couldn't be boring if you tried.”

“We were going to a fancy restaurant! We were going to Hamilton!”

“Yeah, but we totally made a couple purple-haired theatre kids the happiest people in New York when I sold them the tickets cheap.” Jake shrugs. “All I care about in a date night is getting to spend time with my wife.”

“Your hopelessly boring, moody and nauseous wife?”

“My badass wife”, he corrects her with a kiss to her hairline. “My badass, incredible, gorgeous and awesome wife.”

“She sounds great, whoever she is.”

“Oh, trust me. She is.” There's a smile on his lips so wide she's tempted to kiss it off of him - she does, shamelessly, and he whispers the last words against her lips.

Taylor has moved on to her Blank Space-performance on their television. Amy notes how Jake is moving his feet to the beat of it, miming along to the lyrics. She's seen him watch this movie at least ten to fifteen times and he doesn't seem to have grown tired of it yet. As far as date nights go, Amy supposes they’ve both been through worse - at least there are no exes or depressed bosses to be found in their apartment tonight - but it doesn't stop her from wishing it could have gone differently.

She drapes her right leg over his lap so she's practically straddling him just to get closer, burying her face in his neck and making a mental note to thank him for immediately ceasing to use the aftershave whose scent makes her sick now. He lets her stay close, doesn’t even complain about her blocking part of his view of the tv, and she makes another mental note to really, really thank him whenever her energy returns.

“I really am sorry about tonight, though”, she whispers after a minute, ever so distracted by his fingers tracing feather-light patterns on her neck. “Wasn't what I planned.”

“Title of your sextape.”

“Ha-ha.”

“You love me”, he reminds her, grinning. “Really, Ames, it's okay. I don't mind this.”

“I know, but…” She bites at her lower lip. “I guess it hit me that we won't be able to go on dates like this for much longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before we only had to coordinate work schedules. Now we’ll have to find a babysitter, and deal with leaving our baby to someone else, and it’s going to be difficult. I feel bad for ruining what might be one of the few opportunities we have left in a long time.”

Jake frowns, running his free hand through his hair in a fruitless attempt to smooth a few curls out. He just makes it messier, but she doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

“You’re really worried about that?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Do you want logic or reassurance?”

Years of partnership, courtship and now marriage have taught them a few handy tools in dealing with each other's anxieties. This distinction is one of them.

“Logic”, she decides, and he nods. “If you have anything.”

“I do”, he promises, pausing the television at a shot of the concert audience holding lights in the air. They almost resemble a starry night sky, Amy thinks when she looks back at them. “Let's start with time. It's only May and we're having a baby in December. We have oceans of time to go on dates, especially if you start feeling better in the second trimester like all the websites say.”

“We're going to have a lot to prepare and it's going to go by fast. Plus, it's still not a ton of time. What do we do when they’re here?”

“Charles”, says Jake, and she furrows her brows, so he explains. “You think we’ll have a problem finding babysitters? On the list of people who will love our baby the most, Charles’s name is literally right below ours. You know he'll be dying for every chance he can get to spend some time with them.”

“And what if our kid doesn't like Charles?”

“All kids love Charles, I doubt ours will be an exception.”

“Fine”, she relents. “Babysitting is settled. Still, we’ll be tired, and hesitant to leave them, and it’ll take work and I just...” Amy can feel tears burning behind her eyelids - they’re always too close now, all of her emotions intensified. “I didn’t want to cancel this. I wanted to give you something nice as a reward for putting up with me right now, and this is what you get. Taylor Swift, hanging out on the couch, and your emotional mess of a wife.”

He doesn’t say a word at first. She wonders briefly if if the reason he’s pursing his lips and watching her with an expression of either pain or pity is that he thinks she’s right, that she is letting him down. When he keeps lightly massaging her neck and leans in for a chaste but sweet kiss on her lips instead of complaining, it confuses her.

“Ames, I meant it when I said it was okay. I don’t care about the date nights, I care about you.”

“Just admit you’re disappointed.”

“A bit”, he admits with a weak smile. “But not for the reasons you think. It sucks that you’re not feeling well, and it sucks that I can’t do much about it, and it sucks that you’re upset about this. But I still think it’s a perfect date night.”

“In what world would it ever be perfect?”

“You’re here.” Another chaste kiss to her lips. “You’re here, we’re watching Taylor Swift, and I have a full liter of our favorite Italian gelato in the fridge. That’s as close to perfect as it gets if you ask me.”

“Oh my god, you bought the good ice cream?”

“Yeah?”

“I seriously love you.”

“Ah.” She recognizes the characteristic dorky grin from years ago as well as yesterday, but it makes her heart skip a beat all the same. “And here I’ve been all these years, thinking your love for me was fake.”

She punches him in the shoulder for that.

“You know”, Jake says when he hands her a generous bowl of vanilla and caramel ice cream, “We can have this kind of tv and ice cream-date nights when we have a baby, too.”

“We’ll be falling asleep on the couch”, she corrects him. “And staring at a baby monitor like crazy people unless they’re sleeping on us.”

“Well, Amy Santiago”, Jake grins, “I can’t wait to fall asleep on the couch with you.”

It's not the night she imagined, but when they go to bed and he once again lets her curl up into a ball while he holds her, playing with her hair until she falls asleep, she couldn't be more okay with it.

(Two weeks later, Jake reveals he managed to buy new Hamilton tickets. Five weeks later, Amy gets both her nice restaurant-date and her Hamilton experience, as well as a chance to show off an incipient baby bump in the sleek red dress.)

[wrestlingisfake]

Revolution preview

Chris Jericho vs. Jon Moxley - This will be Jericho’s fourth defense of the AEW men’s world championship.  Moxley is the IWGP United States champion, but that title is not at stake.  Moxley has not lost a singles match since August, and Jericho hasn’t lost a singles match since June, so something’s gotta give.

It was fairy clear that Mox would be getting the next big title shot after he defeated Kenny Omega on November 9.  But the story only began when Jericho invited Moxley to join his heel stable, the Inner Circle.  The championship wasn’t directly brought up, but it was clear Jericho’s goal was to eliminate a potential threat to his title reign.  Moxley ultimately declined the offer on January 8, so on January 15 the Inner Circle beat him down and Jericho attacked his right eye with one of the little spikes on Jericho’s jacket.  Moxley refused to take time off, winning a January 22 match with PAC to earn this title match.  The Inner Circle has attempted to finish him off with matches against Santana, Ortiz, and “hired mercenary” Jeff Cobb, but he’s won them all while wearing an eyepatch.

The big question of this match is the status of Moxley’s right eye.  The injury is just part of the story, of course, and he mostly wrestles like it’s not a factor.  But if any opponent is going to work over the eye for the whole match, it’s gonna be Jericho.  Even if Mox drops the eyepatch, with the idea that the eye has finally “healed,” it’s an obvious target.  If he still has it on, I think the match will be slower, with longer stretches of Jericho clawing at the eye and Moxley in agony.  Either way, though, Moxley should be fighting like a wounded animal, which might lead to at least one big spot that hurts Jericho enough to level the playing field.

When Jericho won the title on August 31, I figured AEW could easily keep it on him for a year or more.  He’s over enough that the fans won’t start losing patience with him until maybe around Double or Nothing II on May 23.  But something about this feud has really clicked, I think, and I’ve been seriously getting the vibe that it’s time for Moxley to have a title run.  Nevertheless, despite all the victories Mox has racked up over the last six weeks, it feels wrong for a guy with a bad eye to score a win over the world champion.  I’m picking Jericho to retain.

Cody Rhodes vs. MJF - MJF refused to take this match unless Cody complied with three stipulations.  First, Cody agreed on January 15 not to touch MJF until the match starts.  Second, Cody had to let MJF whip him with a belt on February 5.  Third, Cody had to wrestle MJF’s henchman Wadlow in a cage match on February 19.  It’s become clear that MJF never expected Cody to agree to, or successfully meet, his terms, and now the match is on and Cody wants to kill him more than ever.

This one has been building almost since AEW was first announced in January 2019, when MJF joined the cast of Being the Elite.  Cody embraced MJF as his protege and best friend, but literally everyone else could see MJF was heeling on him behind his back.  Then, just when people were starting to buy the Cody-MJF friendship, and hoping the turn wouldn’t come, they finally pulled the trigger on the turn.  When Cody face Chris Jericho for the world title on November 9, with the promise that this would be his one and only title shot, MJF seconded him and threw in the towel.  Then, just when you started to wonder if he was genuinely concerned for Cody’s safety, he kicked Cody in the nuts.

MJF is the biggest and most successful project at AEW so far--the only bigger stars in the company are guys that were already over in New Japan or WWE.  So it’s going to be very interesting to see if they let the fans see Cody finally get revenge, or if MJF gets a win to propel him even higher.  While I do think MJF can quickly recover from a loss, they’ve really got something here and it may be worth doing a cheap heel win.  On the other hand, I’m not sure where MJF can go from beating Cody--I can’t see him in the world title picture just yet.  So I expect this match to keep me guessing right up to the finish.  It’s just too close to call.

Kenny Omega & Hangman Page vs. Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson - Omega and Page won the AEW tag team title on January 21; this will be their third defense.  The Young Bucks won a battle royale on February 19 to earn this title shot.  All four men (along with Cody Rhodes) are members of The Elite, the spinoff of Bullet Club that was recruited to create this promotion.

Page has been sullen and combative with the rest of the Elite since Chris Jericho beat him on August 31 to become the first AEW world champion.  I’ve already written at length about the backstory and where I think it’s going.  Basically I think they’ve teased a heel turn too hard for it to actually happen.  It feels to me like the story is less about what it takes for someone to turn than what it will take for Page to accept the other three accept him as an equal partner.  I think the story is designed to get us really worried for Page and them pull him back for a big hug when all seems lost.  (Then again, even if that happens, it doesn’t have to happen on this show.)

It feels too early for the Bucks to win the title.  They obviously have to become tag champs at some point.  But they know they have to build to the perfect moment and outwit everyone who assumed they’d put the belts on themselves right away.  The Bucks need to overcome incredible adversity to finally get to the mountaintop, and beating an ad hoc transitional chmpion team doesn’t cut it.  So they need to convince you Omega and Page aren’t an ad hoc transitional champion team.  The easiest way to do that is to give Omega and Page a successful title defense against the Young Bucks.  Which also happens to be an easy way to blow off Page’s drama without doing a turn.  So I’m going with the champs to retain.

Nyla Rose vs. Kris Statlander - Rose is making her first defense of the AEW women’s world championship, which she won on February 12.  There hasn’t been much of a story here--Statlander just got in Rose’s face during an interview and that was that.

The match should be okay.  Rose is good with the big monster heel spots, and Statlander's alien gimmick sets her apart from all the other women Rose has thrown around.  But I can’t say this is a particularly important match on the card, which is disappointing since I had hoped AEW’s women’s division would be a lot stronger by this point.  It feels like this is just being thrown together at the last minute to be the token women’s match on the card, like WWE used to do.

I like Statlander but it’s just not her time to be champion right now, and Rose is just getting started.  This shouldn’t be a one-sided squash by any means, but Nyla should emphatically win to set the tone for her title run.

Dustin Rhodes vs. Jake Hager - This issue started on October 30, during the build to Chris Jericho vs. Cody Rhodes, when Jericho’s flunky Hager broke the arm of Cody’s brother Dustin.  It took a few weeks for Dustin to stop wearing a cast, and then for some reason it took him until February 12 to demand a match with Hager so he can get revenge.

Hager debuted with AEW all the way back in October 2019, but this will be his first match with the company.  In fact, it’ll be his first match of any kind since he challenged for the NWA title in November 2018.  For the past couple of years he’s been focused on his mixed martial arts career in Bellator; between that and his role as a taciturn henchman, I don’t think we’re going to see much of him between the ropes. 

Both of these guys look enormous now that they’re away from WWE, so this should feel like an impressive battle of the giants.  But the outcome isn’t in much doubt; the smart move is to give Hager a win in his debut match, to establish his credibility as a big enforcer.

Darby Allin vs. Sammy Guevara - Guevara beat up Allin with his own skateboard on January 29, and they’ve been selling the idea that Allin’s throat was injured and he couldn’t speak.  (At this point I’m not sure if Allin’s supposed to still be mute or if he just chooses not to say anything.)   On the February 26 show I thought Allin was going to waffle Guevara with a skateboard to get some payback, but Sammy broke the skateboard over Darby’s head instead, so I guess they’re saving that for this show.

