#like. i realize that sounds like a euphemism but i don’t think it IS‚ is the thing

[smittywing]

WIP Wednesday - Marriage 101

I thought I'd post a little more of this while I was thinking about it.

First part is here: | 1 |

Tim wore his favorite black suit - the one with the pinstripe that was just a notch shinier than the rest of the fabric - to their appointment at City Hall. It was probably too expensive a suit, given the motivation behind their...appointment. He thought of it in euphemism, because it was fake, it was pretend, but the legal ramifications were very real and this was supposed to have been a very big decision that he’d made in practically no time at all. 

“Hey, um. Hey.”

Tim looked up to see Jason skid into the hallway. He straightened from his contemplative position with his elbows on his knees and stood up. 

“Hey,” he said. 

Jason was wearing a black suit too, and a white shirt and a red tie. He’d done something to his hair - something with product that didn’t exactly work, but it looked like he’d tried, and Tim tried to smother the grin a wave of fondness pushed up to his face. 

“Do you - I mean, do we have time to talk for a sec?” Jason asked and Tim’s anticipation plummeted. Jason was going to back out. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.” 

There was a little corridor where the bathrooms were and they ducked in there, past the marked men’s and women’s to the back wall. 

“So listen,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck and not looking directly at Tim. “You doing this, it means, I mean - “ He stopped and took a breath. “You being willing to do this means a lot to me. But if you have, you know, ideas. About marriage. And you don’t want this to be your first, I totally understand. And you shouldn’t feel you have to. Because it’s kind of a big deal. To some people.”

“Is it a big deal to you?” Tim asked because that hadn’t really occurred to him before, that Jason might have a traditional romantic side and that he might one day have hopes of a wife and family. 

It was kind of a weird thing to think about. 

“Me? No. I - No,” Jason said. “I’m barely even a legal entity.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, messing up whatever careful but ineffective work he’d done with the product. “I just don’t want to fuck things up for you. Like, if you want to date Blondie again. Or someone else. I don’t want to cramp your style.”

Tim shrugged. “I think that ship has sailed with Steph,” he confessed. “And hey, we’re already kind of family, right?”

And this would help Jason out. A lot. And it would let Tim see his face light up talking about English Lit. “So,” he concluded. “Let’s do it.”

Jason’s face split into a genuine grin - not a smirk or snarl or sneer but an actual grin. “There’s probably no favor big enough to pay you back for this,” he said. 

“That’s okay,” Tim said, jamming his hands in his pockets and easing Jason back out to the main hall. “When you’re a rich and famous novelist, you can put me in one of your books. As the star,” he specified. “Not the cannon fodder.”

“I’ll give you a whole series,” Jason promised. “Tim Drake, Secret Agent.”

“I like it,” Tim said. “But please give me a better drink than a watered down martini?”

$

“I thought you guys were Punking me,” Dick complained when they stepped back into the main hallway.

“Would we do that?” Jason asked. Tim admired how he could sound offended, outraged, and sarcastic with four words.

“In a hot second,” Dick returned. 

“Am I late?”

“For the love of little fish,” Jason muttered, good humor lost. “Did you invite the whole damn family?”

“I invited myself,” Barbara said, poking him in the chest with her finger. “It’s cute how you think you have secrets from me.”  She glanced back at Tim.  Tim waved.  “And you,” she added.  “You should know better.”

Tim shrugged.  He hadn’t actually been trying to hide from her.  He’d just hoped she wouldn’t sound any alarms.  “Should we be expecting any more guests?” he asked.

Jason glanced back at him, realization flashing on his face and he turned quickly back to Barbara.

“I didn’t forward the info,” she said.  “But I know some people are going to be pissed if they hear about this from the Gazette instead of from one of you.”

“<i>Some people</i> can just butt out,” Jason snapped and Dick looked pained.

Honestly, Tim hadn’t really thought Bruce would care too much, beyond the optics of it and he had a plan for that, and he was going to tell Steph, but later, for this very reason.

“Alfred?” Dick sounded angry for the first time and Jason went white and then red.

“I’ll talk to Alfred,” he muttered.

“What do you want us to say to Bruce?” Barbara demanded.  “Did either of you think this through even a little?”

“What do you want us to say to Bruce?” Jason asked.  “We’re getting married to get money for college because you’ll just want to pay and I don’t want you to?”

“Just because he’ll take it badly doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell him,” Babs said.

“We’ll just tell him it’s a practical arrangement,” Tim offered.  “For practical purposes. He should understand that.”

Jason shot Tim a look Tim couldn’t even begin to interpret and then looked back to Barbara.  “Will that check the box, Barbie?” he asked.

Barbara narrowed her eyes. “I suppose.”  She slapped a redweld against his chest.  “Congratulations on your wedding.”

Jason frowned and unlatched the folder, peering inside.  “Huh,” he said.

That was unhelpfully vague so Tim took the expandable folder from him and pulled out a handful of paperwork.  Birth certificate.  Social security card.  Passport.

“Hey,” he said.  “You’re a real boy Mr. Peterson.”

“Yeah,” Jason said.  He looked back at Barbara.  “Is this - ?”

“Airtight,” Barbara said with her first smile of the day.  “Every piece of it.  It’ll stand up to an intensive background check.  Just give me a heads up if you’re joining the state bar because those people look for everything.”

“Deal,” Jason said and then, to everyone’s surprise, maybe even Jason’s, he hugged her, resting his chin on the top of her head.  “Thanks, Barbara,” he whispered.

“

“Mr. Peterson and Mr. Drake?” someone called from the wooden doors.  “The magistrate is ready for you.”

“That’s you,” Dick said unnecessarily.  

“We know,” Tim assured him.  

“Yeah,” Jason said. “C’mon, we need you two to be our witnesses.”

“You only need one witness in Gotham,” Barbara corrected.

“Yeah, well, make sure this guy doesn’t mess it up, okay?” Jason asked and then squared his shoulders.  He looked at Tim and held out his hand.  “C’mon,” he said.  “We have to pretend like we like each other.”

“Oh yeah,” Barbara said.  “This is going to be the best marriage ever.”

$

And so they got married. There was an awkward part where they were supposed to kiss and they both tilted their heads the same way and it was absurdly clear they had never kissed each other before, but no one said anything and they escaped with their dignity intact. 

“So,” Tim said, out on the street after. “What now?”

Barbara elbowed Dick. Dick elbowed Barbara back. This escalated. Tim ignored them. 

“I’ll submit my paperwork and hope for the best,” Jason said doubtfully. “And I guess in August, I start crashing at your place?”

“I wasn't sure if you needed to crash there before,” Tim said. “Or want to get your mail sent there, at least. So I made you keys.”

“I don't need keys,” Jason scoffed but took them anyway. 

“Jason Peterson needs keys,” Tim countered. 

“Okay, yeah,” Jason conceded. “I guess I’ll have to stop by for my mail now and then.”

“You’d better,” Tim told him. “If Gotham U sends you a ginormous envelope, you have exactly one hour to get over here and open it or I’m doing it for you.”

Jason dropped his head back and laughed. If Tim watched the ripple of his throat, well, he was married to the man. “Fair,” he allowed with a grin. “So, uh, see you around, I guess?”

