#i looked like a pathetic drowned rat for the first hour because i didn't have an umbrella or a raincoat

[lepakonpaska]

god i've missed dating women (and will ramble more in the tags)

[a-libra-writes]

Apologies if requests are not open, but could I please have some headcanons (long or short, whichever you prefer) about sleeping in the same bed as Mordecai Heller? Like how long it would take to get to that point and how he sleeps maybe?

Sooo uhhh I went a bit overboard so uhhhh, enjoy this fanfic of the 3 times you and Mordecai slept next to each other. its nearly 4k and also GN reader lets goooooo!

The first time you slept next to each other.

You peeled yourself out of the car, your clothes sticking to the soaked seat just as they stuck to your skin. The rain was unending, beating down on your face and your eyes. The door slammed shut, the sound muffled by the storm. There was no point in pulling your coat over your head. The window shield and passenger window had long been shot out, exposing you and your fellow triggerman to the elements.

With his dark colors and clothes, Mordecai almost disappeared in the night. You felt around the car, trying to make your way to him. You still had to shout over the rain and thunder. "Over there!"

"Where?"

"A house! I'll show you!"

It was so dark, you couldn't figure what Mordecai was doing until he turned on the flashlight. The beam was pathetic against the night and the rain, but it was something. He shone it toward the car so the guns could be retrieved, and a filthy briefcase. You took the latter. Then you pointed off into the distance.

"There, I saw a farmhouse," You said. "Still has a roof, I think."

"You think?"

"Most of it. Come on!" You didn't pull his arm, but you walked on ahead. The flimsy light was only a few inches ahead of your face, even with Mordecai two steps behind, so you walked carefully through the sodden grass and dirt.

The door wasn't locked, but stuck. It groaned painfully as you kicked it open, and the whole house seemed to creak and shudder with your violent movement. You stepped in at once, your body shivering even if it wasn't that cold.

"At least it's not snowing," You said. "Just, ah ... muggy. And humid."

"Anything is better than cold," Mordecai grunted. He peeled his coat off, just as you did, but he was far more bothered by how thoroughly soaked everything was. The house was musty and surely filled with mold, but there was a roof, and a smattering of furniture.

You walked about, surveying the pitiful place. "Stairs aren't worth the risk, but the sitting area works just fine."

Your fellow gunman's green eyes danced around the room. He took it in just as swiftly, and came to an immediate conclusion. By this point, you could knew the way those green eyes glared, his ears flattened and his shoulders hunched. The scowl really sold it, though.

"Obviously, not the couch. Or the chairs. I'm fairly certain there's all sorts of little rat surprises in them -"

"And in the walls," Mordecai said, looking toward the one closest to him. He stepped away. You didn't doubt there were probably dozens - well, maybe hundreds around this place.

"It's just for the night - not even that, a few hours -"

"Absolutely not."

"Mordecai," You tried not to let the exhaustion come across in your voice. "We left St. Louis at the crack of dawn, it's nearly dawn again, we can't see a damn thing in this rain and we're both -"

"I can hear them in the walls, there's probably black mold all over the ceiling, I know there's all manner of - of vermin, raccoons and whatever else -"

"We're both too exhausted to drive, and our windshield is ruined. The storm -"

"-- If you think I'll stay one more minute in this dilapidated excuse for a shack, let alone rest -"

" - I know for a fact you can't drive through this, because last time -"

Your overlapping voices were completely drowned out by a massive clap of thunder. The whole house rattled, and you felt the noise deep in your chest, like a hundred drums. Faintly, you wondered if the roof might come off; but this wasn't a tornado. You could swear you heard scurrying and squeaking under the floors, but didn't bring it up.

"One hour," The exhaustion was there now. You didn't bother to hid it. Just holding your shotgun and the briefcase and soaked coat was proving to be too heavy. "Just one hour, Mordecai. Even if the weather was peachy keen, I can't drive like this."