This is a tough match to call because they’re high on both guys and trying to get them both over, but neither is critical enough to be assured a steady string of wins.  Allin is the sort of tenacious twerp that can lose again and again and still be over because he won’t quit, but I think he needs to beat guys like Guevara once in a while or he’ll start to feel like a chump.  Guevara is sort of a chump no matter what since he’s Jericho’s toadie, but it’s good heel heat for the entire Inner Circle if they keep racking up wins.  I could see this one going either way.

PAC vs. Orange Cassidy - Pac was griping about his big loss to Kenny Omega on February 26 when Cassidy randomly came out to get in his face, so now we have a match.  Orange’s whole gimmick is that he’s lazy and can barely work up the effort to hit a guy, so the entire hype for this match is Chuck Taylor’s assurance that “this time he’s gonna TRY.”  I’m very curious what that would look like.

I’m only vaguely familiar with how Orange Cassidy’s gimmick works on the indies.  My impression is that he can turn it on and wrestle an intense, competitive match, but the joke is that he chooses to see how long he can get away with not doing that.  Most footage I’ve seen of him has involved other wrestlers sinking to his level for comedy spots where they exchange strikes in slow motion.  That’s all fine on an indy level, but in AEW it’s settled into “Orange does a couple of weak kicks but then the other guy just destroys him.”  I don’t understand how any of that is going to function in a Pac match.  But I expect to have fun finding out.

Pac pretty much has to win, though.

Scorpio Sky & Frankie Kazarian vs. Evil Uno & Stu Grayson - This is scheduled for the pre-show.  Uno and Grayson have been trying to get people to join their stable for months, and it’s starting to cause tension as Sky and Kazarian wonder if Christopher Daniels will betray SCU to join the Dark Order.  I think they’ve oversold the idea that Daniels is turning, and even if he does turn I don’t expect it to be on the pre-show.  Nevertheless, the Dark Order needs a win here, so I think it’ll come from SCU worrying about Daniels.  I’m pulling for Scorp, though, since I think I saw him on the elevator Friday.

[morningfears]

Flashing Lights

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18!

Summary: 1970s Rockstars!5sos | You’ve been friends with Ashton for years, friends with benefits for long enough, but you’re not exclusive. And Ashton isn’t fond of one of your partners. (This is a threesome with Ashton, reader, and Ben Hardy as Roger Taylor from the film Bohemian Rhapsody. Includes: mentions of blood (not during the smut just in general), double penetration, overstimulation, a little angst.

Word Count: 7.3k (I got carried away, whoops)

London, 1973

A heavy cloud of cigarette smoke burns your eyes and the scent of cheap beer fills your nose as you descend the rickety steps into the crowded basement bar. The room is packed tight, bodies nearly pressed together with barely any room to move. The dim light fixtures scattered around the room are barely enough to illuminate the place, not with so many bodies blocking the flow of light, and the record playing is barely loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd. It’s not the atmosphere you’re used to, not in this hole in the wall, and the drastic change nearly sends you scrambling back up the stairs in search of another place to drink. 

However, there’s only one entrance into or out of the club; a narrow set of stairs that can only accommodate a single file line. With what feels like a mob of people behind you, their combined forces pushing you forward, you have no other choice but to continue your descent into the darkness.

You don’t dare to ask what’s drawn the crowd to your favorite dive bar in all of London, you just hope beyond hope that they’ll all disappear soon enough as you shove your way through the crowd to settle into your seat at the bar. You’re not looking for conversation, not in the mood for anything more than a bottle of whiskey and a cigarette, and you’ll be damned if you let the obnoxious crowd behind you ruin your quest for some semblance of escape from reality.

The bartender knows you well enough by now, has seen you time and time again, so she knows better than to question you as she places the bottle of whiskey and a shot glass in front of you before moving on to the next customer. You watch her for a moment, your eyes lingering on her as she bustles about and attempts to ignore the catcalls and jeers from drunk strangers, before you shake your head and pour yourself a shot.

While you would normally allow yourself to turn in your seat and people watch, a glass of something less abrasive than straight whiskey in hand, you’re not in the mood tonight. Your day had been long, you were busier than you’ve been in ages, and you want nothing more than to drown your sorrows in whiskey in an effort to forget the day. It was easily the most disastrous shoot of your entire career, nearly an entire day of shooting and you ended up with only a handful of decent photographs to show for it.

As you think about the day you’ve had, you down another shot of whiskey before you reach for the pack of cigarettes in your bag. As you search the bottom of your bag for your lighter, you fail to notice someone settling into the seat to your right.

You fail to notice his presence until you light your cigarette and take the first drag. “Thought you quit smoking,” a low voice mumbles in your ear as the smoke pours past your lips. You frown, just realizing that the seat beside you had been filled, as you glance over to see Roger with a smirk on his lips and a drink in hand.

“I did,” you confirm before you take another drag, “but haven’t you heard the old saying? Quitters never win.” Roger laughs at this, smirk still present on his lips as he reaches out and plucks the cigarette from between your fingers to take a drag of his own. “What are you doing here, Rog?” you ask as your eyes linger on his lips. “You don’t usually hang out here unless you have a show.”

“We had a show tonight,” he confirms as he watches you light another cigarette for yourself, “at a pub a few blocks over. The owner was a twat so I came here instead.”

You laugh at Roger’s choice of words and shake your head as you pour yourself another shot. “So, you got into a fight, then,” you hum with a smirk, “sounds about right. The others still there?”

“Not my fault,” he grumbles as he grabs the bottle of whiskey and a reaches over the bar to grab a shot glass. “She was flirting with me.” He pauses for a moment, takes his shot, before he nods. “They’re still there. Those fucking Summer assholes were there, anyway, so it’s probably a good thing I left when I did.”

“Why do you hate them so much?” you question as you grab the bottle back from him. “They’re nice guys,” you defend.

“They’re all fine except that asshole drummer,” he grumbles, his lips curled into a snarl, “what a fucking wanker.”

You roll your eyes at Roger’s insult and shake your head. It seems that he’s had it in for Ashton since the very beginning. The moment the two met, they clashed. You’d thought they would get along, they’re fairly similar, but it seems as if they’re always at odds. They’re constantly trying to one-up one another, each trying to get the better of the other, and it’s tiring to watch.

If one of them has a drum solo, the other attempts to perform one louder. If one of them drinks a half of a bottle of whiskey, the other attempts to drink a whole one. If one of them takes home a girl, the other takes home two.

They’re almost always competing and while, realistically, you know it’s not your fault, you feel somewhat to blame.

You’ve known Ashton the longest, have known him since you were sixteen and just starting to sneak into bars. He met you at one of the band’s earliest shows, one where half the audience seemed to be asleep and the other half was tempted to throw things at Luke, and he’d taken a liking to you almost instantly. You were friends first, he was too old for you when you met, and you never intended to be anything more than friends with him, no matter how much you liked him. It hurt too much, watching him make out with the prettiest blonde in the room and pat your head like a little sister on his way out of the bar with her on his arm, and you knew he couldn’t be loyal to just one girl. You didn’t want him to break your heart so you decided to simply remain just friends with him. If you’re honest with yourself, you haven’t really deviated from that. You’re still just friends, friends with added benefits, but friends, nonetheless.

You’ve slept with him a few times, mostly in times of drunken weakness, but it’s happened.  That, combined with the need to protect you he’s felt since you were sixteen, made Ashton instantly wary of Roger. The two only met because Roger hit on you after a show, laid it on thick and made you feel like the only girl in the entire bar, and Ashton had deemed it necessary to intervene.

His intervention didn’t work, you went home with Roger that night, and the two have been at each other’s throats since.

You’re fairly certain it has nothing to do with you, neither of them have even hinted at wanting anything more than a casual fuck, and you’ve long since stopped trying to understand their rift. Instead, you attempt to keep the peace any time the two of them have to be in the same room and refuse to leave with either, just in case. But that doesn’t stop you from attempting to patch things up between them when they’re separated.

“Ashton’s nice, Rog,” you hum as you turn in your seat to face him. “You’re both just too similar.”

“I’m nothing like him!” Roger retorts, a frown on his lips as he reaches for another cigarette.

“I hate to agree with this asshole on anything,” you hear from your left, “but he’s right. We’re nothing alike.” You nearly allow your head to fall to the sticky surface of the bar as you recognize the voice. You heave a sigh as you turn to glance at Ashton who steals his own cigarette from your pack. “Went to your place but you weren’t home. Figured you’d be here,” he hums as he lights his cigarette and glances between you and Roger. “You keep shit company, you know that?”

“She keeps you,” Roger quips, an eyebrow quirked as he meets Ashton’s gaze head-on, “so, I guess we agree again.”

“Down, boys,” you sigh as you glance between the two of them, “the testosterone is suffocating me.” 

Roger is glaring at Ashton, his cheeks pink and jaw clenched. His eyes are narrowed and he looks like he wants to continue speaking before he glances at you and huffs a breath. He looks away from Ashton with a roll of his eyes and you copy his actions before you glance at Ashton. Ashton has a similar look on his face, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched as he takes in exactly how close Roger is sitting to you, only he doesn’t relent. He continues to glare at Roger even after you slap his chest in an attempt to get him to drop the hostility, if only for a moment. His hazel eyes are clouded with anger and he’s gripping the bar so hard his knuckles have turned white.

You know that he’s itching to start a fight, as he always is when Roger is around, and while you’re normally calm enough to handle the situation, you don’t feel like it tonight. So, instead of letting them rile one another up, you roll your eyes and nudge your empty glass out of the way.

“Jesus, if you’re aiming for a pissing match, take it outside. I came to get drunk and forget about asshole musicians tonight, thanks,” you breathe as you reach for the bottle and forego the glass completely. Both men watch as you take a sip straight from the bottle before you continue speaking. “Just go ahead and fight, fuck. Beat the absolute shit out of each other so we can all move on.”

Roger looks like he wants to agree, looks like he wants to grab Ashton by the collar and drag him outside, but before he has a chance to let his temper get the better of him, Ashton shakes his head. “We’ll call it a truce tonight,” he murmurs, a gentle hand on your back as he takes the bottle from you. “You’ll be the one to stitch us both up, anyway, since the others aren’t here.”

Both men have half smiles on their faces as they remember the nights you spent patching them up. It’s only happened once for each, not often enough to make a habit of it, but they remember it well.

Roger’s wound had been his fault, a product of his flirtatious ways and pretty face. He can still see the scar on his shoulder if he looks hard enough and he knows that you still have a scar on your wrist from that night, too. And the thought brings a smirk to his lips as he remembers.

Roger is absolutely fuming as he paces the length of your living room. His shirt has long since been abandoned, the once pale blue fabric now stained crimson with blood, and the stark white of the bandage on his shoulder is a contrast against his pale skin. His hair is mussed from running his hands through it so many times and his lips are curled in a seemingly permanent frown.

“I can’t believe that absolute asshole cut me with a broken bottle! He could’ve killed me!”

You roll your eyes as you watch Roger stop long enough to light a cigarette before he continues pacing. He’s babbling, a little drunk and a lot pissed off, and you heave a heavy sigh as you stand from your spot on the couch and plant yourself directly in his path. Roger frowns when he runs into you, bright eyes dark with annoyance and cheeks flushed with too much alcohol and emotion.

“I’m not saying you deserved it,” you begin as you take the cigarette from his hand and take a drag, “but you’ve got to stop hitting on people’s girlfriends, Rog. This guy should be proof enough that some men won’t settle for breaking your nose.”

Roger rolls his eyes at this as he takes the cigarette back from you. “I wasn’t even hitting on her. I was getting drinks for us,” he huffs before he takes a drag and tilts his head up to blow the smoke away from you. As he does, you take the opportunity to lean forward and press a soft kiss to his exposed throat. “Stop,” he grumbles, his tone unconvincing as he moves to place his free hand on your hip, “I’m angry.”

“You can be angry all you want, Rog,” you hum against his skin as you press another kiss to his exposed throat,  “but you can either pace a hole in my living room floor or you can take that anger out on me. I still have those handcuffs in my bedroom.”

Roger shakes his head, a smirk on his lips as he extinguishes his cigarette in the ashtray before he places his now free hand on your hip. Any and all thoughts of the asshole from the bar or the girl who certainly hadn’t captured his attention leave him as he meets your eyes. He can see the mischievous twinkle in them, can see the lust hidden in them, and it grounds him in the moment. “Lead the way, then,” he murmurs as he releases your hips and grabs your hand.

As you tug him through your apartment to your bedroom, he forgets about the bandage on his shoulder and the stinging pain from the cut he knows will leave a scar. And this time, unlike every other night he’s spent in your bedroom, he also forgets about the photograph of you and Ashton on your nightstand.

Ashton’s wound had been Calum’s fault. He doesn’t have a scar to show for it and neither do you, but he still remembers the night well.