“Yeah,” said Tim. “See you around.”

And that was that. 

[nerves-nebula]

Something to be said about trans people (all types of trans people) and dresses

I can’t wear dresses, but it’s hard to tell why. They aren’t inherently uncomfortable. I only ever wore a dress to high school once. Everyone told me how nice I looked and it made me realize how ugly the usually thought I was. Because I wasn’t performing femininity enough. And I knew if they saw me as masculine at all then they wouldn’t have said I looked nice. I hated that. School was bad that day and I asked to be dropped off at a fast food place. The first time I’d worn a dress in years (outside of Sunday mass) and a man old enough to be my father hit on me a block away from my house. I told him my age to warn him off (15? 16? I’m not sure) He said he could keep a secret.

Dresses are so interesting because they aren’t much different from other clothes. But even though my sister could wear a suit (not without their own misgendering and issues, mind you. We didn’t live in a place that was too progressive) the idea that my brothers could wear dresses was ridiculous.

Trans women have their own issues with dresses, either being denied them, or feeling like the expectation is that they should wear them to prove themselves (or a billion other more complicated reasons and issues I couldn’t even imagine)

And what about me? I’m only masculine because my idea of myself fits that category more, not because masculinity mean anything to me. Manhood and womanhood sound like silly sexual euphemisms to me. Maybe one day I’ll wear a dress again. Dresses are kept so out of reach and so close by. I can tell it’s not right for them yet.

Forced to wear a dress every weekend, but then again church was like it’s own little universe. Things that happened at or around church didn’t matter outside of it to me. I can’t stand the idea of wearing a dress and being seen as anything other than what I am. I love femininity on men, but I’m not a man, so I think that effect is weakened on me.

When people see a monster they often think it’s a he by default, when they see a monster with tacked on eyelashes they laugh and default to she. She’s a girl because of that one thing, and she’s a joke because she’s a girl. I don’t want to be a she monster. The idea of it makes me sick.

[tgmsunmontue]

Can't buy me love 2/3

Hangster, Explicit, ~16k (complete, posting chapter/day)

(Part of the Top Gun AU Bingo - squares for Ranch, Single parent, Billionaire, and semi power-balance).

MANY BELATED THANKS to @nevergettingoverit for the beta and correcting all my typos and the discussion of the word fossick.

Summary: Jake doesn't need help around the ranch, but he's not going to turn down cheap able-bodied labor either. He's not stupid. The fact that Bradley knows nothing about ranching doesn't exactly help his case, but he's a fast learner. PART ONE

On AO3 if you prefer.

                “I’m going to go out dancing this weekend,” Jake states, and his parents know it’s a euphemism for sex. Hell. He’s pretty sure even Ashley realizes now that her occasional enforced sleepovers at her grandparents house are so he can go out and get laid.

                “Sure. Sounds good. Saturday?” His mom asks and he nods. “You going to take Bradley?”

                “Take Bradley where?”

                “Dancing.”

                That euphemism isn’t looking so great now and he rubs at his face. God. He thought he could just leave it.

                “Yeah. I guess I can take him into town with me. Dancing.”

…            …            …

                The others have cleared out, his dad will be by tomorrow morning to take care of the animals, he is as responsibility free as he can get for the next eighteen to twenty-four hours. He still hasn’t mentioned it or invited Bradley, has felt a little awkward around him, because he’s pretty sure if he asked he could get laid without leaving his own damned property. So he leaves it for the last possible moment, not quite late, but definitely after dinner and he’s got a plan in mind to make it clear to Bradley that he’s not interested in sex with him. Even though he is, he shouldn’t.

                He could just leave without talking to him, without inviting him, but he’s already pushing the boundaries of the ingrained Southern hospitality and his mom will definitely figure it out if he doesn’t at least offer to take Bradley with him. He walks into the bunk house, and it’s quiet, but he can see the lights on in the small area just off from the kitchen, where an old sofa sits in front of an equally old television. Bradley is sitting there, legs stretched out along the length of the sofa, book in hand. He’s wearing sweats and a soft looking t-shirt, comfortable clothes. Good. Maybe he’ll be so settled and engrossed he’ll just say no.

                “Hey.”

                “Hi. Everything okay?”

                “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I was going to head out and go dancing. My parents have got Ashley for the night. Um,” he bites his tongue. Cards on the table time. “Dancing here is a euphemism for getting laid.”

                “You seriously think I could go out and get laid right now?” Bradley laughs and Jake frowns.

                “Yeah. Where I’m going you won’t have any problems,” Jake says, and he has to grit his teeth at that, because he doesn’t like the idea of Bradley having sex with someone else, and he tamps down the unrealistic possessiveness. It’s even more inappropriate than wanting to act on the attraction. “Look, if you don’t want to come, that’s fine. But if you do, then I’ve got a couple of… tips, I guess,” Jake mutters. And he pulls out a few different colored handkerchiefs. “Just, put this in your back pocket if you want to pickup tonight. It’s a little sign to let people know you’re… gay and interested and available.”

                “What? You have little signs?”

                “Of course we do. Saves time and stops fights breaking out when you proposition the wrong person.”

                “What if someone puts one in their back pocket just out of habit.”

                “They don’t,” Jake states, voice dry.

                “Do colors have different meanings?”

                “So it’s not just ranching your clueless about, but also a whole section of your own culture.”

                “I’m not Southern. Pretty sure handkerchief codes are not universal.”

                “Nothing is universal, except maybe the human condition. Here. Take an orange one. That’ll cover your bases.”

                “What does orange mean?”

                “That you’re up for anything…”

                “I’m… I’m not up for anything though.”

                “Well, pretty sure you don’t want to advertise you’re up for getting – uh,” his brain flicks through all the possibilities. “You know what. Maybe this is a bad idea.”

                “Yeah. For several reasons,” Bradley says, and he’s standing up, like he’s about to make a grand announcement.

                “Jake. I know you care about your reputation here. You shouldn’t be seen walking into a bar with me if I have a handkerchief of any color in my back pocket. You care about what Ashley will hear. How she’ll be treated. And there’s a big difference between me living at the ranch, and you and I going to some bar or dance together and then coming back to the ranch together. You take a gay man out, and then bring him back home with you, regardless of what happens, they’re going to talk. You don’t want people talking about you, do you?”

                Jake blinks, realizes that there is clearly information that Bradley is missing, because of course he doesn’t know Jake’s dating history, unlike everyone else in the town. Or that Jake is very much used to being the subject of gossip, even when there’s nothing particularly scandalous to be gossiping about.

                “Are you finished?” Jake asks, leaning back against the kitchen table and crossing his arms.

                Bradley nods, and Jake has to admit it’s kind of endearing, that this man is apparently concerned for his reputation. Of what impact he could have on the rumor mill that is Jake’s life. And Ashley’s high school experience. It’s as sweet as it is unnecessary.

                “I’m not in the closet.”

                “What?”

                “I’m not in the closet,” Jake repeats. “I mean, I haven’t had a boyfriend or a girlfriend since Ashley was… eight or nine. But it’s not a secret that I’m bisexual. Unfortunately it’s made a few people think that I’m down for anything and everything, the number of threesomes I’ve been invited to is seriously mind boggling. But you don’t need to worry about my reputation. Not here.”