Mabye you really did look pathetic, or he was finally feeling his own fatigue. The shadowy cat looked just as bad, his clothes soaked and disheveled, nearly all of his hair out of place, his glasses threatening to slip off. He sighed heavily.

"One hour."

You let him determine where the place would be. It was beside the fireplace, a section of the living room that was far away from the couches and rugs, nothing but an empty table beside it. You easily moved it aside, cleared the cobwebs and attempted to dust off the floor with a rag Mordecai found in the kitchen. You both hung your coats up on the rickety stair railings, not thinking for a moment they'd actually dry.

Your gun was still at your side as you sat down, your back against the wall. It was an old habit, keeping it close, even for just a few minutes of shut-eye. You flicked the safety on and laid it across your lap, the muzzle facing away from Mordecai. Eventually, very slowly, he carefully lowered himself beside you. Your head pressed against the wall as you leaned back, closing your eyes and taking a breath.

There was no need to look at him to know he was tense. He was probably stiff as a board, his ears twitching as he looked around, hearing who knows what in the walls and the floorboards. You knew he had a thing about rats, and spiders. You made sure he didn't see the cobwebs.

"Try to sleep," You muttered. "I won't let you nap in the car back to the city."

He scoffed. "You're better worrying about if you'll fall asleep at the wheel."

"I won't, because I'm sleeping. The thing you should try."

You heard him shift his weight. The wet clothes made it easy to perceive, but anything else was difficult. The fatigue was hitting hard, weighing down your eyelids and settling over your sore, cold body. You'd feel stiff and miserable when you woke up, but the storm would be gone. At some point, you may have felt a weight against your shoulder - something wet, and not that heavy, but it was hard to say.

By the time you woke up, that sensation was gone. You awoke with a start, grasping your gun and looking around. It was bright. The sun was leaking through the broken glass windows. Your bleary eyes darted all around, looking for someone - and your heart finally settled when you saw him.

Mordecai put his glasses back on his face. Somehow, he was even more of a mess than before. Maybe it was just easier to see it in the morning light -

"... What time is it?" You asked, your voice hoarse.

"Time to go," Mordecai said. He'd retrieved his coat, as well as your own. The briefcase was in his other hand.

On the way out of the house, you rubbed your shoulder. For whatever reason, you were especially sore there.

The first time you slept in his bed.

For the past few hours, you’d done nothing but look at ceilings. First was the shithole you’d barged into, though looking up at that was better than the angry mug that was looming over you, ready to put a bullet in your head. He would’ve done it, if not for Viktor’s spectacular tackle. Then the ceiling — roof? — of the car. Then … the garage, you thought. It seemed like a garage, but maybe not the one you were most familiar with. Did they take you back to the Lackadaisy? No, the drive was too short … Well, whoever’s ceiling it was, it was leaking. Now this ceiling — simple, clean, blissfully not leaking.

You blinked at it several times, unsure what time it was. Your stomach was churning, your head was hammering. It was hard to tell if you wanted water, or food, or something to put you back asleep. Something itched at your eye — you realized only one was open, strange — and you reached for it.

“Stop that,” A voice. A familiar one that made relief wash over so quickly, it was dizzying. “Don’t fuss with it.”

You tried to say his name, but it was too many vowels. They came out in a jumble. “Where’m …”

“You’re back at the cafe. I just said to stop touching it.” Mordecai scolded. His dark figure came into your blurry vision, reaching for something you couldn’t see. Oh, it was your hand. He put it back on the bed. With your good eye, you scanned your surroundings, even lifting your pouding head. There was a lamp with a soft glow, some kind of dresser-table-thing. That desk looked familiar. You groaned and fell back on the pillow.

“Wha’s th’ damage?”

“Stitches on the side of your head, a black eye, and probably a concussion.” He said. You could see his tail swishing behind him, and it was hard to tell if it was quick agitation or slow annoyance. It was hard to tell with your addled mind.

“Oh.”

“The morphine is wearing off by now.”

“Yeah.”

He turned away, leaving your bedside. No, this wasn’t your bed. You didn’t live in the Little Daisy’s building. You squinted, recognizing that desk and that plant in the corner. You noticed the dark coat hanging on the door.