“Am I bleeding? I feel like I’m bleeding.”

You roll your eyes at Ashton’s question and place a gentle hand on his shoulder as you encourage him to sit back on the couch. He huffs, unhappy, but does as he’s asked and leans back on the couch as you carefully press the towel containing a few cubes of ice against his forehead. He hisses at the sensation, his hand coming up to grab your wrist. He frowns when he feels a scab there and is successfully distracted from his own pain as he examines your skin.

“What happened?” he questions as he pulls your arm closer to take a better look and brushes his fingers over your wrist.

You feel your cheeks heat at the memory of how you got the marks on your wrist. Nearly a week before, you’d been in a similar position with Roger, tending to a wound that he’d gotten after a gig, but you’re not going to tell Ashton that. You’re not going to tell him that you’d gotten the mark on your wrist when Roger handcuffed you to your bed and spent the night fucking you, making you cum again and again as he took his anger out on you. Ashton already hates Roger enough and you don’t want him to think he’d hurt you on purpose. So, you shake your head and return your hand to his forehead.

“Just an accident,” you hum as you brush the curls from his forehead. “It’ll heal in a few days. Don’t worry about it. Just worry about your own injuries. You’re the one who probably has a concussion.”

Ashton isn’t stupid. He can tell by the way you’re avoiding his eyes that it has something to do with Roger, can tell by the way you swiftly change the subject, and as much as he dislikes him, he’s sure that Roger hadn’t purposely hurt you. He can feel the anger build in the pit of his stomach as he realizes that the wound was likely sexual in nature but he doesn’t let on.

He knows that the conversation will only upset you and he has no right, anyway. He’s just a friend.  A friend who sometimes shares your bed, yes, but a friend, just the same. So he allows you to think you’ve fooled him and mumbles, “Remind me to kick Calum’s ass later.”

Your grumble of, “Yeah, well. I don’t feel like patching up either of you tonight so play nice or fuck off,” brings both Roger and Ashton back to the present. They both watch as you take another drink straight from the bottle before Ashton reaches out and pulls it from your hands. Roger won’t admit it, not to Ashton, but he’s glad that Ashton is there as you don’t take as much offense to him attempting to cut you off as you would Roger.

You won’t admit it, but your temper could rival theirs.

He thinks, idly, as he watches Ashton move the bottle out of your reach that that’s the reason you get on so well with them both. You’re strong willed, determined and smart, and you never struggle to keep up with either of them. You can handle them better than anyone when they’re in a blind rage, can calm them instantly or egg them on just as fast. You’re never left stunned silent by one of their quips, you’re always able to fire right back, and he thinks that that’s why he hasn’t given up chasing you.

Ashton is interested in you. That much Roger knows for certain. He isn’t sure if it’s love, isn’t sure if it’s just wanting something someone else wants now that he’s in the picture, but he knows that Ashton feels something. And he knows that maybe, just maybe, if he left well enough alone, the two of you might end up together. But you’re the first girl he’s met that can call him on his shit, can knock him down just as quickly as you can build him up, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever find someone else like you.

He doesn’t think there’s any harm in healthy competition. And, anyway, you and Ashton have known one another for years. If you were interested in him romantically, certainly one of you would’ve made a move by now. You wouldn’t be simply sleeping with one another, there would be a relationship. So Roger doesn’t feel all that bad when he reaches out and places his hand on your thigh.

Ashton’s vision is clouded in a sea of red as he watches Roger’s hand brush your bare thigh. He wants to shove him away, tell him to fuck off and leave you alone, but he doesn’t want to upset you. He doesn’t want to be the reason your night gets any worse so he grits his teeth and looks away from your legs as he glances out into the crowd and tries not to make it obvious that he’s listening to every word Roger has to say to you.

“You could come to mine,” Roger offers, his hand drifting higher up your thigh as he shifts a little closer to you. “You could spend the night and I’m sure I could make you feel better.”

Ashton resists the urge to scoff at this. He isn’t going to pretend that he hadn’t sought you out with the intention of getting laid.  He’d gone to your apartment with every intention of ending the night between your thighs. But now that he knows you’re not having a great night, now that he knows you’re irritated and determined to end the night hammered, his only intention is to make sure you get home safely.

He feels vindicated when you shake your head at Roger’s proposal. “I want to sleep in my own bed tonight, Rog,”  you mumble, your hand moving to meet his as you trace your fingers over the back of his calloused hand. You sigh as he squeezes your thigh and shake your head. “I would invite you over but I don’t feel like listening to you both argue tonight.”

Before Roger or Ashton can respond, you catch the bartender’s attention and settle your tab. The moment you’ve paid for your drinks, you’re standing from your seat and leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Roger’s cheek before you do the same to Ashton. “Good night, boys. I’ll see you both later.”

“Wait,” Ashton huffs as he slides off his own stool after placing a few bills on the bar to cover his own tab, “let me walk you home. It’s late.”

“Or me,” Roger offers as he copies Ashton’s actions and moves to stand beside Ashton. “It is late.”

“I have a rule,” you sigh as you grab your bag and begin heading toward the door. Ashton and Roger ignore one another as they follow suit, shoving up the stairs behind you. “If you’re both in the same place, I leave alone. That’s not changing just because I’ve had a shit day. I’m not leaving with one of you only for the other to get angry.”

“Then leave with both of us.”

Both you and Roger turn to face Ashton after he nonchalantly suggests this. You have a confused frown on your lips, unsure of what he means, as Roger gapes at him. He isn’t sure what game Ashton is playing but he knows that he doesn’t care for it as you both watch Ashton light another cigarette.

“Excuse me?”  Roger finally asks, after a moment of silence passes. Roger stands before him, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised as he stares at Ashton. 

Ashton rolls his eyes at Roger’s question and turns his attention to you. “Not that different than any other night, is it? At least this time you don’t have to pretend for either of us.”

You know what he’s talking about almost instantly. There have been a very few. nights where you took one boy home only for the other to appear shortly after. They crossed paths almost every time, the one leaving your apartment sending the one arriving a smirk as he left, but neither ever mentioned this fact to you. Now, though, you realize that they both knew and it makes your cheeks burn as you shake your head.

“What’re you gonna do, Ash?” you question as you light a cigarette of your own and begin the walk to your apartment with both men trailing behind. “Have one of you wait in the living room until the other’s done? Fuck off.”

Ashton laughs and Roger glares at him before he rolls his eyes and walks a little faster to keep up with you. “No,” Ashton responds as he drops his cigarette butt onto the ground and crushes it beneath his boot. “Unless that’s what you want. I was thinking we could settle this, once and for all.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Roger asks as he spares Ashton a sideways glance as the three of you wait at the crosswalk.

Ashton is glad you live so close to the bar as he sees your building looming in front of the three of you. He doesn’t know if you’ll agree, doesn’t think Roger will, but he decides to go for it as the three of you begin to cross the street.

“A threesome, you fucking idiot,” Ashton snaps and nearly laughs as you stop in the middle of the crosswalk. He bites back a smile at the look of shock on your face but he loses it at the look of utter horror on Roger’s.

“A threesome? Ashton!” you nearly shout as he begins to nudge you forward before the light can change, “Are you out of your mind? The two of you can barely look at one another.”

“You’re joking,” Roger laughs as the three of you make it to the opposite side of the street. “You’re bloody joking.”

“Absolutely not,” Ashton hums as he watches you dig through your bag for your keys. “What, afraid of a little competition, Rog?” he asks, a smirk on his lips as he repeats the words Roger had spoken to him the night the two met, just after you’d disappeared to the bathroom. Roger had been adamant that he was taking you home, despite Ashton’s pleas for you to avoid the blonde, and he feels a bit smug as he watches annoyance tint Roger’s cheeks pink.

“Fuck off,” Roger spits, “like you’re any competition at all.”

“Hey, assholes,” you huff as you unlock your front door and roll your eyes at their behavior. “Usually, I’d be against you both using me to settle some stupid fucking pissing contest but it’s been a long day. So, Rog,” you hum as you turn to face him, “are you alright with this?”

“If it means showing this wanker why you keep coming back to me, then, yeah,” he nods as he drops his own cigarette to the ground and snuffs out the remaining flame with the toe of his shoe. “I’m alright with it.”

“Then get inside,” you huff as you open the door a little wider to allow them access. “My neighbors are nosy and they already hate the lot of us. Can’t wait to see what kind of noise complaints we get in the morning,” you call over your shoulder as you step further into the apartment.

Ashton closes and locks the door behind him. He pauses for a moment, takes in the comfort of your apartment, before he follows you and Roger into your bedroom. He’s about to ask how you’d prefer to start, what you want or don’t want, and maybe rile Roger up a bit more but the words die on the tip of his tongue as he enters your room to find you making out with Roger.

Your hands are in his hair, fingers tangled in the blonde strands, as his are on your waist. Your jacket has been tossed haphazardly onto the vanity, Roger’s on the floor beside the door, and Ashton rolls his eyes as he shrugs off his own coat and drops it onto the dresser. He wants to joke about the two of you not waiting for him, wants to make light of the situation, but the jealousy he feels burning in the pit of his stomach won’t allow him to do anything other than cross the room to join the two of you.

He hates seeing this, hates seeing you with Roger. He hates watching you tangle your fingers in his hair, hates hearing the sighs leave your mouth as Roger’s hands drift beneath the hem of your top. He hates feeling like this but he can’t help it. Knowing that you’ve slept with him and actually seeing you with him are two very different things and Ashton isn’t quite sure this is a good idea anymore as he watches Roger pull you closer.

But before he can fall too far into the pit of despair, Ashton tells himself that he has to prove himself. He has to prove that he’s better than Roger, has to prove that he can make you feel better than Roger can. He has to prove that he’s the one you should be spending your time with, not the blonde asshole currently shoving his tongue down your throat.

So Ashton moves to stand behind you, places his hands on your sides and begins pressing heated kisses to the exposed skin of your shoulders and the back of your neck as he brushes your hair aside. You release a sigh of pleasure against Roger’s lips as Ashton nips at your neck, his teeth scraping the heated flesh, and his hands drift down to your hips. It’s almost overwhelming, feeling the both of them pressed against you and doing their damnedest to make you feel good, but the night has only just begun.

That much is certain as you feel Roger’s hands cup your breasts through your bra and begin to knead.

Though they try hard not to focus on one another, try to block the other’s presence from their mind, they work well together. As Roger’s hands focus on your breasts, his hands rough and touch practiced, Ashton’s fingers brush the expanse of exposed skin just above the waistband of your skirt. His hands, much like Roger’s, are calloused from years of drumming and the roughness of his skin contrasts with the softness of his touch as his fingers brush along your stomach.

The moment Roger pulls away to breathe, he’s pulling your top up and over your head. The garment is tossed onto the floor with no regard for where it lands, as is your bra, before he leans in and begins to focus his attention on your exposed breasts. He leaves a trail of fire in his wake as he marks your neck, your chest, while his hands knead the exposed skin. Ashton, seizing the opportunity, cups your cheek and turns your head so that he can properly kiss you.

Ashton makes quick work of your skirt, his fingers unbuttoning the first few buttons before he begins tugging it down, and Roger helps him rid you of the fabric as one of your hands remains tangled in Ashton’s curls and the other grips Roger’s shoulder. They leave it pooled at your feet, not giving you time to step out of it, as one of Ashton’s hands slips between your legs.

“You’re already this wet for us?” he questions, the words muffled against your lips, as he feels your slick soaking your panties. “We haven’t even gotten started yet, doll.”

You can’t help but release a moan at his words, your imagination overwhelmed as you think about what the night has yet to bring, and you feel Roger laugh as he focuses his attention on your nipples. You want to quip back, point out the obvious hardness you feel pressing into your ass as he crowds close to you, but you can’t. The words die on the tip of your tongue as he nudges your panties to the side and allows his thumb to find your clit.

You feel Roger step away from you, his hands and mouth disappear from your body, and you reach out blindly for him, lips still locked with Ashton’s. You can hear his laughter as well as the sound of clothes hitting the ground before he’s back within your reach. “Calm down,” he breathes against the column of your throat as his hands find your hips, “I wouldn’t just leave you with this twat. Probably can’t even make you cum.”

“Piss off,” Ashton grumbles as he finally allows you to pull away and breathe. As if to prove a point, he moves his hand to slip a finger into your heat and smirks at Roger when your knees buckle. “I can make her cum just fine, thanks.”