                “Oh.”

                Jake can’t help grinning at the absolutely shell-shocked expression on Bradley’s face, decides to drop a few more titbits.

                “When I dated again, after Jessica died, it was a guy, and you know what the ladies at church said to me?”

                He watches Bradley’s Adam’s apple bob, his eyes going wide.

                “No. What?”

                “That at least I couldn’t knock him up.”

                “Oh my god.”

                “Of course, there was some fallout, but it’s also ancient history now. Let’s just say my mom rules the church committee with the same iron fist she ruled the PTA when me and my sister were in school.”

                “Anyway, we can go out and you don’t need to worry about besmirching my honor or anything.”

                “That’s not what I was worried about…” Bradley says, and he’s setting his book on the table, stepping toward him and he’s got an intense look on his face.

                “Uh. You just said…”

                “I was under the impression that you were… closeted.”

                “Oh. Nope. Why? Does that change things?”

                “Yeah. Yeah it does…”

                Then Bradley is kissing him, his hands on either side of Jake’s hips, bracketing him in, his body pressing Jake against the ridge of the table edge and he shifts, realizing instantly that the action causes his hips to grind against Bradley’s. This was not what he had intended when he came in here. Not at all.

                “Uh, Bradley, I… We could still go to the dance… you might get a better offer.”

                “Don’t think that’s possible,” Bradley states and Jake’s blood hums in his veins but he has to keep why this is a bad idea at the forefront of his mind and he pushes at Bradley’s chest, although their hips grinding together again doesn’t exactly make the push very effective, his fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt almost reflexively before letting go and reaffixing to the edge of the bench where he firmly tells himself he has to leave them.

                “I’m your boss, we really shouldn’t be, uh, doing this…”

                “Don’t care. You can fire me if you want, then rehire me tomorrow. If it’ll make you feel better.”

                “No… won’t make me feel better.”

                “This will though,” Bradley says, then he’s sinking to his knees and Jake’s mouth drops open, every single word and thought about why this is a terrible idea evaporating like dawn mist as soon as the sun hits it. Bradley pauses for the briefest of moments, his eyes locked on Jake’s face and then his hand is there, running over Jake’s cock through the denim and the groan he lets out is low. It’s been too fucking long since he’s had this.

                “You don’t need to…”

                “And if I want to?”

                Jake’s never been great at denying people what they want, and his last thread of self-restraint snaps in his mind, lets him just focus on enjoying Bradley’s hands and fingers and mouth. His jeans and underwear are tugged down and he prays that no one decides to come back early. Then the warm wet heat of Bradley’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, hand moving on the shaft and cupping his balls and his entire body shivers at the sensation. He throws his head back and lets his hips rock slightly, chasing the need to move while also being mindful that he doesn’t exactly want to fuck Bradley’s face.

                It’s quiet, he can hear his own breath coming in gasps, the wet sounds of sucking accompanied by little moans and grunts and he glances down the length of his body. He doesn’t expect to find Bradley staring up at him, eyes dark with arousal, lips dark pink and swollen where they’re stretched around him and he uncurls his fingers from the corner of the bench to brush over the top of Bradley’s head, feather soft, feels the vibration of Bradley humming and does it again, a little firmer, gets another little hum and he moans.

                “You feel so good…”

                “So do you. You can pull my hair, be a little rough. I don’t mind,” Bradley says, his breath ghosting cool air over his cock as he talks and then he’s lapping him again and then it’s his mouth, hot and tight again and Jake lets his fingers weave into his hair and tug a little, grinds his hips a little more forcefully and then he feels an answering groan in the stronger vibrations and it’s like a feedback loop of sensation.

                He lets himself just focus on how good it feels, loses himself to the sensation of skin on skin, the building pleasure and heat, thinks, hopes, that Bradley is enjoying it as much as Jake is. He’ll reciprocate as soon as possible, and it’s that thought, the idea of getting his mouth on Bradley’s cock that has him coming and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to give any sort of warning and he opens his eyes to find Bradley looking glassy-eyed and he pulls him to his feet, licks into Bradley’s mouth, kisses him deep and filthy.

                “Close, close, so close…” Bradley chants, and his hands are scrambling at his own pants, shoving them down and Jake is suddenly so grateful for sweat pants. He curls his hand around Bradley’s cock, shoves a leg between Bradley’s thighs, knows they’re not young enough to just grind each other against each other until they come. It’s probably called something different now. He strokes faster, rolls his body against Bradley’s, can feel how his whole body is thrumming tight against Jake’s.

                “What do you need?”

                “Oh god…” Bradley gasps, his body trembling and Jake’s going to take that as a good sign.

                “Come on, come on, don’t hold back… want to see you. Feel you.”

                Bradley lets out a little broken sound at that and Jake feels his entire body go tense and then shudder and shake as he comes, hot come spilling over his hand and he takes in a slow breath in a likely useless to calm his racing heart. He doesn’t move, just hold Bradley close and lets them have a few moments to just settle.

                “Okay. Okay,” Jake says, his mouth so close to Bradley’s neck he can feel the tickle of fine hairs as he talks. “So… that happened.”

                “Yep. Sure did.”

                “Um. You still want to go dancing?”

                “Yeah. I do. Need to get changed first though.”

                “You’re not the only one.”

…            …            …

                He accepts the kiss on the cheek from Michelle, spins her out onto the dance floor, spends a good three songs dancing with her, chatting and catching up before he returns her safely back to the bar, their will-they, won’t-they act done for the evening just to keep the local gossips speculating, although the fact is he’s pretty confident he’s going to be leaving with the same person he arrived with and he throws a wink across the room to where Bradley is watching him with hooded eyes. He can feel Bradley’s eyes on him and he hasn’t felt this powerful in a long time, having someone’s undivided attention.

                Something he hasn’t mentioned to Bradley, and likely never will, is the fallout of him dating the son of another entrenched family. Between them and his own family it had made quite a stir. It hadn’t been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, however it had forced the bigots behind closed doors, or even out of town. It hadn’t been as easy as he had maybe implied, but he’d still had more supporters than he had people who’d ignore his mere existence. The fact that Ashley’s family is yet another means most people keep their less savory opinions to themselves.

                “Dance with me?” Jake asks him, his hand out and Bradley looks at it, an eyebrow raised.

                “You sure?”

                To use a metaphor he hates, that horse has already bolted, and the gate is hanging off its hinges. They arrived together, they’re going to leave together, dancing together might get a few eyerolls but it’s not going to set tongues wagging any more than they already will be.

                “Yeah, come here and let me teach you some line dancing.”

                Like showing Bradley how to augur, fence and collect eggs, he picks it up quickly and starts following Jake’s lead, the smile on his face contagious and Jake is enjoying himself more than usual, although he’d also credit his orgasm earlier to assisting with his good mood. They dance for nearly two hours, and Bradley accepts invitations to dance from several others, but Jake doesn’t miss that his eyes always find him.

                “Come on Jake, take me home…”

                He nods once, all thoughts of trying to put up any argument gone, because he wants.