Oh, this was his bed. For a crazy moment, you thought you were dying. ... No, not dying. He’d just leave you in the car if that was the case. Still, it was strange being here on this bed in this position. Normally you hung around the doorway, or sat by his desk if you wanted to pester him.

“You need… n’ ‘prtment,” You slurred.

“What was that?”

“App- ‘artm’nt… you.” Your finger pointed to him, though it was hard to keep it straight.

Mordecai sighed and turned back to whatever he had been doing. “Go back to sleep. You’re more incomprehensible than usual.”

The words were all jumbled in your mouth, just as much of a jigsaw as the thoughts in your head. You wanted to explain that if there was a couch, you could take that. You could’ve gone to your own home, though recovering alone with an apparent concussion didn’t sound pleasant. Where would he sleep? Was this alright? Would he burn the sheets, or wash them three times then painstakingly get a magnifying glass and tweezers and pick up every strand of hair you left behind?

“What are you smiling about?” He asked, utterly exasperated. You giggled.

“Nothin’. M’ sleepy.”

You rolled over to your good side, and pain immediately shot up the other side of your body. You groaned, clutching the sheets as you waited for it to pass. Mordecai immediately reached for you, anticipating you’d roll right off the bed, but you didn’t. His arm slowly dropped to his side. He waited, watching the smile slowly slide off your lips. Your breathing slowed, and your hand relaxed. You released the sheet. The bandages were still in place, no blood staining them yet. He needed a way to keep you from tossing in your sleep.

Exhausted from both the night’s illicit activities and then the frenzy to get you to an ex-nurse Viktor insisted on, he dragged his desk chair over to his bedside. Your bedside now, maybe. He was trying not to notice the stray hairs on the sheets — his own black ones bothered him enough. He sat down, figuring how he might keep you from turning. If the morphine was still in your system, you might not feel them if you scratched in your sleep or turned too much … He rubbed his eyes and rested his elbows on the edge of the bed.

The bed was always cold when he eventually laid down each night, but it was warm this time. It struck him as unusual, out of place, not part of the routine, but … not bad.

At some point, there was a knock. He may have dreamed it. Mordecai’s whole body tensed, and he flew to his feet, nearly tripping over the chair he was seated in. It teetered, but chose not to clatter to the floor. You were still asleep in the same position, not the slightest disturbed. Then his eyes flew to the actual source of the noise — the young gunman’s body had been running on adrenaline for hours, only relaxing in the past hour — wait, had he fallen asleep? — but it shot back up as he turned on the intruder in the doorway.

Mitzi gasped. She put her hand to her chest, startled by his sudden movements. “Oh — sorry, sweetie. I would have knocked, but …” She glanced over to the bed. “I didn’t want to disturb the two of you.”

Mordecai said nothing, but his face heated painfully from both embarrassment and panic. His heart was still racing, and the distinct, strange agitation he always felt around Atlas’ new bride was crawling up. She was intruding, on multiple accounts. His room, the disheveled state he was in, the state you were in. Something about someone seeing you like this was raising his hackles, even if he was certainly she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Mitzi wasn’t deterred by his glare, fearsome as it was. Her worry was too strong. “It was a close one, wasn’t it?”

“… Not especially,” Mordecai eventually replied. Yes, it was a lot of blood, but that was the nature of head wounds. And yes, it was a metal pipe, and the fact you didn’t get up right away, but — you were here now, sleeping and breathing with all your brains inside. He didn’t like the way her eyes fell on your prone body, full of pity.

“Poor thing. First thing in the morning, I’ll call the doctor —”

“The horse doctor?” Mordecai didn’t even want to say that charlatan’s name. “Absolutely not.”

Mitzi’s perfectly arched eyebrows raised just so. “You’ve already arranged treatment, then?”

“Yes, a friend of Viktor’s. It’s been dealt with, there’s no need to call a charlatan. He’ll just change the bandage and overcharge us on morphine.”