Roger rolls his eyes but doesn’t give Ashton any more of his attention as he recaptures your lips in a searing kiss. His own hand slips between your legs as Ashton moves away to rid himself of his clothes and he swallows the moans you release as his thumb finds your clit. He focuses his attention on the bundle of nerves for a moment, his thumb rubbing tight circles, before he moves his hand to slip a finger into your entrance. He gives you a moment to adjust, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, before he adds a second finger and begins to curl the two in a ‘come hither’ motion as he searches for the small spot that he knows will make you see stars. 

He can feel your knees shaking as your nails dig into his shoulder and your free hand tangles in his hair. He smirks triumphantly against your lips, his ego inflating as you clench around him fingers, and wraps his arm around your waist to keep you upright as he works you open. He isn’t sure how this is going to work, if they’re going to take turns or if one is going to end up getting a blowjob but he’s successfully pulled from his thoughts as he feels Ashton pull you closer to him.

“What are you doing?” Roger asks Ashton, an annoyed look on his face as he watches him coat his fingers generously with lube. He’s still not thrilled with Ashton’s presence, not thrilled about the entire night, but he’s especially annoyed now that he’s interrupting.

“What does it fucking look like?” Ashton questions as he glances at Roger. “I can’t fuck her ass dry.” When Roger blinks, an eyebrow raised, Ashton rolls his eyes. “Can’t see who fucks her better if we don’t both fuck her, can we?”

This isn’t the way Roger thought the night would go, he hadn’t imagined they’d both be fucking you at the same time, but he’s not unhappy with the plan. He is, however, curious as to how many times this has happened, how many times you’ve let Ashton fuck your ass, and he can feel his own jealousy swirl in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about the two of you together.

He knows that neither of them have a right to be jealous of the other, they’re both just friends with benefits, but he can’t help himself as the jealousy spurs him on and he quickens the pace of his fingers as he stretches you open.

Ashton’s fingers are careful, almost gentle, as he works to prepare you. You’ve done this before, have experimented and enjoyed every moment of it, but he knows that it’s going to be different tonight. He knows that having both of them inside of you at the same time, filling you completely, is going to be different than anything you’ve felt before. He knows that it’s more important than ever that he prepare you, give you time to adjust, so he does his best to not interfere as Roger brings you to your first orgasm of the night.

Roger is smug, smirking and proud, as you moan his name. Ashton rolls his eyes at the blonde’s confidence but uses your relaxed state to his advantage as he works a second finger into your hole. Your nails are digging into Roger’s skin, crescent moons etching into his shoulder, as Ashton presses kisses to the column of your throat. Roger watches, curious, as your eyes remain shut and you lean your head back against Ashton’s shoulder.

His eyes rake over your form, your heaving chest and shaking legs, as you allow Ashton to open you up. Roger, not wanting to be left out, returns his hand to your clit and continues rubbing the bundle of nerves as his free hand finds his cock. He’s half tempted to just fuck you now, he’s impatient and doesn’t want to wait for Ashton, but before he can pull you against his chest, Ashton mumbles, “It’ll be easier on the bed.”

Roger wants to argue with him, wants to roll his eyes and tell him to fuck off, but he knows that he’s right. It will be easier on the bed, with less risk of you falling and taking one (or both) of them down with you. So he mumbles, “Let her go so we can move, then.”

Ashton rolls his eyes but thinks better of retorting with some witty comment that’ll only piss Roger off. He wants you to enjoy yourself, to lose yourself in the pleasure and he knows that with the two of them trading blows you’ll only be stressed and annoyed. So, he thinks better of it and waves Roger away. When Roger doesn’t move, you pull him in for a quick kiss before you nudge him forward. “Go, please,” you murmur against his lips. “The sooner you get on the bed, the sooner you’ll be inside me.”

Roger rolls his eyes at this but agrees for your sake. He steals one last kiss, a passionate display intended to spite Ashton, before he pulls away and settles on your bed. Ashton works you open for another moment before he removes his hand and places a stinging slap to your ass as he mumbles, “I’ll be right there,” into your ear.

You walk on shaking legs over to the bed and Roger helps you up. He smirks at you as you straddle his thighs and he wants to wait, wants to savor the moment, but he’d rather have you to himself for a few brief seconds so he wastes no time in dragging his cock through your folds, coating himself in your slick. One hand grips your hip and the other holds the base of his cock as he watches you sink down onto him. Your hands are on his chest, nails digging into his skin, as you moan at the stretch. He breathes a sigh of his own, happy to finally be inside of you, and moves his free hand to the back of your neck to bring you in for a kiss.

As you and Roger focus on the kiss, on setting a moderate pace and warming up, Ashton generously coats his cock with lube before he climbs onto the bed behind you. Ashton places his hands on your hips just above Roger’s, stilling you and causing Roger to groan in annoyance. Ashton has half a mind to tell him to shut up but he decides, instead, to keep his attention focused entirely on you. Roger can feel you clench around him, can feel your nails dig into his skin, as Ashton begins to sink into you. You feel overwhelmed in the best possible way, full and beyond happy, and both Roger and Ashton have to remain still for a moment as they revel in how snug you feel around them.

They start slow, each moving just enough for you to feel but not enough to hurt you as they settle into a rhythm. They work in tandem, never leaving you empty or even giving you a moment to think as they keep you full. You can feel them in your stomach, can feel nothing but pleasure coursing through your veins as they set a punishing pace. Roger’s fingers find your clit as Ashton’s hands cup your breasts. You’re not sure what to focus on, not sure if you can focus, as you moan out at the feeling. You don’t care that your neighbors are going to have a lot to say in the morning, don’t care that this might not be the best idea. All you care about is the intense pleasure coursing through your body as you barrel toward your second high of the night.

The feeling of you clenching around them, your body shaking and your nails digging into any exposed skin you can reach, has both men groaning as they continue chasing their own orgasms. You’re well and truly fucked, shaking with each aftershock of your orgasm, but that doesn’t hinder them at all. They’re each determined to make this the best night they can, each determined to have you seeing stars and screaming their name, and as they continue fucking into you, you do exactly as they wish.

Roger cums first, his orgasm hitting him as your third washes over you and makes you clench around him. His hands are surely leaving bruises in the shape of his fingers on your hips as he drags you down and keeps you still on his cock as he fills you. Ashton continues to fuck into you, chasing his own orgasm, and cums shortly after. He can feel you shaking between them, hears you whine as he pulls away from you, and he half expects to see Roger pulling away to grab his clothes and head home for the night but he’s surprised to see Roger cup your cheek and bring you in for a soft kiss. He’s surprised to see Roger be so gentle, so careful with you, and it isn’t jealous that hits him this time, it’s hurt.

You having meaningless sex with Roger is fine. Not ideal, granted, but fine. He can’t tell you who to be with or what to do with your life, not without sounding like a jealous asshole (which, he is, but he doesn’t want to sound like it), but seeing this tender moment? It makes him realize that maybe there’s more there than he originally thought. It makes Ashton realize that maybe you feel more for Roger than you’ve let on, that Roger feels more for you than he’s let on, and it hurts to know that he really could lose you.

Ashton can hear Roger mumbling to you, asking if you’re alright, but he can’t do anything other than watch. Usually he’s the one to be soft, to be gentle and ensure you’re alright after a rougher than usual session, but he’s frozen. All coherent thought leaves him as he watches the two of you interact and feels a heavy weight press down on his chest. He finds himself unable to speak as he climbs off of the bed and reaches for his clothes. Roger glances over, a quip about Ashton being a sore loser on the tip of his tongue, but it dies in his throat when he sees the look on Ashton’s face.

It’s a look of defeat, one that says he’s given up, and it makes Roger blink in surprise as Ashton shakes his head when you ask if he’s staying the night.

“I’m gonna head home,” he murmurs, not able to look at you as he pulls on his shirt. “We’ve got a gig tomorrow night so we’re gonna be rehearsing most of the day. I’ll see you later, though,” he assures you before he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “See ya, Roger,” he murmurs as an afterthought before he steals one last look at you on his way out of your apartment.

You stare at the door for a moment, confused as to why Ashton wouldn’t even meet your eyes, but before you can ask, Roger captures your attention. “Do you want to get something to eat? That chip shop up the road is still open,” he offers with a shrug as he reaches for his underwear.

You think that maybe you should go after Ashton, maybe you should see if he’s alright, but with Roger smiling at you and offering to stay for longer than usual, you let yourself believe his excuse. You don’t let yourself dwell on Ashton as you pull on your own clothes and lean into Roger’s side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and guides you out of the apartment and down the sidewalk to the chip shop.

And neither of you notice Ashton, who had almost made it back to your apartment with the thought in mind that he should confess his feelings, as he watches from across the street with a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as you laugh at something Roger says.

He waits until the two of our are out of view, a smile never leaving your face and signature smirk never leaving Roger’s, before he turns on his heel and begins his journey back to the bar. He thinks that Calum might still be there, he might sit with him as he drinks, but as he walks down the empty sidewalk, he isn’t so sure he wants the company.

The only company he wants to keep apparently doesn’t want to keep him, anymore.

Author’s Note: Honestly. This is probably more Roger than you wanted but, well. It’s my fic, so. Anyway, thanks to Kayla for being my hype man and encouraging me to write the threesome. And make it sad. I had fun with this. Also, have a gif of Ben as Roger.

[milkshake-at-pops]

Tour of the Heart: Chapter 8

chapter 7/masterpost/chapter 9

let us know if you want to be tagged!

As Hollywood-chic as the tour bus was, it only took a day or so for Archie to get sick of it. It was cramped, and besides, he wanted to see the rest of New York City. This was Ronnie’s hometown, not his, and their first concert was tomorrow. Also, he wanted to get to know Jughead.

The reporter seemed like an interesting guy— he’d mostly kept to himself — and Archie’s manager had told him, in no uncertain terms, that the publicity for this tour could make or break his career. On a more personal level, Archie wanted to know what was hiding underneath Jughead’s beanie and his quiet demeanor.

“Hey Veronica,” Archie said, to his friend who was sitting five feet away from him on the other top bunk. “Do you know any good bars around here?”

Veronica giggled a little, for no reason that Archie could see. “Hmm… who are you taking? I hope it’s me, because there’s no way I’m letting you go bar-hopping on your own.”

“Um, actually, I was thinking of taking the reporter. Jughead, I think.” Archie swung his legs over the side of his bunk, looking at Veronica, who was reading a book, glasses on. Despite her offer to go, she didn’t look in the mood. Books and clubbing don’t mix well, at least according to Ronnie. Archie had never actually gone out clubbing before, it’s not like Riverdale had much of a night scene in a town where everyone went to bed before ten o’clock.

Lowering her reading glasses to look over at him, Veronica let her book fall in her lap. “Jughead… well, that changes things! I actually went to high school with him, fun fact, so I think I can give you two a solid recommendation. He actually dated a friend of mine for a time— before he moved on to Kevin Keller. They were cute, high school sweethearts, but it didn’t last. I wish I’d stayed in touch with him to know how it ended, though. It was very Breakfast Club of them— the theatre kid and the recluse. I swear, the two of them fulfilled every single gay stereotype during high school. Which was breaking stereotypes in its own way, although I do think I did that a touch more than they did. Being a feminine and out bi girl was… something.”

Archie was already down from the bed, tugging his shoes on and picking out a shirt from his suitcase. “What was the bar’s name again?” he asked, completely tuning out Veronica’s ramble.

She sighed. “Metropolitan. It’s in Brooklyn, so you should call an uber. And, fortunately for you and Jughead, it’s pretty cheap.”

“Metropolitan. Sweet, let me just grab Jughead from the kitchen and then we can get going,” Archie said, giving Veronica the smile that, unbeknownst to him, had already enraptured Jughead Jones. “Thanks for the spot.”

He found Jughead in the kitchen, eating a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips. “Oh, hey Archie. Didn’t see you there,” Jughead said, quickly shoving his phone into his pocket the second he saw Arch. “Want some chips?”

“Um, no thanks, because I was kind of wondering,” Archie began, wondering why his words were sticking in his throat. “Do you want to go get a drink or two, and um, get to know each other? I mean, I can’t exactly have the star reporter, Jughead Jones, on my tour bus without getting to um, know him some more than just your excellent fashion sense.” Archie’s eyes moved from Jughead’s beanie to his black t-shirt to his equally black ripped jeans, not sure what to do now that he’d stopped talking.

It took a few seconds for Jughead to respond, his face flushing slightly as he responded. “Sure, I’d love to become more acquainted with the world-class musician that I’m touring with, especially since I’m just…” A Buzzfeed “reporter” who has never actually written an article for their news section before now. “... so excited for the rest of the tour. Let me get my um…” don’t say condom, don’t say condom “Jacket. Because it might be cold. Then I’ll join you in the uber.”