…            …            …

                The ride home is quiet, he has the radio on low and Bradley’s hand is resting on his thigh, as if he needs to somehow remind Jake that he’s there, anchoring him. He throws his truck into park and turns the key, his leg feels cold when Bradley lifts his hand away. He starts walking toward his front door, which is a little unsettling, because he’s never brought anyone home before. But it’s not like he was going to take Bradley to a motel. And he sure as hell isn’t having sex in the bunk rooms, he isn’t a fucking teenager anymore. He turns to make sure Bradley is following only to find him standing and watching and he takes a few quick steps toward him, reaches for his hand and links their fingers.

                “Come on, want you in my bed…” he states, the feeling of being adrift ebbing away as he starts to feel more certain about wanting Bradley exactly where he just said.

                “You sure?”

                “Stop asking me if I’m sure. I’m sure.”

                “I don’t want you to have regrets.”

                Jake is pretty sure that’s impossible, but he’s glad Bradley at least feels that way. He steps back toward his house, and this time Bradley follows, his fingers tightening around Jake’s briefly as they walk. He unlocks the door and toes off his boots, Bradley following his lead and he watches him in the dimmed-light of the few lamps that he keeps on through the night near the kitchen. They don’t speak as he leads Bradley upstairs to his bedroom, a part of the house that Bradley’s never been into. His bedroom isn’t the tidiest, hadn’t expected to be bringing anyone back. Never has before, not here. Though he’s glad he has plenty of condoms and lube, wants to get to use it.

                “Just make yourself comfortable, I’m just going to go grab some stuff,” Jake says, and he’s a little sad that he doesn’t get to undress him, but maybe a little space is a good thing right now. He quickly throws back a quick drink of water, licks his lips before grabbing the things they’ll likely need. Because this is in a bed, his bed, and he has time and there’s no need to rush.

                He steps back into his bedroom and Bradley is not quite undressed but he’s barefoot, jeans undone and hanging low on his hips. His shirt is on the floor, as is the white singlet he had been wearing underneath. Jake’s seen him shirtless before, working out on the ranch. But he’s never been in a position where he’s soon going to be touching and tasting and he dumps the contents in his hands on the bedside table, knocking over what’s there, but he can’t bring himself to care, pulls at his own shirt while he walks forward, one hand reaching to touch. He feels heavenly under Jake’s fingers, skin warm and soft, like he has a fucking skincare regime or something and Jake gives into the urge to bite and taste, enjoys the sensation of Bradley’s entire body jerking closer into Jake’s reach.

                “Oh my god…”

                Then it’s a haze of fingers and hands on skin, lips and tongues exploring, quiet words under their breath as they both pepper their touches with endearments. Gorgeous, hot, want you. He pushes Bradley’s jeans down, rubs a proprietary hand over his cock and it’s going to be another change of clothes and he feels smug about it. He can feel Bradley’s fingers under his shirt and he steps back, wants, needs to get just as naked.

                Bradley seems to have other ideas though, is pulling the blankets off his bed, is rummaging through the things Jake brought through from the bathroom. He watches, frozen as Bradley spreads out a towel and then strips off his underwear, is covering his fingers in lube and then lying back, his own fingers pressing in and stretching himself open while Jake just watches in dumbfounded silence. He does make a small high-pitched sound he doesn’t recognize.

                “Jesus Christ…” Jake says, voice breaking.

                “Jake, come on. Please.”

                He doesn’t need to hear more, might want to some time, but he strips off his shirt, kicks off his jeans and feels gangly and ungraceful in his haste, reminiscent of teenaged fumblings before he reminds himself he has all night and slows down a fraction. He licks into Bradley’s mouth, feels his breath pant against his face as he trails kisses over his face, down his neck, lets his fingers trail too-soft over his cock as he leaves Bradley to stretch himself open for now. Jake will get to helping him soon. He licks over pebbled nipples, nuzzles into the trails of hair leading down from his belly button and then sucks his cock into his mouth. He slides one of his own fingers in alongside Bradley’s, feels him press down, hear the gasping-groan that becomes high and reedy, his hips twitching.

                “Come on, please, need you…”

                Jake stops breathing, can’t believe he gets to have this, that Bradley is reaching for him, slapping a condom into his hand and shoving a pillow under his hips, his eyes not leaving Jake’s and he leans down to capture his mouth in another kiss, a touch too hard and biting as he sinks into the tight heat of Bradley’s body. It’s been a long time since he’s had this and he wants to drag it out, his entire body shaking a little as he settles into a slow rocking grind before making his strokes longer.

                His mouth doesn’t leave Bradley’s body very much, he kisses every inch of skin he can reach while he thrusts, rests his forehead against his, licks at the sweat as it gathers on his neck, collar and chest. Nibbles with his lips at his nipples, savors the arching movement of Bradley’s body against his, trying to get closer.

                Bradley is loud, gets louder but makes less sense as he keeps going. Jake had thought he might be tense and unyielding, fighting for control the entire time, but he's pliant, making little gasping moans at every thrust. Heat sparks up his spine every time he rocks in, the slick open pressure of Bradley’s body overwhelming. It's good, too good to last. He gets his mouth on Bradley’s neck again, works at the little juncture of muscle and sinew, the last bit of tension in his body, and he doesn't mean to bite but Bradley holds him there, his head tipped back. Jake digs his teeth in until Bradley bucks underneath him, breathes fuck fuck fuck, and comes.

                Jake wrenches back his self-control enough to pull out, curling into himself and stripping the condom off before he strokes his cock three-four-five times and then he’s coming, breath panting against the skin of Bradley’s neck. The silence afterward is drawn out, like the dawn just before all the birds break into the morning chorus, and he tries to catch his breath and not fall over and keep it together. It's a while before he manages to move, getting up to throw the condom in the trash and grabbing a cloth. Bradley makes a drowsy noise when he comes back, rolling over to peer up at Jake with half-open eyes.

                “You want me to go?”

    ��           “No,” Jake says, softly quiet, because that would make him feel infinitely worse for somehow using Bradley for sex and then just kicking him out. He doesn’t want to put his own insecurities and issues on Bradley, even if Bradley’s position as his worker is definitely the biggest issue in his head. He can figure out how to deal with it tomorrow. Later. He’s grateful that Ashley is spending the night with his parents. While he doesn’t want to kick Bradley out, it still feels unsettling to have him here, in his space, despite his desire for it earlier. He wants him to stay more than he wants him to go.

…            …            …

                He wakes the next morning to Bradley wrapped up tight behind him, cock hard against Jake’s ass, body rocking against Jake’s ever so slightly. He’d almost think he was asleep, except for the hand palming Jake’s half-erect cock, lips brushing kisses against the back of his neck and he’s clearly awake. He hums and presses back, because it’s definitely up there with one of the better ways to be woken up.

                “Morning…”

                “Morning. Thought I might try and round it off with a third before you have to leave…”

                “Where am I going?” Jake asks, breath catching as Bradley’s hand moves a little faster.

                “Church?”

                “Oh, I don’t go to church after a night of dancing…”

                He pulls a face, glad Bradley can’t see him, because dancing and sex are not meant to be interchangeable.

                “Really?”