“I see you feel strongly about it,” She said. It was a simple statement that dug at him, and he couldn’t place why. Why did she have to hang around all the time? Why did she care to talk to her husband’s triggermen? Mitzi stopped leaning on the doorway, knowing full well she was unwelcome. “Well, tell me if you need any more pillows, dear — for either of you.”

He could have grit his teeth — he did, but his utterly exhausted and rattled expression completely lost on Mitzi. She’d already turned her back and left, walking with a grace that made her footsteps almost imperceptible … especially when she wasn’t wearing her heels. Mordecai moved the chair back into place, trying to will himself to calm down. You were still blissfully unaware, still in the same place as he left you, before he… dozed off. Granted, it was just his arms and head that were on the bed, but it still bothered the black cat. His heart still wasn’t settling down; he almost felt jittery.

Mordecai thought he was used to all this — the shooting, the running, the close calls. He didn’t understand why the fear was hitting so hard, why now it was all rearing up. Hadn’t there been closer calls? Maybe for himself. Maybe for you — he never asked. It was hard to imagine you getting in a worse scrap than this.

He didn’t want to look at your relaxed sleeping form anymore. It contrasted too sharply with the bruises growing across your face, and the bandages wound tightly around your head. With a sigh, he stood, moved the chair back to his desk and tried to occupy himself with some paperwork. Better to fall asleep here, than the … other option. Even if the other option was much warmer.

The first time he slept in your bed.

Upon returning from the bathroom, you discovered that Mordecai was both dressed and still staring at the bed.

That was a little worrisome. The past hour or two had been … well, a lot. For him, especially. You hadn’t considered what how Mordecai might act after it all happened. You were so focused on helping him through the present, you hadn’t thought that far ahead.

This didn’t seem like an oh-god-what-have-I-done kind of 1000 yard stare, though. You knew this expression. His ears were a little flat, his tail twitched, he was focusing very hard on… something. A specific something. Your partner (could you call him that now?) was trying to problem solve.

You walked over beside him, quickly puzzling what the issue was. You kept brushing your teeth, glancing over to him. Those white eyebrows were totally furrowed in concentration. God, it was like when he’d get worked up over a chess match with Viktor. It was painfully endearing.

You knew he knew that you were standing there. You also knew he was trying to avoid looking at you, even though you were no longer naked. You’d thrown on nightclothes for his sake, assuming he’d do the same … and yup, he did. Finally, with your tail swishing and speaking around your toothbrush, you offered, “It’s alright. Happens a lot.”

Mordecai nearly flinched. “Do .. Do people just … ignore it? You can’t tell me they … sleep on it ..."

“They'll sleep around it, if they notice. Sometimes there’s not a mess, because clothes are in the way, or position, or they aren’t on the bed at —”

His fur was completely standing on edge, his tail puffed out like he’d seen a spider. Mordecai threw a hand up. “Don’t - that’s enough. I don’t need to hear any more. People are repulsive. They’re animals.”

“Mmhm.” Talking around your toothbrush made some toothpaste and spittle run down your chin. Mordecai was mortified. He turned on his heel and walked over to the dresser, where at some point, he’d folded his and your clothes. That was also painfully sweet, and ridiculous. He was getting something out of his coat pocket.

“I’ll get new sheets,” You said.

But first, you went back to the bathroom to spit in the sink, wash off your toothbrush and gargle some water. You spat again, idly rubbing at your chin. Back in the room, Mordecai had already stripped the bedding and was handling it like it was covered in plague. He was obviously mentally debating between leaving it rumpled and tossing it out the window, or folding before the tossing.

You made the decision for him, taking the sheets off his hands. “Clean ones are in the broom closet, down the hall.”

“The one you haven’t dusted in months?”

You had to laugh. “Excuse you, I did it last week. I dusted the bookshelves too, and scrubbed the kitchen tile, and the bathroom — I know how you like things.”