Jughead bolted out of the room and dove into his suitcase under his bed which, unfortunately, was underneath Arch’s bed because Cheryl had already claimed the one under Veronica’s. Trying and failing to not ponder the sheer embarrassment of having in-the-flesh Archie Andrews walk into the kitchen while he had Archie Andrews’ instagram page up on his phone, he grabbed his old leather jacket (with a snake on it, because Toni had bought it for him as a gag gift) and took a deep breath to steady himself before walking back into the kitchen.

Archie Andrews felt a little awkward with his hand in the bag of chips that Jughead had just been eating, but they were addictively good and he was still waiting for the uber. He took note of how the leather jacket Jughead wore fit him well, like the sort of thing Jughead had worn enough that it had just become a part of him. “The uber’s going to be here in a couple minutes, you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go. I wasn’t expecting this like, at all, but I mean, getting a drink barely requires a lot of preparation. Unless you’re Cheryl, in which case it’s usually an hour of raiding her closet for the best outfit and four selfies before we even reach the bar,” Jughead said, secretly very glad that his friendship with Cheryl meant that he knew rich people took ubers to clubs, not the bus. Or just walking, honestly. Just because Jughead had never actually been to a bar unless Cheryl dragged him didn’t mean that he didn’t know exactly how he’d do it without her.

“Sounds a lot like Veronica, but add the fourteen calls to the manager of the club so that she can get free drinks,” Archie said, laughing a little. His phone dinged in his pocket. “Oh, our uber’s here.”

They got in the uber, and instead of the awkwardly silent drive that Jughead had expected from someone who was as undoubtedly cool as Arch Andrews, the singer talked his ear off. From exploits with Veronica to ridiculous high school stories in Chicago, Arch had no problem sharing his life with someone that he barely knew.

And Jughead found himself, the guy who barely bothered saying more than four words to anyone unless it was via email, talking just as much. He told Archie about all the shit Cheryl had dragged him into, including when she’d demanded that he, as her best friend, find her a girlfriend, and, since it was four AM on a Friday night, Jughead prank called Toni.

“Wait, they actually got together?” Archie said, shaking his head.

“Cheryl and Toni, or fucking Choni, as Cheryl insisted on calling them, went strong all throughout our sophomore, junior, and senior year of college. I don’t know why I decided to play drunk Cupid in that moment, but I don’t regret it,” Jughead said, smiling at Archie’s attentiveness. Their uber pulled up next to the club, and Archie held the door open like a gentleman for Jughead, who wished that his beanie could become a ski mask so that his blush wouldn’t be so obvious. He could only imagine how much he looked like the cousin of a tomato.

They walked inside, and ordered drinks. Jughead took one look at the vibrantly colored menu full of words he couldn’t pronounce, and said “I’ll have what he’s having.” The bartender shot him a wink as he slid their drinks across the bar. Noting that the bartender was shirtless, Jughead took a sip of his not-half-bad cocktail and focused his attention back to Archie.

“So, Toni Topaz. How do you know her? She’s a Youtuber, and um, that doesn’t exactly seem like your crowd,” Archie said, once again taking in Jughead’s “It’s not a phase, mom” outfit.

“It’s not, really. Actually, we were friends way back in high school, she’s a part of my silly friend group. She actually gave me this jacket, by the way,” Jughead said, spinning around in the bar stool to show the back of it. “Which has a snake on it, because our groupchat name throughout all of high school was the Serpents.”

“No way, that’s so cool. Why the Serpents? Snakes are kind of gross,” Archie said, taking a drink from his glass.

“Like all good stories, this one begins with a Taylor Swift song,” Jughead said, feeling a wave of nostalgia as he remembered how it happened. “Okay, so there’s this guy in our group, goes by Fangs. He, for reasons I will never understand, was obsessed with Taylor Swift. Now, I don’t think she’s half bad, but this was next level. Anyways, you know that one video with all the snakes?”

“Yeah, I know it. Where is this going?” Archie said, resting his elbows on the bar and leaning closer to Jughead. “I’m captivated, you’re a really good storyteller. I can see why you’re a reporter.”

Jughead laughed, because this was an absolute gem of a story. “So, approximately five seconds after the video drops, Fangs decides to change the chat name to ‘Snake Bros’ with like, five snake emojis. Anyways, we were all immediately like, ‘No. Dude, don’t drag me into this. We support you, but for god’s sake the groupchat title can’t be about snakes.’ To which Toni, wise-ass as always, responds with ‘we should make it Snakes On A Plane.’”

That got a laugh out of Archie, and Jughead couldn’t remember enjoying a sound more. “But Fangs is insistent that we need to have a ‘squad,’ because he watched the video again while we were all going ‘Fangs dude, what the fuck.’ And he keeps saying that if we won’t be Swifties with him, that we at least need something that relates to his interests as a groupchat title. So obviously, no more titles with B emojis. Which is a tragedy of epic proportions, but that’s besides the point. Sweet Pea, who wasn’t Fangs’ boyfriend yet, but was getting there, suggested ‘Serpents’ because it sounded badass.”

“Okay, that’s good. And, let me guess, it stuck?”

“No, absolutely not. Betty had a freak out about how much she just hates snakes, Toni changed it to ‘Big Chungus’ at least eight times, I think I turned it into ‘Sad Emo Squad’ before Fangs changed it to fifteen more snake emojis. At a certain point, I believe that Fangs and Joaquin had a shouting match,” Jughead said, taking another drink and wondering if he could get lost in Archie’s deep brown eyes.

“That’s awful. Wait, how did you end up becoming the Serpents, then?” Archie asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Me and Toni bought Fangs a stuffed snake to try and keep the peace, and quietly asked him if we could just call it ‘Serpents,’ if that would be okay with him. Fortunately for everyone’s collective sanity, he said yes.”

Archie smiled and laughed, returning Jughead’s tale with a yarn of his own. It was almost midnight before Veronica texted them to remind them that yes, they had a show tomorrow. As they slouched against each other on the ride back, Archie and Jughead wondered how people could go from being complete strangers, from pixels on a screen to someone captivating in every way.

[meltingalphabet]

What’s So Scary About Halloween? Age 13

At age 13, I played with a Ouija board.

By then, all memories of my childhood Halloweens had been buried deep within my mind. Puberty hit me like a ton of bricks and I went from being a perfect little angel who always said please and thank you to a wannabe bad girl. The fairies had taken my eye only five years previously and yet, at that age, 8 seemed a lifetime ago. Whenever people asked about my glass eye, I’d tell them the truth. I’d tell them what I thought was the truth. What the doctor with the deep warm voice filled with knowledge told me.

“I slept walked into the woods one night as a kid and scratched my cornea on a twig or something. It got really infected so they had to remove it.”

“That is sick!” Carolyn said, her eye only an inch from mine as she examined it. She sat back down onto the rubber surface of the trampoline, her face lit up with morbid curiosity.

We had met only a few week previously during orientation at Williams Cove Middle School but we had an instant connection. I had thought she could be my best friend. I guess, on some level, I thought she already was.

Jackie sat beside us, shaking her head. “That’s fucked up, man.” She said, sucking on a cigarette before passing it to me. Carolyn reached into the back pocket of her black bondage pants and pulled out the rest of the pack that she had stolen from her dad.

The three of us were a pack of misfits. While my preteen rebellion involved listening to the Dead Kennedys and trying to convince my mom to buy me a leather jacket, Carolyn went a different route. By Halloween of eighth grade, Carolyn’s goth phase was at its peak: white foundation, corsets, ripped fishnets, and jet black hair. She even began to make everyone refer to her as Lilith. And like her family and other friends, I indulged her. Decked out in latex gloves, I spent a Saturday afternoon helping her dye her natural auburn curls. Her mother was pissed with us, but that was part of the fun. I went with her when she got her tongue pierced and ended up getting my nose done as well. Despite my more punk inclinations, it was fun discovering Black Sabbath and Marilyn Manson with her.

Jackie on the other hand was way cooler than either of us. She didn’t dress up to piss her parents off and she didn’t spout delusional preachings of preteen rebellion. Her life focus was to become an artist and that was who she was, through and through. She didn’t waste time at the mall or Hot Topic. She wore loose ripped jeans and baggy sweaters she mostly got from Goodwill, and her long blonde hair was always tied back into a loose messy bun. She smoked cigarettes with us and shoot the shit, but most of her free time was spent in the art wing of the high school working on projects. Everyone knew fancy art colleges from all over the country were already looking at her, keeping tabs on her artistic genius.

Carolyn - at the time, Lilith - and I were desperate for her attention. We shared an unspoken disbelief and excitement that someone so cool, so adult, would want to spend time with us.

“You guys should come over tonight for a Halloween sleepover! We’ll play games and watch movies! I’ll order pizza and we can steal some of my dad’s vodka!” Carolyn said, her face bright with excitement.

A small pit at the bottom of my stomach made me pause.

“I dunno, Lilith.” I said, “it’s a school night.”

“Ah, come on! It’ll be so fun! And it won’t kill you to stay out one night!”

The pit, now more of a voice or feeling, tried to pull me away from the warmth of acceptance and validation. Don’t do it. The feeling said, tendrils of fear slowly crawling up my sides like snakes.

Jackie giggled and I looked at her. She was smiling at Carolyn, that huge, warm smile of hers where the corner of her mouth rose just a little higher than the other one. Her blue eyes crinkled with the gesture.

“That sounds awesome, I’m down.” She looked at me as she tilted her head to the right and away. It was a look she gave me sometimes. Mostly when asking a question but sometimes just when she was looking at me. Like she was examining me but was too close, like she had to adjust her head so she could focus better. “You sure you don’t want to?” She asked, the crinkles in her eyes fading slightly.

The pit in my stomach fell away into oblivion, immediately forgotten, and I smiled at her. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

That night, the three of us sat on the floor of Carolyn’s room. My head was thick with vodka and cigarettes and my skin buzzed. I was browsing through Carolyn’s DVD collection, trying to find something to watch, when she stopped me, clapping her hands in excitement at a sudden epiphany.

“Oh my God, you know what we should do?” She asked. I looked to Jackie who was watching Carolyn with a small smile on her lips. Without waiting for a response, Carolyn jumped up from the floor and walked to her bookcase. “We should perform a seance!” She turned back to us, presenting a cheap mass-produced Ouija set.

I rolled my eyes and Jackie snorted in laughter.

“I’m serious!” Carolyn said. “We should do at least something scary! It is Halloween afterall.”

I looked at the clock. “Only for another twenty minutes.”

“Even more reason to do it now!” Carolyn fell to the floor, taking the lid off the box.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jackie asked hesitantly.

“Not really.” Carolyn admitted. “I mean, I tried to once but I was alone. I think it only works if you have a coven.”

I raised an eyebrow to Jackie who shrugged.

Carolyn placed the planchette onto the cardboard game as she sat back, her legs crossed in front of her. She sat there, back straight, and waited. After a few seconds of nothing, she cleared her throat, throwing us both pointed looks.

“Fine.” I sighed as I placed my fingertips on one edge of the plastic triangle. “But never call us a coven again.”

Jackie’s fingers joined ours, her hand brushing softly against mine. My heart beat sped up with excitement. We looked to Carolyn who smiled maliciously at us as she closed her eyes and began to speak. Her voice was unnecessarily deep, like she was trying to impersonate Boris Karloff.

“Oh spirits, we call upon you tonight on All Hallow’s Eve. Come to us. Speak your truths through us and share your knowledge.” Carolyn began to sway slightly, her shoulders rocking back and forth. Jackie sighed beside me and I bite my tongue to stifle a giggle. Carolyn didn’t notice.

Slowly, the planchette began to move under our fingers. Jackie jumped before snickering quietly as she looked at me to roll her eyes at her own reaction. Carolyn, her eyes still closed, pushed the planchette forward. It hovered over the letter H before sliding to the letter I, where it stayed.

“Really, Carolyn?” I asked in frustration. “Hi?”

Carolyn’s eyes popped open. “It’s Lilith!” She scolded, her brow tight with anger. “And I didn’t do that! It was the spirit of the house! I had my eyes closed.” She added, pointing to herself as if that alibi was airtight.

“Alright,” I sighed, “Hi, Mr. Ghost.” Despite the sarcasm, Carolyn closed her eyes again and continued.

“I can sense the spirit. It is not a man, but a woman. She wishes to speak more. Please, tell us your story oh great spirit!”

Subtle vibrations began to rise from the plastic beneath my fingertips, as if the planchette was pulsing. I opened my mouth in confusion and looked to Jackie, who was watching the planchette wide eyed. I looked back at Carolyn, trying to figure out how should was doing it.

The planchette moved again, hovering this time over D. Carolyn’s eyes were still closed, so I took it upon myself to read the letter out loud. It moved to the E and this time Jackie joined me. Together, we chanted the letters into the air.