                “Really. I usually sleep in, but I have no complaints about this wakeup call…”

                “Well, if I’d known I wouldn’t have made it quite so early…”

                Jake laughs softly, shakes his head, because this still feels like a sleep-in, maybe better in its decadence. There’s a brief blast of cool air as Bradley shifts away, but he’s back, hand slick and Jake feels slicked fingers between his thighs, groans and presses back as Bradley slides his cock between his thighs, his slick hand wrapping around Jake’s cock. He starts a gentle rocking rhythm that would rock him back to sleep if it weren’t for the fact that he’s feeling more and more turned on by the second.

                Bradley doesn’t seem to be in any rush to get off, seems focused on Jake’s pleasure, murmuring filthy words about how good Jake had felt fucking him. Jake’s never had anyone talk dirty to him before, not like this, and he’s clearly been missing out, because it’s hot, ratchets his arousal up a few more notches and he can’t really move, Bradley moving his hand and his own body and Jake just having to lie there and take the pleasure that Bradley so clearly wants to give him. When he comes his entire body shudders with the intensity of it and he feels a little shocky. Bradley doesn’t let go of him, hold him as he continues to rock, the pace increasing only slightly before he’s coming as well.

                “Go back to sleep…” Bradley says, voice quiet, his hand dragging a dry towel to wipe away the worst of the mess, although he’s still going to need a decent shower and change his sheets. Sleep does sound really good though.

…            …            …

                He wakes again about an hour later and Bradley is asleep, and he looks so good, asleep in Jake’s bed, and he feels a sudden wrench of pain that he might not get this. He really shouldn’t be sleeping with him. His joke about firing and re-hiring him kicking at the little part of his brain that has been screaming that this is a bad idea over and over. He doesn’t regret it. Well. He does, but he regrets more that he won’t let himself do it again, no matter how much he wants to.

                “No. Nope. I don’t like that look on your face…” Bradley says, and he’s blinking up at Jake, still half asleep but he’s frowning and poking at the space between his eyebrows and he bats his hand away.

                “Hey. Morning. Again.”

                “Morning. Again. I don’t like that look on your face.”

                “What? It’s just my face.”

                “No. It’s your bad thoughts face, where you are clearly thinking about every possible bad thing that could go wrong right now. Just… what are you thinking?”

                “I… we… really shouldn’t have slept together.”

                The look that Bradley gives him is incredulous, which he guesses is fair, given that they’re both currently naked, in his bed, and have cum crusted in all sorts of places.

                “Okay…” Bradley says slowly. “Tell me why you think that.”

                “I’m your boss! I pay you. Am meant to be paying you more now. But… not because of… this.”

                “You’re not paying me to have sex with you,” Bradley states, and he’s shifted to hold one of Jake’s hands in both of his.

                “No, of course not.”

                “Would you stop paying me if I refused to have sex with you?”

                “No!”

                “What about if I have a fantasy of getting paid for sex?”

                Jake chokes and splutters.

                “Do you?”

                “I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it… might do. If it’s you.”

                “Bradley…”

                “I’m joking!” Bradley says, and then pauses. “Maybe. Probably. But, anyway, I don’t want to stop… seeing where this could maybe take us.”

                “Not just sex?” Jake asks, wanting, needing clarification, because okay, his mind is spinning like an out-of-control top and okay, if it’s more than sex, then it would make him feel considerably better.

                “I think we’re pretty good at that already, although I’m never going to say no to getting more practice in.”

                “Come on, be serious.”

                “I am being serious. I want to date you. Try a relationship. If I need to quit working here I will, but…” he sucks in a breath then, and he looks sad and Jake’s reminded of what he’d looked like when he’d first arrived. Lonely.

                “I don’t want you to go anywhere,” Jake states firmly.

                “Good. I don’t want to go anywhere. Except to shower. I really want a shower.”

                It feels too easy, but so much in his life hasn’t been easy so maybe he’s due a break.

…            …            …

                They’ve showered and dressed, and Bradley has borrowed underwear and a shirt, which Jake has to admit he appreciates the way his shoulders stretch it out just that little bit more than he does.

                “You like travel books huh?” Bradley asks, running a hand over the dozens of spines of his travel books and Jake didn’t mean to literally shelve his dreams so blatantly, but it’s not lost on him now that Bradley is looking. He’s reminded that he actually knows very little about Bradley’s past, that Ashley may know more, given how openly Bradley talks with her. Can he ask questions now?

                “Well, I can’t exactly travel with my life, so I need to find out about the big wide world without getting there myself.”

                Bradley hums, gives him a soft look that Jake quite can’t parse the meaning of, his mind already snagging on just how comfortable Bradley looks, like he belongs.

                “I loved photography when I was younger, dreamed about just, travelling and taking photos. Mainly the travelling. Never leaving the state except for a couple of livestock conferences wasn’t exactly my dream.”

                “Then you find a new dream… my parents died when I was young. I was raised by my godfather, Pete. I mentioned him before.”

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that…”

                “No. Jake. I wasn’t telling you to get sympathy… You don’t know much about me because I haven’t shared anything with you. Uh. Maybe we could talk over some coffee?”

                “Yeah, of course.”

                He goes through the motions of making coffee, this is familiar at least, Bradley in his kitchen, although the bare feet make his heart twist for reasons he doesn’t want to dig into right now. He pours them both large mugs, settles back against the counter and stares at the curling steam, waits him out. His own life is an open book Bradley has been taking a part in the last few weeks, he doesn’t need to share anything about himself.

                “Okay, first thing I need to say is, if it bothers you that much I can move out, work somewhere else.”

                “If what bothers me?”

                “Dating me. Having sex. If you really don’t think you can do those things while I live here I can leave. Just move into town, because I’m serious about wanting to try… well. Dating. As a bare minimum.”

                Jake stares at him. He’d thought they’d just cleared this up. Decided Bradley wasn’t going anywhere.

                “I don’t want you to go anywhere,” Jake says, repeating what he’d said earlier. “I want to date you. Try a relationship. But I do feel uncomfortable when I think about paying you. Especially now that you’ve learnt so much more.”

                Bradley’s lips twitch at that and Jake rolls his eyes, but the nerves that had started clawing away at his insides dissipate at the humor Bradley is showing.

                “Told you it’s a fantasy of mine, getting paid for sex…”

                “Shut up, it is not…”

                “Might be. Might need a more convincing act from you…”

                “Stop being an asshole.”

                The smirk on Bradley’s face makes him aware he walked straight into that one.

                “Just don’t pay me anything. I don’t mind. Or I can just… stop working for you, but maybe still stay in the bunkhouse?”

                “No, that makes me feel even worse! For fucks sake Bradley, you’re a decent worker, for all you know fuck all about ranching. You’re tutoring Ashley through her AP Calculus, you’ve maintaining all the machinery, you’re cooking for everyone… I want to pay you what you’re worth.”

                “Oh my god, we’re going in circles. Then pay me for that. Jake. I don’t care about the money. Okay? I enjoy being here. Hell. I never knew I had a gift for somehow making calculus easier for someone to understand. And cooking for people who enjoy it? These are all… they might seem like small things to you, but they’re huge for me. That I get to do them and enjoy them and have people be so grateful and happy that I’m simply there…”

                “I’m grateful for you.”