His sharp expression softened. “I noticed,” He said softly, all the prickly anxiety and nerves slowly melting. You wanted to touch him, to express the affection that was building up — no, it was always there, and it was wanting to spill out again. But after the huge chasm you two just jumped over, you wanted to be careful.

While you went to setting aside the dirty laundry, Mordecai brought in the clean sheets and fitted them over the mattress. It was better and neater than you’d ever seen it, like a hotel. You went ahead and changed the pillowcases, even if there was no need, and you felt his eyes on you as you did so.

“All done,” You said. “What do you think? Do you want a clean blanket, too?”

It was a genuine question, not a mocking one. You’d been considerate like that all evening — how is this? Is it okay? Should I stop? Do you need to breath? — and the tall cat was trying to come to terms with it. As much as it bothered him, he had needed to stop, and breath, because sometimes he wasn’t okay. He didn’t know why, and it hadn’t been a problem — well, much of one, before you. But it wasn’t you treating him like a problem, it was himself.

It was difficult, all of this. Rather than thinking any further, he pulled out a hankerchief and cleaned off that damn toothpaste you left.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” He grumbled, but you only smiled.

“Thanks.” You turned off the nightstand lamp and climbed into bed. You knew he’d take some time to join you. If he really lingered, you’d offer to move to the couch, but eventually you felt the bed shift and you felt the covers move. Then his body shifted — you could tell he was facing away from you.

Your brain was telling you to be careful, to slow down, but sometimes it hurt you to stay so far apart. It physically ached to have to linger right on the edge. So you risked it, slowly turning over and moving yourself closer. You pressed your face to his back, lightly, and rested your hand on his side.

Mordecai’s whole body tensed up. His tail froze against your legs, and you watched his ears stick up. You waited. After a few seconds, he slowly settled. You pulled your hand away, and you watched the outline of his body relax.

You wanted to say something. He did good. Great, even. He tried hard, for your sake, to overcome a great mental hurdle. You knew that, and you ought to be more respectful of his space. He’d already given so much to you. So rather than wrap him up and overwhelm him with all the kisses and touches and affection you had, you stayed there, your tail gently brushing against his.

“Thank you,” Your voice said quietly, barely disrupting the darkness. Some moonlight was peaking through the blinds, just enough for you to make out Mordecai’s dark silhouette. “We don’t have to … you know, anytime soon. Or ever, if you want. I’ll — regardless, it won’t change my feelings. I like being close to you.”

It was maybe a fraction of how you truly felt. That physical ache was back, but you had to stop here. You weren’t ready to say it all, not yet. There wasn’t an immediate response, and you didn’t expect one. You listened to his steady breathing, feeling solace in it.

Mordecai reached behind him, carefully taking your arm and putting it back over his middle. You pulled him in, just so, nestling your body against his. He didn’t flinch, even as your legs brushed each other and you pressed your face against his warm back, taking in a deep breath. Of course he’d immediately showered right after, but you didn’t mind in the slightest. He smelled like your soap.

[dairy-farmer]

Can you please add this au here? Or update a03?

brutim| au where tim never became robin and one day bruce was feeling more pathetic than usual and decided to take a drive past jason's old school. he spots little dark haired and blue eyed timmy drake waiting at the bus stop while it's pouring rain, looking like a drowned rat.

sure! i don't mind! since twitter has made it so people can't view tweets or lurk without an account and i know that it can be quite a hassle for people to make another social media account and twitter has made it harder for people to interact with media. as for ao3 i really prefer to reserve it for more edited, complete works.