A-T-H.

“Death.” Jackie finished.

“Appropriate.” I said.

Carolyn began to sway again, this time humming loudly as if she was meditating. She spoke again, her voice booming forward into the now chilled air of the room. “Oh great spirit, we implore you. Tell us how you died!?!” Her words sounded scripted. Forced, as if she were reading Shakespeare on a stage.

The planchette moved and Jackie and I read the letters aloud.

K-I-L-L

“Who killed you?” Carolyn cried.

T-A-Y-L-O-R

“What the fuck!?” Jackie yelled, her hands flying from the planchette as she shot back away from the Ouija board.

“Carolyn, stop it!” I scolded as I sat up and crossed my arms. “That’s so not funny!”

Carolyn didn’t acknowledge us, her eyes remaining shut as a continuous moan spilled forth from her lips. The planchette moved again.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

“Stop it!” I cried.

But the planchette didn’t stop. It kept moving furiously over the same letters. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Carolyn opened her mouth wide and began to chant along with the words spelt on the board.

“Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor.” Her voice grew louder and louder. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” She was screaming now. I crawled away from her, towards Jackie who reached out and pulled me towards her. I clung to her tightly, silent prayers forming incoherently in my mind. Her parents would hear her. They’d come find us. They’d be here at any moment. They’d save us. They’d save me. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” Jackie and I held each other as Carolyn continued to chant.

“Fucking stop it!” Jackie screamed as she lunged out of my grasp towards Carolyn. She landed on her, pinning her quickly to the ground. Jackie shook her by the shoulders as the other girl kept screaming.

“Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

“Jackie!” I yelled, my voice strained with fear. She whipped around to face me, her hands and knees still pinning the screaming, squirming form of my best friend. My arm shook as I pointed towards the Ouija board.

The planchette hadn’t stopped.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

Jackie turned back to Carolyn. “Stop it! Stop Carolyn! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

The noise of the planchette scraping across cardboard filled my ears. It was too loud, as if it were right beside my head. My body buzzed as I watched the blur. Each movement echoed in my mind and the buzzing grew and grew. Like molecules in boiling water my skin buzzed so fast that heat began to spread across it. I started screaming, tears flowing down my cheeks in pain and fear.

There was a snap and Jackie screamed. Her body flew back across the room, smacking against the bookcase with a painful thud. I looked at Carolyn who had sat up and was now staring at me, her wide eyes glowing blood red, her pupils no longer visible. She bared her teeth at me and seethed. Her chest rising and falling as her breath cut in and out with a sharp hissing noise. Drool formed at the corners of her mouth and flew forward with each sharp exhale. Her gaze held a hatred that I had never seen before.

She continued to chant. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

Before I could react, she lunged forward. Her hands wrapped around my throat and she squeezed. I flailed my arms, punching and slapping her, desperately trying to get her off of me. I tried to kick but she was straddling me, her weight on my thighs. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breath. I thrust my arm at her face and scratched her. My nails dug deep into her flesh as I scratched again and again. Red lines formed across her cheeks, her blood making the skin slippery beneath my fingertips, but her grip around my neck held fast.

My body screamed for air. My lungs throbbed and my mouth gaped as instinct tried to save me. Flashes of a tub full of water shot through my mind with an electric sting. Things in the water bobbed and spun around me as I tried to escape. A sweet juice crackled on the tip of my tongue and I tried to scream but instead came back to the present. Blood was rushing to my head, which felt unnaturally heavy.

Carolyn’s face fell to mine, a red eye filling my vision. Warm spit hit my skin as she breathed ragged breaths above me, the warmth of her breath smelling like blood, death, and decay.

And then, she screamed. Her terrible chants replaced with a pained screamed that hit my face with heated anger. I inhaled sharply as her grasp loosened. She began to slide away, that red eye blissfully leaving my vision.

White flashed behind her as the planchette flew from the board, hitting the far wall with a loud plastic crack. I swallowed air desperately, my lungs expanding painfully with each breath. Carolyn fell forward onto the carpet like a rag doll, revealing Jackie standing behind her holding a thick black candlestick. The dried purple wax was still visible from where the candle had recently been.

Jackie fell to the ground beside our unconscious friend and wept.

The three of us stood in the living room as Jackie and I waited for our parents to pick us up. Carolyn held a towel to the back of her head, the fabric now damp and stained with blood. Her parents were in the other room putting on their boots and jackets, preparing to take Carolyn to the hospital. The bleeding had stopped but she needed to get checked out. The 9-1-1 receiver had warned that she may have a concussion.

“I remember everything turning red and all I felt was hatred. It was like in a dream. I felt the emotions so real, so tangible. But they weren’t really mine. It was like…..” She hesitated. “It was like I was possessed.”

Jackie, face wet with tears, shook her head violently. “Fuck you.” She spat, her voice quaking.

“I’m so sorry.” Carolyn said as she reached out towards her, but Jackie flinched away from her touch.

Jackie wasn’t at school the next few days. We didn’t see her for another week and when she did finally come back, she avoided Carolyn and I, outright ignoring us if we tried to talk to her.

Of course, everyone asked us what happened. Parents, doctors, friends, the guidance counselor. But none of us could answer. We couldn’t explain why I had bruises around my neck or what had happened to Carolyn’s head. The truth was too fantastical and we were too traumatized to think of something more believable to say. They continued to ask for weeks and months later but, to my knowledge, the three of us never told anyone what we experienced that Halloween night.

I immediately cleaned up my act. I started focusing more on school and less on a social life. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since and didn’t drink another drop of alcohol till college. Instead of going to parties, I began enjoying the quiet and comfort of church. And I never spent the night at a friend’s house again.

While my parents were, and still are, indifferent to religion, that night made me believe. I believed in the supernatural. Believed in good versus evil, heaven and hell. In the power of prayer and magic. But I gave all the credit of what happened to the Ouija board. To the devil.

Carolyn and I never hung out again after that night. I became too busy with school and church and she became too busy with drugs and parties. We drifted apart pretty quickly. Church helped make me feel safe again and through it I was able to recover from my past trauma and move on. In high school, I found a healthy balance between teenage fun and respect for the forces of our world that I didn’t understand. I was able to make new friends and to even start dating, all while under the protection of Christianity. The protection of God and Jesus Christ.

When my high school boyfriend wanted to watch scary movies, I didn’t want to. Not because I thought it contradicted my religious lifestyle. I knew I could still be a good Christian and watch horror movies. Just like I could still be a good Christian and date. Life, as my pastor always said, was about balancing. Be good and keep God in the forefront of your mind and you will be kept safe.

I didn’t want to watch scary movies because of that little pit in my stomach. Those little tendrils of fear that climb up my skin. That little voice that warns me.

Don’t do it.

But movies can’t hurt you. Not like demons can.

At age 16, I watched Child’s Play. And just like the other years, Halloween used fear and mischief to attack me. Like a trickster god, it used its powers to warp and twist reality for the pure pleasure of torturing me. That was the night it all started to make sense. The night all the pieces fell into place. With sickening horror, I realized that Halloween hated me. That Halloween wanted to make me suffer, and still does. This one night a year, this holiday, has created unseen laws of order. Laws it put in place when I was only a child. Laws that it used as reason to punish me when I unknowingly broke them. It took sixteen years, but I finally learned to respect those laws.

Unfortunately, my story doesn’t end there. By college, I thought I understood the rules. I thought I knew the laws instilled upon me. And in a moment of desperation, I thought I knew how to play the system.

But I was very, very wrong.

[hamil-tonn-of-trash]

Hamfam Snow Adventures

Prompt: One November morning, it snows for the first time the hamfam is united in New York. Two weeks later, we initially decided to go sledding in the mountains.

Words: 2247

Warnings: Cursing, sarcastic humor, your dirty mind.

Notes: Now I’m not the best writer in the world and I cannot write endings for the life of me but I love you all so much and I want to express that. Also if I am unsure of your pronouns I just wrote “they/them if you want your pronouns changed let me know so I can edit the story. Also I skimmed over this and didn’t heavily proofread this so there may be errors. Also I hope this isn’t too much about me because I’m trying to avoid that. The portrayal may be a little inaccurate but I tried my best.

More important notes: If I didn’t mention you personally, it just means that I haven’t taken the time to get to know you. All of you are amazing, special snowflakes!! This is based off of the fic that Ams @sasstran wrote, make sure to check it out for a better idea of what’s going on! It’s worth it, they’re an amazing writer.

Tags: @its-the-hamfam @thatuglydino @5secondsofhamilton @sasstran @secretschuylersister @musicalmiranda @psychedemigod @building-palaces-from-paragraphs @starfreckledlaurens @casual-hamiltrash @hamiltrashtothemax @piercethemarti @matt10nt I probably forgot a whole bunch of people sorry!

When I first moved to New York, my mind was blown by the immensely rich culture, the glitzy, flashy lights of Broadway, the accents and the most exciting: the snow.

The first time it snowed when we moved here was two weeks ago. I am usually a heavy sleeper but the honks and whooshes of the taxis, the constant echoes of people taking outside and the unfamiliarity of the place wakes me up every night around three A.M. I figured that trying to coax myself back to sleep wasn’t going to work so I sat up and stared out the window into the city that never seemed to sleep. Something had changed around me, something was not the same. (You catch the Wicked reference? Sorry not sorry)

The drizzling of soft flakes floated down from the heavens and I bolted out of bed. Ecstatic to go scream to my best friends about the snow. I busted open the door to Poppy’s bedroom, sprinted over to her and shook her until she woke up. “POPPY HOLY SHIT IT’S SNOWING OUTSIDE!!’” (I whispered this urgently, I’m not THAT insane) Poppy blinked in confusion and replied: “Brandy, it’s three in the morning and you almost dislocated my left arm to wake me up only to tell me that’s IT’S SNOWING?!!!!”

“Uhhhhhh yeah I mean it’s exciting I guess?” I answered blankly.

A grin crossed Poppy’s face and she chuckled “WELL THIS IS A FUCKING MILESTONE I’LL GET MY CAMERA AND WE’LL TAKE PICTURES OKAY?”

“Okay.”

After getting dressed we decided to not wake anybody else up because last time we woke the entire group up to announce that we were going mini-golfing, Gee practically killed us. Quietly giggling we attempted to tiptoe out of the apartment complex. Yet, another soul was awake in those blissful, shadowy hours. Taylor emerged from her apartment with her arms crossed with a smirk.

“Are you guys trying to sneak out?” She inquired.

“No, it’s just snowing outside and we want pictures labeled: ‘First Snow’.” Poppy explained and Taylor nodded and went back into her apartment. An awkward moment of silence filled the empty hallway. Momentarily, Taylor and Rebekah reappeared dressed in their winter gear and we finally stepped outside into the crisp, frigid air adorned by snowflakes swirling around like ballerinas on a stage.

Rebekah and Taylor sat on the entrance steps and hugged while Poppy started snapping pictures and I simply stared at it in awe. I stuck out my tongue to taste the flavorless, icy flecks until Poppy shook me out of it.

“Earth to Brandy? Time for a group photo!” I sat down next to Rebekah and Taylor and Poppy asked a stranger to take it for us. I’m pretty sure Poppy gave the guy an extensive tutorial on how to take a fucking photo because when he was about to take the picture he said:

“Say ‘Hamfam’!”

We thanked the man and sent him on his way and we chilled on the doorsteps to an apartment where the rest of our family slept until we got sleepy and fell back asleep.

——————————-

November 26, 2021 9:26 AM

That moment was captured and taped into our scrap book to be kept forever but now we were all going to go for a day trip up in the mountains to go sledding. Well at least almost all of us, the rest had work or school related stuff going on so they couldn’t come with us. It took us months to find a date that would accommodate to all of our work schedules but it’s hard when you have fifty people. We all loaded up into three separate cars (with some people sitting on other’s laps) and got comfy for the long drive.

Maaike, Dorian, Gianna, Julia and I all piled into Gianna’s little blue car. Ams, Sage, Hunter, Taylor, Rebekah, Cass, Psy, and Shy crowded into Taylor’s comfy, shiny SUV. Gee, Marti, Poppy, Lea, Ari and Zoe took a cheap Chevy convertible that we all chipped in to buy as a community car. Mainly because we were blacklisted from cab services for asking all the cab drivers to play musical’s.

The second Gianna started the car “Alexander Hamilton” stared playing. Gianna was bobbing her head to the beat while the rest of us were going insane and banging our head manically as we drove through the heavy New York traffic. Once “Farmer Refuted” came on Maaike and I thought that Gianna was having a stroke or something because she almost hit a stop sign and almost got into an accident with a taxi. “GIANNA!” Julia screamed into her face as Gianna suddenly snapped back into reality. “Oh sorry guys, I was thinking about Thayne’s butt.” I leaned over to Dorian and whispered: “She hasn’t changed one bit since 2017.” Dorian nodded in agreement and laughed a little.