                “Well, I make you a different sort of happy,” Bradley says, smirking at him and Jake lets out a laugh, but it feels a little forced.

                “What would you do, if you didn’t work here? What did you do, before?”

                “Oh… Mechanical engineer. But also some other stuff.”

                “That’s super vague.”

                “Yeah. Uh. Shit.”

                Not for the first time since they started talking he feels worried that they might just be talking themselves into the end before they’ve even started and he doesn’t want Bradley to put it in the too-hard basket, even if it feels like that’s where it should be. Fuck it.

                “I want to be with you. I want you to stay here. I will ask my dad to take care of paying you. Cards on the table.”

                Bradley looks at him, eyes serious before he’s nodding slowly.

                “That sounds like a good compromise. We going to trial it out for a month or so?”

                Jake groans, pretty sure Bradley is being a dick on purpose. …            …            …

PART THREE

[deancaspinefest]

r/Relationships

Author: prosopopeya & marbleflan | Artist: Alexiescherryslurpy Posting on Saturday March 18

I swear I'm a straight dude, kind of a ladies' man if I'm honest. I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type–maybe that's why I never bothered to get my ex gf (37F)'s last name… or her marital status. We were in the middle of a horizontal tango session, if you know what I mean, when her husband (37M, straight??) walks in. I've never looked twice at a man, but he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, male or female. Even though he met me when I was getting naked with his wife, he never held it against me. They got divorced and somehow he became my best friend. He even let me move in with him when my pipes burst (not a euphemism) and I had nowhere to go. I think I might be in love with him. Is it possible to be straight all your life but gay for just one guy? Sometimes I think he might be into me as well, but then I think it's just 'cause he's kind of a weird dude. When I look at him, it feels like a hurricane inside me, like I'll burst if I don't kiss him. TLDR: Wondering if asking the guy (whose marriage I ruined) out is a good idea.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

"Where did you guys meet again?" "Oh, um. Through work." It's technically not not true... if you follow six degrees of separation rules. "I think you'd like him. He's funny-- Not like, conventionally funny, I guess, but he's got his own kind of sense of humor that kind of catches you off guard." His phone buzzes again, loud against the counter, and Sam cuts his eyes over to look at it. Dean slides it off the counter to slip it into his pocket. "He's going through a divorce," he blurts, which makes Sam raise an eyebrow. "And he's just-- It's an adjustment, you know? He just really needs a friend right now." More true than his previous partial truth; in fact, that statement is objectively a true one, and it's Dean who's having trouble (apparently?) with parts of it. "Do you need to answer him then?" Sam asks, his tone softening, and Dean imperceptibly relaxes. "Oh, no, he's just elbow-deep into Dr. Sexy after I told him to check it out." Sam rolls his eyes again, laughing this time though, and he goes back to his nachos. "Are you sure being friends with you is the right move, if that's what you get him into?" "Come on, it's perfect breakup watching." "It's the TV equivalent of eating a pint of ice cream so I guess you're not wrong. So, are you helping him rebound?" Dean swallows his beer the wrong way and chokes. "What?" "You've been hanging out a lot." They've been out a handful of times at the Roadhouse, and Dean thinks that shouldn't count as a lot. "Not really sure that's where he's at," Dean says, mostly to the nachos. "Anyway, he wouldn't need my help." "No?" Sam prompts, sounding amused. "No way. He's got this approachable sorta hotness, you know, like he doesn't even realize it, and he dresses like a lump so it catches you by surprise." "Are you sure you're not dating him?" Dean's eyes snap up to find Sam smiling, the joke written all over his face, the picture of disbelief that his macho brother could possibly do something like that. "What?" "'Cas is so funny and hot,'" he teases, shaking out his hair. Sometimes, Dean thinks clearest through the panic, and this feels like one of those times when he throws a chip at Sam. "A good wingman knows how to sell," he says, and watches Sam laugh that one off too, leaning back down to eat his food. Dean's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pokes around at his nachos some more, but suddenly nacho night doesn't seem as appetizing as it did before.

 [continue reading on Ao3 on Saturday March 18]

[idk6123]

A Deserving Reward (Handsome Jack X Male Reader)

The sun is shining bright yet again on the wastelands of Pandora. Corpses of bandits are lying around a town nearby a dried up lake. The only things that remain is shacks of the bandits. Currently, Hyperion is looking around for any survivors. Amidst the chaos is one of the highest Hyperion generals. As he looks around the dead town, he walks over his super visor, who’s currently busy planning his idea out.

“So, we all fill this up. And I was thinking to build all these fancy lodges near the water.” Besides Handsome Jack is loader that is taking notes. “Ooh! I’m way too excited for this! I didn’t even thought about blowing these shitholes first.” The billionaire refers to the shacks with disdain. “Send your buddies to pile up the corpses first and burn them, eat them, or whatever you want to do. Destroy these low class structures and then we talk about the build plans.”

“Understood.” The loader turns around and walks away.

Handsome Jack watches it leaves, then he notices his general behind him. He can’t help but smile at him. “You did good today, pumpkin. Now, I can finally let one of my dreams to become true, making my own resort!”

“I thought getting rid of the bandits was your dream.”

“I said one of my dreams. Dreams.” Jack emphasis like Y/N is an idiot. “For someone good at killing stuff, you can’t even listen to me properly.” He still smiles despite making fun of Y/N. “Get over here.” Y/N walks over to Jack, who puts his arm around him. Both of them turn around to take a great look at the empty crater. “Tell me. What do you see?”

“A hole.”              

“Correct. But I was looking for a hole with potential.” Jack then realizes how wrong that sound. “I could’ve phrased that better, but my point still stands. Besides, you probably like it if I use euphemisms. Anyway! What I see is a future beach, where people can swim without worrying about getting killed by some dibshits.” He then moves over to the side. “And here I will put a some lodges, or even a five star hotel. Then there, I will make a tropical town with a shopping district. Even though this is now a shit hole, I can make a different to make it amazing. You understand that, right kiddo?”

Y/N can see Handsome Jack’s smirk looking at him and so close. Most people would be extremely scared to be so closed at him, yet Y/N is merely unbothered by it. “Yes.”

“Of course you do. It’s like you. Was shit first, and then I came by to fix you and now look at you! One of my strongest men.”

“Was I really shit?” Y/N frowns a bit.

“Honestly, yeah. But that doesn’t matter anymore, so don’t cry about it.” Handsome Jack removes his arm to walk back at the crater, thinking. “Speaking of which… Perhaps I should reward you? How about a nice beach house or something. One that you’re never going to use.”

“Because I’m too busy working for you?”

Jack finger points towards his worker. “You know it!” He then thinks further about it. “Nah! That would be too mean. I will reserve that to someone else, like Tony. Fucking cocksucker. So, what do you want kiddo? You can get anything unless it revolves a free day.” Despite his words, Jack tries to make enticing.

“Dunno. I still haven’t got a chance to get a partner-”

“Then I will buy you a boyfriend!” Jack says with a wide grin, though Y/N doesn’t.

“You can’t buy a boyfriend.”