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brutim| au where tim never became robin and one day bruce was feeling more pathetic than usual and decided to take a drive past jason's old school. he spots little dark haired and blue eyed timmy drake waiting at the bus stop while it's pouring rain, looking like a drowned rat. 

there's no other cars and bruce knows the bus won't come come for another hour...

bruce's first introduction to tim drake is pulling to the curb, lowering his window, and offering a ride home to this wet child who happily accepts.

maybe bruce should've have been concerned. 

lectured this child about stranger danger and about how bruce could've been a creep wanting to prey on him.

instead bruce is pulled in by this young thing who gushes about how grateful he is and about how good and kind mr. wayne is and...bruce. bruce has been having a hard time. 

mood swings, self hatred, feelings of worthlessness.

it's...nice to have a break from the voice in his head telling him what a piece of shit he is, how stupid, pathetic, and weak he is. how he's disgusting and everyone hates him, how he can never protect the things that matter.

tim drake is sweet and small and his voice is so kind. like an angel's. and he tells bruce about how wonderful and great he is, how he's tim's hero!

it seems a bit excessive for just offering a ride home in a nice warm car safe from the rain. but...bruce isn't in a good place. 

bruce feels horrible and he's been living in a pit of despair for so long and little timothy drake is..so nice.

he doesn't scream abuse at him like his brain and dick do. he doesn't remain so deathly quiet like alfred. he doesn't look at him with wary eyes like the gordons. 

there is no pity in his gaze like when he encounters other capes. he doesn't make bruce want to rip his skin off and yell at him to stop looking at him! stop making him feel like that! he doesn't like it!!

bruce is so inexplicably sad when he drops little timothy drake off. 

timmy lives in a building containing multiple floors of penthouses near the financial district of gotham.

bruce watches him go, watches as he turns back and offers him another wave while dripping water in the lobby.

bruce feels light for a whole hour before the dark returns. 

the next time the weather is bad (which in gotham is every week) bruce drives past the school again. and there little timothy is again.

he must recognize bruce's car because he lights up immediately. despite only meeting one time before, bruce feels similar feelings spark. 

it becomes habit to drive past the school and pick up sweet timothy. bruce starts driving past even when the weather isn't bad.

bruce knows he shouldn't. he's a stranger. he's never even met tim's parents. but he knows they wouldn't be happy to learn that bruce, a grown man they don't know, had taken it upon himself to start driving their son home. some part of bruce justifies it. that if they were good and vigilant parents they'd be able to stop this from happening. if they'd instilled a healthy fear of the unknown in tim he would've never gotten into a car with someone he didn't know. he would've never gotten into a car with bruce who he spoke so heartbreaking kindly to.

who treated bruce more softly than bruce had ever treated himself. who cupped bruce's cheeks and whispered to bruce about how good and wonderful he was. 

who broke bruce down and let him sob and cry into his shoulder as he rutted into a pink little pussy. sweet timmy let bruce spill his grief all the way inside him.

the orgasms helped shield bruce's mind from the dark cloud hanging over him and allowed him to enjoy tim's soft hands and sweet whispers about how bruce was so good and loving and how bruce was not a bad person how he had so much heart.

every day bruce picked little timothy drake up and every day bruce drove them to a different deserted location and crawled into the backseat where his tim would follow him. he'd pull off the sweater vest from his school uniform and unbutton his shirt to reveal little breasts, he'd roll up his skirt and lay on his back so bruce could crouch over him and mouth at his tits.

he would kiss bruce too. 

his sweet candy flavored lipbalm arousing bruce more as they'd sloppily kiss because tim was young and still learning how. when bruce kissed others it was always rushed and frantic and racing the other person to get their clothes off.

with tim it was comforting. reassuring. 

like a hug. bruce would press his body close and nearly sob with relief as tim's arms wrapped around him, stroking the back of his head and murmuring little comforts.

bruce rarely didn't cried when they had sex. when he worked open his belt, the button of his slacks, and fly. 

when he pressed into tim's warm, wet, tight little hole that was just a little too small for someone his size.

they didn't fuck so much as bruce would press his cock inside as just another way to be closer to tim.

sometimes they'd lay there for hours. bruce aroused and hard. 

tim softly hugging and kissing him, pecking away bruce's tears. occasionally tim would clench down on bruce and that would have bruce's hips arching and twitching in deeper.

bruce would cum eventually. not always from the little rutting they'd do when it was just too much. 

sometimes the emotions spilling over in him just pushed him over the edge and he'd grind and grunt and spill into the vice of tim's eager cunt. tim's little pussy always swallowed all of bruce's load, body accepting every bit of bruce's grief and never letting it back out 

so that it could hurt him again.