“BRANDY! SCOOCH YOUR FUCKING ASS OVER I HAVE NO ROOM.” Maaike screeched and the rest was cursing in Dutch. It should be noted that we go ballistic and playfully attack at each other but we never actually fight. I moved and Julia whipped out her Milky Way.

Gianna’s eyes widened and she reached for it and joked. “YOU KNOW WHO LOVED MILKY WAYS? BenNAY WOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“You aren’t getting any from me.” Julia smirked and devoured the entire bar in front of Gianna’s face. “Also, you’re not paying attention to the road Gianna.”

“Oops.” ——————————–

12:43 PM

After a very long two hours of driving and watching the scenery change we reached our destination. A winter wonderland perfect for a group of angsty long-term Hamilton fans who came from Hawaii to Austria. When I opened the car door, a blast of freezing winds pierced my skin and I already started to crave the warmth of the desert sun.

But the warmth of spending time with my family felt warmer than a fire.

Gee looked exhausted from the drive but there was still a spark of excitement under that. Psy and Shy loaded out the sleds from the trunk and we started to search for a nice hill without too many pointy sticks that would impale one of us. Sage and Hunter sang the lyrics to “A Winter’s Ball” and Cass snapped that it wasn’t even winter yet which caused Sage to chuck a small stick at Cass but ended up missing by about two feet. “A Winter’s Ball’ turned into singing holiday carols in like five different languages.

Eventually, we found a damn hill and we all voted that Ari and Zoe got to go first for actually cleaning up their apartments (including their roommate’s spaces). They both mounted the sled and out of the blue, Hunter forcefully pushed them down the hill at full speed. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Zoe exclaimed as the sled almost slapped a nearby tree. The wind whipped their faces as we all gasped in shock. The sled slowed down and they shot us synchronized glares but then they laughed and gestured for another group to ride down.

I have no clue if letting three sleds go down at once is safe but it happened. Marti and Dorian collided and they rolled down and high-dived and Ams was the ultimate sled GOD. They’re taking this sled by the reigns making the hamfam envy them insane-ly!!! With amazing steer and a calm conscious, Ams beat all of us in the first round. I wish I could tell you what was happening in their brain!

It was Shy and I’s turn now and to be honest, I was pretty nervous because the last time I went sledding I had a breakdown…yeah long story. Shy waved me over to join them and then merrily we roll along a huge ass hill. A rush of adrenaline kicked in and I think it was the same for Shy because I felt them perk up a little. The sled raked against the thin layer of snow as we both felt the friction of the snow and the raft building up until suddenly it turned over and I felt myself tumble in the frozen abyss (headfirst into the abyss). I don’t think either of us were Elsa because one, we are not magically immune to the cold, and two, we are both from not-so-cold places. The cold bothers everyone except for Ams because Ams is magical (well yeah and they’re from Finland). I dug my way out and I looked up to see my friends gasping and still laughing from the epic sled fail.

“Are you two alright?” Zoe said, shocked.

“IT’S COLD!!!!!!!!!!!!” I whined and shakily stood up. Where Shy had already got up.

“Okay, sledding isn’t too safe because Marti has a bruise on her forehead and that sled is in pieces…Anybody have ideas for something a little safer?” Rebekah asked. A smirk appeared on Gianna’s face and her eyebrows were raised. This couldn’t be good, I knew that look. Gianna had an idea. “SNOWBALL FIGHT!!!!!!”

Within only a few moments, the entire situation was in turmoil. Everybody was violently chucking humongous snowballs at each other. Cass hit three people in one shot by throwing multiple snowballs at once. Poppy was aimlessly propelling lumps of snow that mostly hit trees. I think Dorian, Taylor and Lea teamed up and approached a small group of people who were huddled up in fear and completely wrecked them. Gianna somehow climbed a tree and was forcefully flinging white balls of mush at everyone’s head. I watched as Rebekah tripped over a stick and Ams ambushed her by lightly putting the snowball on top of her head and they both laughed and hugged. As I was trying to escape the chaos I found Ari behind a tree catching up on another TV show on her phone.

“Move over dumbass.” I laughed as Ari rose an eyebrow at me and I felt a cold sensation splatter across my face and I realized that I had fallen for one of Ari’s tricks. I cracked up and I might’ve cried, I don’t know. “That HURT!” I stuttered as I barley held in my laughter. “Your fault…dumbass.” Ari responds with a quick “that was so satisfying” under her breath.

“HE WILL NEVER BE SATISFIED, SATISFIED, SATISFIEEEEEEEDD!” Hunter bellowed.

“NON-STOP.” Maaike yelled.

A couple seconds later the entire group was surrounding us and singing non-stop harmonies.

“I love you guys.” I cried with tears of happiness (and pain from that damn snowball) rushing down my face. It got all corny with agreements and cuddles until Julia piped up:

“I’m hungry, is there food nearby?”

“YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE WITH FOOD!!” Gianna raged in fake anger.

“So??” Julia protested.

“CHILDREN CALM DOWN!” Marti intervened. “It’s been decided by the rest of us silently that we will go down to the lodge and eat food!” We nodded and loaded up the cars and drove a little further down the mountain to a lodge with a heater (thank god) and home cooked meals. We practically took up half the restaurant and we all got hot drinks and ate comfort foods. Some people got fried chicken, hamburgers, baked potatoes and macoroni and cheese. We feasted and it took about twenty minutes to split the check and the waiter got super impatient with us because two glasses were spilled and we treaded snow into the restaurant but we didn’t really care either way. While everyone was having a blast I couldn’t help but watch the snow flutter against the windows with a beauty I was unfamiliar with.

The drive back was full of Gianna’s short attention span, show tunes, and screwing around with friends (you fucking perv not that way!). It was around 10:30 when we got back and after relaxing and unwinding there was a problem. Nobody else was there. It was like Roanoke because there was zero traces of where the rest of them went. They shouldn’t have work this late and even if a couple did overtime it wouldn’t be EVERYONE. Psy called all of us over from the unsuccessful search party and showed us a note somebody had wrote.

“Since you decided to have your own fun time, so did we. We’ll be back eventually ;))))”

“Oh shit.” We all sighed in unison.

——————————– A check in on the rest of the fam 11:01/ 23:01 PM

There was a local bar called “The Spin” where approximately thirty Hamilton nerds were hanging out for the night. Some of them drank plain old beer, some drank cocktails and the underage ones drank soft drinks (how the fuck did they get in?). Jo raised a small glass for a toast and said: “YOYOYOYOOOOO IT’S BEEN A-MA-ZIIINNNNG TONIGHT!!”

Reiley continued the toast by saying: “WE TROLLED THEM OUT OF THEIR MINDS!!”

“YUP!” Shannon said as they played footsie with Rosey and Grace under the table.

“LET’S GET EVEN MORE FUCKING DRUNK OR SUGAR HIGH FAM!!!” Vanna screamed and eventually the bar owners left while this group of drunk nerds happily sang show tunes and decided to come back in the morning when they’re gone.

One of the owners left the door open and snowflakes crept into the bar. For just a moment, within everybody’s hearts from the steps of an apartment complex to a flashy bar miles away, there was a feeling, a knowing of interconnectedness between every single one of them.

[burlybanner]

Do Bruce and the boys ever volunteer at animal shelters? Because I could easily picture all the cute shelter cats kneeding on Bruce while getting pet.

Occasionally they do - mostly for photo ops and telling people to consider shelter pets over animal breeders). Bruce heads that up, because he has the biggest heart for animals and he still remembers the dog he had when he was on the run, so mamy years ago. He helped Tony and Steve get involved with the national campaigns (their faces were more recognizable, after all), while he personally went to New York shelters when they had a need.

((Note: I know next to nothing about NYC shelters, or what vets can/can’t do, or how this would actually all work…but hey, it’s MCU verse! Anything can happen!))

**

“Hoh-m’Gawd–”

Bruce chuckled and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. He could still feel her body quaking beneath his thumbs. “I brought some friends with me, Darlene, if that’s all right.”

Darlene shook in her Chucks, seeing two of her heroes, Iron Man and Captain America in the flesh, and before Tony made a quip to make the poor person even more uncomfortable, Steve nodded at her gently. “Bruce told us of the great work you’ve been doing, Dr. Kennedy, and he told us you might need a little extra help getting the word out?”

Her jaw was still not moving, though, and her expression was wide enough to drive a truck through. 

“I think we broke her,” Tony finally said. He snapped his fingers once. “Earth to Darlene?”

“Tony,” Bruce sighed. But he couldn’t hide the slight smile from his lips. It was almost payback - Darlene Kennedy had been one of his sophomore students years ago, before the…Hulk. He’d been her TA for one of the microbiology classes, and she’d been a bit of a livewire. Prone to needling him incessantly during his lectures, questioning him at every turn…true, it was that type of curiosity that allowed her to succeed with high marks in her veterinary program, but at the time she’d tested his temper (which, to be honest, was still bad, even pre-Hulk).

But he disappeared from campus before she’d actually graduated from college (aka, the infamous “birth” of the Hulk, which caused so much grief), but he always sort of wondered what had happened to her, in the back of his mind. And when he discovered she was the veterinarian running of one of his favorite charities, he didn’t hesitate to call her. She was thrilled; of course she remembered him. And they fell into an easy banter once he began occasionally volunteering with her, as if he were still her instructor and she his student. That he was even an Avenger at all didn’t cross her mind - until now, Bruce thought slyly. 

“Darlene, it’s probably more polite if you stop staring,” He told her, chuckling.

“Huh? Oh, oh, sorry.” She shook herself, and rubbed her sweaty hands on her lab coat in order to shake Tony and Steve’s hands. “I’m so sorry. I…I’m not usually like this.”

“Nah, we’re used to it,” Tony said. “But Bruce said you were doing a photoshoot for the clinic, right? We’re here to help out.”

She smirked at Bruce. “And you lied to me. You told me only you were free.”

“To be fair,” Bruce said, matching her smile, “I wasn’t sure what their schedules would be like, but I was fairly sure. Besides, I wanted to see the look of shock on your face.”

“Well. You definitely got me good.” She made a face and softly punched Bruce’s thick arm. “This is good. The calendars should sell out in a hurry with Iron Man and Cap, and the Hulk. We might even go for second or third printings!”

“Anything to help the shelter,” Bruce said, and Tony and Steve nodded in agreement.

**

Dr. Kennedy was rather unusual, Steve discovered. And it wasn’t because her foot attire was almost identical to shoes he might’ve worn in his youth (Chuck Taylor All-Stars were still around, if that didn’t beat all). But she was a fairly young African-American running a vet clinic for some of the poorer areas near the Bronx. She actually ran two clinics, one in a wealthier area - where Bruce currently took Lily - and this one.  

Tony glanced around the place; it wasn’t much, but it was clean and had enough working room. “So tell me a little about your organization, Doc?”

Darlene moved a few dog cages around to set up their staging area. Behind them a few other animals barked, meowed and whined from a plexiglas play area. Other volunteers were playing with them and laughing at their antics.

“Well,” she sighed, searching her closets for lab coats, “for the most part we help out with strays. Our neighborhood has a horrible problem with them, and I go out and do some pro bono work for the city. Spaying, neutering, on the spot care, you name it. The strays come to this clinic, where we provide shots and free care before finding either foster families for the animals or, ideally, a forever home for them.” She handed two lab coats to Tony and Steve, and they awkwardly took them. “Helping out’s made a small dent, but people around here also need care for their own animals. When I can, I try to make it as close to free for them as possible. I help the pet parents with vaccinations, which in turn helps the city aleviate other issues like increases in Feline Leukemia, rabies, distemper, or the like.”

“Which is why you hold fundraisers, like your calendars,” Bruce said, and Darlene nodded.

“Exactly. The neighborhood kids like to help sell them at their schools too, and I let them keep a little of the proceeds. It’s become like a yearly Girl Scout cookie thing, but with animals.”

They shared a small laugh over that, and then Steve finally asked the question that puzzled him and Tony. “Well, I think we’re all agreed, that we want to help you wherever we can, Doctor Kennedy. But I’ve gotta ask.” Steve briefly pointed to the lab coats. “Do we need these for any particular reason?”

Darlene beamed at him. “Maybe,” she told him, and she crooked a finger at the three of them, to take them behind the scenes to meet the volunteers and, subsequently, the animals. Tony looked a little taken aback at the sheer number of animals romping around, but Bruce had warned him about the number ahead of time. Which was one reason why Tony’d worn his “cheap” jeans (”only a hundred bucks. Not quality at all”) and an old band tee (”worst concert ever, Brucie. I would’t give a rat’s ass if Hermann Munster the Pitbull takes a dump on it”).