“Said the guy that said you can’t buy a diamond pony.” The CEO retorts. “You will have no choice, pumpkin. I’m going to get you the perfect man. You want regular one, or should I create on in the labs?”

“By the love of-”

-

Back at the quarters in one of the bases, Y/N is ready to rest for the night. Though once he walked in, he sees Handsome Jack with a proud smile. Besides him is a human size wrapped up present.

“Surprise! Here is your boyfriend!”

Y/N still can’t believe Jack did this. “Don’t tell me there is a guy in there.”

“There is, and this time, I made sure he can breathe.” Jack gives a pat on the present. “Open it. I want to see your reaction.”

“Of course you do…” Y/N mutters. Jack stands aside as Y/N get over to the box. He grabs the piece of paper, starting from the top and rip it down, where he quickly see the boyfriend Jack got him. “The fuck-!?”

“Ta-daa! Isn’t he perfect?”

Y/N looks back at his boss. “Why did you put one of your doubles in there?”

“Why not? I was thinking about the best qualities your man has to have. He needed to be smart, good looking, great at sex. Basically perfect. And that’s when I realized that you needed me.” Handsome Jack casually explains.

“You’re saying I should get one with a doubleganger?”

“Yes.” Handsome Jack merely answers. “Now, let him out to check it out. Let’s hope everything turned out alright…”

Y/N removes all the paper and opens the plastic box to allow the clone to get out. The general get a bit freaked out with seeing two Handsome Jack. Although he saw this situation before, he never thought one of them would be gifted as his boyfriend.

“Y/N, I want to meet your boyfriend, Handsome Jack. Less Handsome Jack, this is your boyfriend, Y/N.” The real one introduces each other. “Be sure to tread him well. You know what happens if you don’t.”

“Of course I do, pumpkin.” The doubleganger responds. He looks back at Y/N. “What’s up handsome? I’m up to anything if you want me to. Dates? Sure. Movie night? Fine by me. Sex? Always.”

Handsome Jack holds his product proudly. “And he’s into anything. So all your kinky desires can be become true. So, do you love it, or love it?”

“You’re encouraging me to have sex with someone that looks like you?” Y/N questions.

“Yes. Why do you keep asking unnecessary questions?” Jack looks a bit irritated by Y/N’s behavior. “Anyway, I’m bored. Have fun with your boyfriend.”

The two sees Handsome Jack leaving. After he left the room, the doubleganger looks back at Y/N. “Wanna have sex, sexy?”

“No thanks.”

-

Back at Jack’s office in the space station, the big boss is sitting on his chair with his legs on the desk crossed.

“I don’t care if they can’t make it.” Handsome Jack says while eating chips, one by one from the bag. “I have an important event that day.”

“Sir, the spa can always be-”

“Martha, did I ever gave you permission to talk back?” Handsome Jack looks at the phone, daring his assistant to talk. “Thoughts so. Now, I don’t want to move my spa day. Let the rest of board know I have this meeting exactly one week from today. And if they’re complaining that falls on their vacations, let them know they’re free to have an unending vacation once I fire them and blacklist them from any future job.” Without a respond, Jack hangs up the phone and let out an annoyed groan. “God, why am I doing everything?”

From the other side of the room, Y/N enters, which lightings Jack’s mood. “Finally, someone I find competent…” Y/N walks towards the desk as Jack put his legs back on the ground and adjust his posture. “Good day, kiddo. What can I do for you?”

“Jack, I want you to get rid of the double jack you gave me.” Y/N says with a hint of irritated voice.

“It’s rude to be so dissatisfied with your gift, Y/N.” Jack sternly says.

“I don’t care. He makes me uncomfortable in many ways. He’s constantly wants sex, even when I decline, and that’s just to put it lightly. And since he looks exactly like you, it’s hard to distinguish him and you.”

“That’s the point of a double, dummy.” Jack casually points out.

“And I’m fine with that. But I don’t want my partner to be a double of you, so let him know to get out of my quarters.” Y/N tries to sound as insistence as he can, while still acting proper in front of his boss.

Jack doesn’t look amused. He merely looks deadpanned at him, which Y/N worries a lot. This usually means bad news when he looks like that. To his surprise, a smile creeps on Jack’s smile, which makes Y/N worried even more.

“Oh, I know what this is about.”

For whatever reason, Y/N feels like he doesn’t. “You do?”

“Sure am.” Jack stands up to walk to the other side of the desk and sit on it. “The reason you don’t want a double, is because you want the real thing.”

“E-Excuse me?” Y/N raises an eyebrow.

“You heard me. I know you have a crush on me. That’s why you follow me around.” Handsome Jack shows his smug smiles.

“Yeah, because that couldn’t be my job.” Y/N sarcastically respond.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Jack gets off the desk to walk over to Y/N, with their faces in front of each other, with Y/N starting to feel a little bit uncomfortable. “It’s alright if you do. I like the attention.”

“Uhh…”

Jack smirks. He walks back behind the desk to sit on the big chair. Afterwards, he pats on his legs. “Sit.”

Y/N gulps, though he doesn’t question it. He walks over to the smug man to sit on Jack’s lap. The Hyperion hero put a hand on Y/N’s lower back. The commander looks literally down, while Jack looks up. “It’s been a while when I got a proper partner. You can blame my high standers for that, but you barely passed them. Consider it a complement.”

“Alright…”

“So, how about I take you out on a nice date? I can buy you the best quality of food, no matter the price, no matter the restaurant. Then, after we dine, I would love you to show me what your made of. Whaddaya think? A hero needs a lover by his side.”

Y/N is having difficulty processing the info. Since when did Jack had feelings for him? Was this all some kind of ploy to get him dating him? Is it wise to be in a relationship with your boss, who’s the most controversial man in the galaxy? As Y/N thinks, he didn’t realize he already answered.

“I would love to.”

[doonarose]

Fic dump. Rated M (I think, correct me?). Really dumb fluffy thing that entered my brain two hours ago because of all the tomfoolery/hanky panky/monkey business discourse on my dash. And then I wrote it and that's my last two hours.

*****

Crowley reckoned that saving the world (again) had been rather a good thing. Getting Aziraphale back from heaven having finally seen the light (insofar as discovering various shades of grey, seeing reason and subsequently pushing the Metatron into a lake, at least) had been very good indeed. And coming to realize that Aziraphale actually, really, very much did want to kiss him had been wonderful, if a little awkward and also quite over-whelming.

Things had progressed from there and that was all rather glorious. Long, languorous afternoons in bed together, exploring comfort and pleasure and intimacy they could scarcely believe they’d managed to go without for over six millennia. And then that gave way to several frantic, frenetic shags around the bookshop, invariably punctuated by laughter and embarrassingly vulnerable and high-pitched sounds.

Crowley quite enjoyed seducing Aziraphale, but he didn’t want to be pushy about it and so after pouncing on him mid-breakfast – resulting in spilt tea and the discovery of twin ticklish spots behind Aziraphale’s knees – Crowley decided to wait him out for the next round.

He didn’t have to wait long because the very next evening, Aziraphale was overly fidgety. He opened and closed three different books without ever reading a page and then stood up quite loudly to ask, “Shall we retire upstairs for some tomfoolery?”