god bruce loved this little angel so much.

he made sure to make tim feel good, to find the pink little clit that would have tim huffing and panting and red cheeked and making confused little sounds because before he met bruce he hadn't known his body to be capable of feeling so good.

then the hot squirming of tim's insides around bruce's soft cock would arouse him again and the second time around bruce would push hinself up and fuck tim like the adult and equal that bruce knew he deserved to be. 

this wasn't some child preying perversion that bruce was doing. tim was his mental and spiritual equal, bruce's partner even if his body may be young and he didn't wear a cape.

bruce fucked tim like an adult. fast and deep and hard. and tim took it. 

his legs thrown over bruce's shoulder, soft whines muffled from bruce's kisses as bruce fucked him until the head of his cock slammed into a little cervix.

the first time they'd had sex like this it had been too much and tim had stayed home from school with the 'tummy ache' 

bruce had given him. the next time was better so was the one after that until tim's little pink cunt let out nothing but thick wet sounds at every slam of bruce's cock into him.

bruce would bite down on his lower lip, breathe thickly through his nose as he focused on chasing the spine tingling orgasm that was so close bruce could almost taste it.

it had taken awhile and with a lot of help he'd met from a little angel in the rain. but slowly...bruce got...better. the yells from those voice died down, the blame and vitriol they carried faded away. 

until all bruce was left with was a soft, breathless voice telling him how good and loving bruce was. how he was so good, so good, so good.

and eventually bruce believed it. that he wasn't bad. he was good.

he was so good. 

[autumngracy]

Haha, if you tune to Fox News rn you can see the Independence Day Celebration at West Point, which they filmed yesterday and are playing today as if it's live footage for some reason, (not that they're claiming it's live)

BUT the funnier part is I was there yesterday, and right before the whole event was really supposed to kick off, there was a freak torrential rain storm that absolutely pummeled the whole place for about 30 minutes, and half the crowd left, the entire concert was canceled, the forecast was changed to a 70% chance of severe thunderstorms until well past the fireworks show was supposed to end, and people suspected the only reason they didn't cancel the fireworks entirely (and move them to Sunday night which WAS the rain date) was that it wouldn't have worked for Fox and Friends' schedule (lucky for them the rain actually held off for the rest of the night).

The poor cadets who had just filed in for the concert were soaked bc they're not allowed to have umbrellas when at events, and so they had to miserably file back out to change into spare uniforms, so they could come back later and look nice and dry and perfect as though nothing had happened.

Anyway, I was there as a photographer (NOT working for Fox lmao) but went home after the rain finally passed because of the concert being canceled and everything being a muddy mess (plus at the time we assumedthey were going to cancel to fireworks, too).

But my god, you should have seen how nuts it was for that half hour of rain. There was only a 10-15% chance of it, supposedly. It was disgustingly hot and muggy out for the first few hours of setup and people arriving early. Just melting into puddles of sweat, etc.

There were a few raindrops, out of the blue. And then, it turned windy and cold. Suddenly, within seconds, a WALL of rain blew in and pummeled everything in sight.

People had absolutely no time to react. They abandoned their food, their seating, their toys. They scrambled. 20-30 people packed themselves under the 10'x10' USAA sponsor tent, desperately trying to keep dry, even though the wind was so severe it barely mattered unless you were dead center inside of the thing. The raindrops splattered so hard it was like watching a paintball match.

The Fox crew huddled under the tiny tents behind their little stage, as several pathetic looking stagehands frantically mopped and squeegeed water away from the (equipment at?) the back of the stage.

It was absolute chaos. Everyone was miserable. Everyone felt like drowned rats.

And now they're playing the aftermath on tv like it was a picture perfect day, and I can't help but laugh. You can still see how drenched some of the people who came early and stayed were.

Anyway, here's some pictures of Trophy Point before the deluge ...

And during.

You literally couldn't even see the Hudson river anymore lmao.