“They’re all puppies and kittens,” Bruce said, reassuring Tony. “And only the cutest and most camera friendly were…” Bruce finally noticed that the volunteers were gaping at them in the same way Darlene had, minutes ago. “Oh, right. I guess they didn’t know we were coming either.” 

Steve laughed as a group of Golden Retriever mixes bounded over to their new “people” full of squeaks and yips. He picked two up in both hands, just as Darlene formally introduced them. Not that they needed any, but it broke the awkward ice.

“Please do not overwhelm our guests,” she told the helpers, and they all looked in their early and late teens. “They’re only here for the photoshoot, and you have a job to do, wrangling the puppies and kittens, so we can finish in a timely manner…”

But of course Tony, Steve and Bruce spent another half-hour talking to the kids, while helping them create new stories they’d get to share with their classmates the next day.

They ended up taking dozens of pictures with professional photographers, who also volunteered their services for the events. Bruce, Tony, and Steve had plenty of pics of them in unusual, but adorable poses with all types of puppies. And the lab coats had been simple props, but they worked in one of the shoots, where they all pretended to be doctors. Their favorite photo was one of Bruce full-out laughing on the floor (an extra special rare treat) as a half-dozen kittens pounced on his belly, while he held up a feathered toy. There was a very “serious” one of Tony holding up a bulldog puppy and staring him eyeball to eyeball, and another one of Steve grinning as the same group of Retriever puppies climbed over his back while he lay flat on the floor, and pretended to read a book.

And the very back of the calendar had the three of them in lab coats (Bruce ended up bringing his own) in a Charlie’s Angel’s type pose, reminding people to support their local animal shelters.

There wasn’t a bad picture in the batch, and when the calendar finally came out, they sold out in less than 24 hours. Darlene had actually only planned on five printings but it became the hit of the season, and she ended up getting extra help just for the calendar sales.

All in all it was a fun gig. And yes, it became something they not only repeated, but they were able to bring in Clint, Nat, Thor, Sam, and even Bucky and Scott for future shoots.

[trainsinanime]

Logan

About a day has passed, I’m mostly awake again now, and I know more people on my timeline have seen the movie, so I think it’s time to dive in and talk about it in detail. Which requires spoilers for absolutely everything, so don’t read this yet if you’re planning on watching the movie soon.

I’ve already said that this movie is great in every way; the best X-Men movie yet (even including Deadpool), and quite possibly my favorite Marvel movie. I mean, Avengers 1 was nice and all, but now that the novelty value has worn off, it’s really just very nice; and Guardians of the Galaxy’s soundtrack was making promises that the movie sometimes struggled to keep.

Hugh Jackman is amazing in this. Patrick Stewart is even better, doing perhaps his best acting since „there are four lights!“. Both portray characters that are broken, full of history, portraying most of the things that need to be said without words. All their emotions are genuine, beautiful and heartbreaking. But we already knew these guys were great. What’s really amazing is that Dafne Keen as Laura cannot only keep up, she often ends up stealing the scene. Careful and guarded, then suddenly full of wonder, weary beyond her young age and incredibly badass, she does it all and it’s perfect. And most of that without ever speaking.

The movie is beautifully shot and directed, which you already knew if you saw the trailers. Most people talk about how it’s a western, and it is. But the really important thing is how human this movie is; how close it gets to its characters and their emotions. It all works.

Now for some things I wanted to discuss in more detail:

Why no post-credit scene tho?

After so many years of patiently sitting through the credits and wondering why movies always need someone to grip keys, it’s certainly unexpected to have it missing here. It’s nice that Marjorie Liu and Kyle Host got special thanks.

While I did sympathise with the disappointment that could be heard throughout my theatre, I think it was the right choice. The movie didn’t need a post-credit scene, and any post-credit scene would have made it weaker. Post-credit scenes are hints for what comes next, but this movie is all about providing closure, and it does so beautifully.

Whatever happens next, if something happens next, is a new story. Not a new part of this one.

What is the locomotive on the mexican freight train?

No idea; I think it’s entirely fictional. The lack of windows implies automatic operation. The closest thing visually would be the GE U50 (which has been out of service since 1977) and maybe the E60C, but both of these are a big stretch honestly. So my guess is entirely fictional, just like the automated trucks.

Gabriela: A reference to All-New Wolverine?

Maybe, but I’m guessing it’s just a coincidence and that both projects were developed more or less in parallel, without either one influencing the other to any meaningful degree. If they had wanted to reference Tom Taylor’s work, they could have put him on the „Special thanks“ list after all.

Could automated trucks really be built without a cab, just the pure container ending there?

Yes! The idea of a truck without a cab in front of the trailer is not actually new; the Steinwinter 2040 was a prototype built int he 1980s. That one still had a cab, of course, and the concept ultimately never went anywhere - while there was a lot of interest, nobody wanted to fund a series production. This approach would make a lot of sense for a fully autonomous vehicle, as well, where the issues of visiblity and crash safety are less pronounced.

I don’t know whether it makes enough sense to actually happen; even for automated road trains, some sort of shield before the trailer would make sense aerodynamically (if the aerodynamics of container haulage interest you, then don’t forget to google „UP Arrowedge“). I’m also not sure that we’ll be in a place for fully automated trucks by 2029. I guess it works if we have a head canon where these trucks are limited to motorways and a few well-defined roads between loading areas and motorways. We can almost already do that today. „Platooning“, i.e. automated control of multiple trucks together as if they were one very long truck, is already being trialled as well.

Generally speaking, one of the big problems of trucks is that they have to carry a person around. The cab is dead weight and takes up lots of space. Getting rid of it makes trucks much more attractive compared to trains. They still have the disadvantage that they have lots of small (by railway standards) diesel engines instead of one big one, and that rubber wheels on roads have much higher friction than steel wheels on steel rails, but every little bit helps. If such technology is available, you can be sure that there will be much more freight hauled on overloaded road networks, increasing traffic jams, and much less on energy-efficient, economically and ecologically superior railroads. Progress!

Is there anything wrong with the movie?

Nothing major, I guess. X-24 is ultimately a waste. He could have worked as a contrast to Logan, but the movie never goes there, so he’s just a CGI-heavy obstacle. In general, the movie suffers heavily from forgettable Marvel movie villain syndrome; nobody will remember who Pierce was two months from now. Finally, compared to Laura, the other kids that show up in the third act are just not that interesting.

Mind you, what this boils down to is „at times, the movie almost drops down to the level of Iron Man“.

Will Laura become the new Wolverine now?

God, I hope not. That would be incredibly stupid. Laura is her own character, always has been, and putting her into someone else’s shoes does disservice both to the original character and to her own history.

Yes, it works well in All-New Wolverine by Tom Taylor. But the reason why it works there is because Laura didn’t. actually become Wolverine. She’s just using the name and costume. It’s still clearly a Laura book just as much as the ones with X-23 in the title. There’s no overlap with Logan’s history, with Logan’s usual modes of operation and so on. It works, but giving her the name is entirely unnecessary for that.

In general, what does this movie set up?

No idea. There are certainly some hints dropped that can be picked up elsewhere, but it seems just as likely that future X-Men movies will ignore it and leave it in some sort of canonical timey-wimey limbo, presumably the same one that Deadpool is in.

I’d be okay with that. Ultimately, no amount of setup can ever change whether this was a good movie, and it was.

Isn’t this movie taking a woman’s story and turning it into an accessory to a man’s?

This is a point I heard on Twitter shortly after the first trailer dropped. Having seen the movie, I can confidently say: Yes, kind of.

Obviously, the movie is called Logan, and it’s ultimately him that is the star. But it’s also notable how little women there are besides Laura. Sarah Kinney, her mother in the comics (it’s complicated because comics) is absent. Her closest equivalent, Gabriela (reference to the current comic or just coincidence? I’m leaning coincidence), gets killed fairly soon, but she also has far less impact on the story. Sarah was in many ways one of the masterminds of Laura’s torture; she had agency, culpability, guilt and internal conflict. Gabriela doesn’t get any of that depth.

There’s also the part where the three surviving mutants are all men, despite X-Men being pretty balanced ever since Claremont. The movie’s plot is carefully constructed so that it seems inevitable that these are the folks involved, but it’s not like that was the only choice.

(If you’ll allow an aside: They could, for example, have chosen Kitty Pryde instead of Caliban. Just make her a former mutant hunter. After all, there’s precedence for randomly giving Kitty powers that actually belong to Rachel.)

I think the movie can get away with this simply because it is so damn great, and because Laura in particular is so great here. I know some people will weigh things differently and come to a different conclusion here (though I don’t expect there to be very many).

If the stretch limousine is a 2024 Chrysler, and FCA plans to use the Giorgio platform for basically all their RWD stuff going forward, then doesn’t that mean someone did a stretch limo of a car with a transaxle platform and a carbon-fibre drive shaft?

That’s where my mind is going to anyway. My head canon is that they swapped the carbon fibre driveshaft for a cheap one made of steel, though I have no idea whether that is more or less realistic than any alternative. Either way I would assume this car isn’t that great for high-performance driving.

By the way, this is once more a movie that is full of FCA cars but doesn’t have any Alfa Romeos. I hated that about Batman v Superman. Here, I think it fits. This movie works if the heroes are driving an American truck; it would never work with a Stelvio. In Batman v Superman, though, they even brought in an IVECO truck (from the truck division of CNH which is the industrial arm/sister of FCA) to an ostensibly American city, even though that company’s products where never sold in the US, so the odd Giulietta wouldn’t have hurt, would it? Basically, fuck Batman v Superman.

With people praising Logan, will they now give the DCEU the second look it deserves?

I actually found a person on Tumblr who said that, then forgot to save a link so I guess I’ll have to sub-tumble them. Sorry. Dear person, if you read this: No. While you are correct that there are high-level similarities between the two, if you look in detail you’ll find that everything that actually matters is done well in Logan and badly in the DCEU. For one example, see the paragraph about the cars and product placement right above.

If that’s not sufficient, then let me put it like this: In its efforts to be dark, gritty and mature, the DCEU has thrown out plot, relatable characters, and all forms of fun except pee jokes. That is a major misunderstanding of mature. Logan is mature, gritty, violent, not the slightest bit flashy and so on. But at its core, it’s about humans relating to each other. It’s about them coming together, not finding ways to divide them. It’s violent, but it’s also all about the cost of that violence and about finding a way out of that cycle.

Perhaps most importantly: This movie takes comics, the old brightly coloured ones that are silly and full of flashy costumes, the very thing that both the DCEU (and the original Old Man Logan comic…) tried to abolish to show us how mature they are… and tells us how important it is to believe in them. That by believing in the „childish immature crap“ from the comics, we find together, and we get the strength to get us to where we’re going. Because it’s not actually childish to dream of a better world at all, as our hero has to learn; it’s what makes us human.

So pack in all your pitchforks, dear DCEU fans, when you hear that Logan is getting much better reviews than any DC movie ever, and that it’s making much more money. It’s not because people like Marvel more. It’s because DC keeps making shitty movies whenever they’re not made out of Lego.

(I do hope Wonder Woman won’t be shitty, but based on the trailers, the most I’m hoping for is „a little less shitty“. Sorry.)

What about that MovieBob Video? Will attempts at copying Logan lead to a new comics crash?

I’m talking about this video here. And let me just say that while I respect Bob a lot, he’s also wrong a lot. That guy thought Cars 2 was a better movie than Cars 1, after all. This video, to me, feels like a guy with too much time on his hands thinking too much about stuff that happened decades ago.

The fundamental problem with his argument is that comic book movies are in the mainstream, and they’re being made because they get mainstream levels of money. There was a good (short-term) business case for going fans-only for the comics industry in the 1990s. That’s just not the case today.

It’s certainly possible that Logan will inspire studios to try dark and gritty deconstructions of superheroes… but DC’s been doing that for years with questionable success and no influence whatsoever on the company that makes the good ones, i.e. Marvel.

What I do find fascinating is that between this, Deadpool and Legion, we’re now in a place where Fox’s X-Men movies may just be the inventive, innovative and weird superhero franchise, and the bits and pieces and preview animations that have come out for the New Mutants movie hint that it may be going in that general direction as well. That would be an awesome way for things to develop, and the X-Men certainly have their share of characters that fit that description. Of course, it seems like Fox landed in this place almost by accident, so any attempts to prolong it or end it or pretty much do anything with it seem incredibly dangerous. We’ll see how it turns out.