Crowley’s face shifted automatically into a sneer which then tumbled into a grimace as his shoulders tightened with concern that Aziraphale would take his revulsion that wrong way. Crowley was very quick to say, “Don’t call it that.”

Aziraphale seemed entirely unaffected, supremely confident in Crowley’s acquiescence, and was already on his way up the stairs. “I think it’s a rather lovely euphemism.”

Crowley was already trailing him obediently. “’s not. No room for you, me and Tom in the bed, certainly nothing foolish.”

Aziraphale was pushing open the bedroom door and shrugging his jacket off, his eyes bright as he rather deliberately tried to annoy Crowley. “You know it’s meant to be derived from a Tom who was, indeed, either very foolish, or made others do foolish things.”

“See, nothing to do with sex.”

Aziraphale pulled a face and looked ready to argue. Crowley shut him up the very best way he could think of.

*****

Nina held on to their takeaway cups for a beat too long and fixed Crowley with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow. “You two have been very holed up over there since you got back from wherever it was you went,” she remarked without handing over the beverages.

Crowley seethed silently and pulled his top lip back to bare some teeth. Aziraphale waited for a question.

“Lots of times I’ve walked past and it looks like you’re in, but the shop is closed. I mean, much more than it used to be.”

She handed over Aziraphale’s medium tea but, without any good reason, held onto Crowley’s four shots of espresso in a cup (he was cutting back).

“Not getting into any sort of trouble we should know about?” she finally asked.

Crowley still wasn’t sure how much she remembered of demons and angels, but clearly enough to have her a little worried. Or perhaps she was just being nosey.

Aziraphale smiled beatifically. “Oh, certainly not, my dear, nothing for you to worry about.” He did one of his bursting-with-excitement whole-body shimmies and Crowley’s embarrassment for him and for how ludicrously affectionate it made him feel turned the tips of his ears bright red. “Just spending some quality time together,” Aziraphale continued without any pretence whatsoever. Crowley discovered new depths to the embarrassment he could feel and to how deep underground he suddenly wanted to burrow. Nina hadn’t even so much as glanced at Aziraphale, instead she just stared down Crowley’s ever-growing grimace and red ears.

Aziraphale wasn’t done. “Discovering all sorts of shenanigans we can get up to,” he said, leaving absolutely no allusions as to what he euphemistically meant.

Nina grinned and Crowley bit out, “Don’t,” which may have been aimed at either or both of them. Beside him Aziraphale bounced on his feet and across the counter, Nina looked like she was thinking of a follow-up question. “Don’t,” he said again, warningly and reached for his coffee with urgently grabbing fingers.

Nina relented and handed it over so Crowley could take Aziraphale by the elbow and start pushing him towards the door. “Don’t tell people we’re discovering shenanigans,” he growled into Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale just wriggled like he was enjoying himself. This only made Crowley smile which he really didn’t want to be doing now. They had to side-step a gaggle of schoolgirls pouring through the door.

“Well, I couldn’t very well tell her we were… you know,” Aziraphale kept his voice low and Crowley bit back another smile to see the rose in his cheeks.

“Could tell them nothing,” Crowley explained, holding the door open and gently guiding Aziraphale through it. Of course, they were met by Maggie, on her way in, smiling, as always.

Behind them, Nina called out, loud enough for half the street to hear and in such a tone that probably half the street would immediately know exactly what type of shenanigans Crowley and Aziraphale were up to. “Good for you boys, about time.”

Maggie’s eyebrows shot up in understanding, a couple of the schoolgirls giggled, and Crowley just continued to push Aziraphale out the door as he gave up the fight and called back over his shoulder, “It is and we’re not!”

*****

“Were you up for a little monkey business tonight, dear?”

Crowley covered his entire face with both hands and leaned both elbows heavily on the table. Aziraphale had to be deliberately doing this, otherwise there was no hope for them. The sex the day before had been rather good, it was a shame it would be their last time, but Crowley really couldn’t go on with things like this.

Peeking out from between his fingers, through the dark shades he only ever wore in public, Aziraphale’s tight-lipped smile and squared shoulders confirmed he was teasing. Crowley dragged his hands down his cheeks, pulling at the skin and trying to rub some of the heat out of them. “Why must you vex me on purpose, angel?”

“I thought you might like to engage in a little amorous congress?”

“That one’s not even a euphemism, just sounds awful.”

“How about bumping uglies?”

Crowley reeled at that, casting himself right back in his seat and released a guffaw that drew a couple of glances from fellow dinners.

Aziraphale beamed at him.

Leaning back in close and contemplating a little demonic intervention to at least keep wandering eyes and ears away, Crowley hissed, “Just call it sex, angel.”

Aziraphale pretended to think on that, pressing another mouthful clearly worthy of its own moan of appreciation into his mouth. It would have been lucky if the terrible euphemisms balanced out the obscene noises he made when he ate, but unfortunately, at no point had Aziraphale’s language actually put Crowley off even a little bit, and, to date, there wasn’t a single shared meal that Crowley could recall that hadn’t turned him on quite a lot.

“It isn’t just sex though, is it?” Aziraphale eventually decided.

Crowley arched an eyebrow and resisted the urge to reach forward and run his fingers over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. They didn’t do that, not in public, not yet. “’s not?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “What we’re really doing, my dear, is making love.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled and he took another bite and Crowley groaned and leaned back in his chair once more. “Good fucking grief,” was all he could say (mostly because – and he’d never, ever, admit this to anyone – he entirely agreed, and hearing Aziraphale say it was actually kind of thrilling).

“But back to the point, were we intending on making whoopee this evening?”

“Angel, if you discorporate me with your dreadful language, there won’t be any whoopee for quite a while.” Aziraphale ignored him and just took another mouthful of his meal. Reluctantly, begrudgingly, Crowley answered: “But yes,” and then he bent right forward at the hips, across the table, as close as he could get, voice dropped low and rough and secret, as he tried something new and daring, and in his own way, rather vulnerable. “Yes, I would rather like to fuck you tonight. Ideally until you’ve lost the ability to speak.”

Even if Aziraphale couldn’t quite bring himself to say any such thing, Crowley was increasingly aware that he rather liked to hear it. In private at least. And at that moment, at their usual table at the Ritz, in the privacy of their heads bowed together, Crowley saw straight away that it was making the angel’s breath catch and his pulse speed up.

A small victory, then.

Aziraphale took another slow mouthful and Crowley slipped back into his seat to watch with his chin perched on his hand, his elbow on the table.

“Very good, then,” Aziraphale said, still satisfyingly breathless. He laid his knife and fork down on the plate. “I was enquiring as I thought, with that being the case, we could perhaps get dessert to go?”

“Sounds perfect, angel.”

“Since you’ve so gallantly promised to butter my crumpet.”

Aziraphale wriggled with his enjoyment at the way Crowley’s face crumpled.

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Crowley griped and then simply followed up with, “I despise you.”

“You don’t,” Aziraphale replied, singsong and knowing.

*****

Crowley was in a ridiculously good mood. But he wasn’t thinking about it too much, lest he scare it off. It probably had a lot to do with Aziraphale, and it was probably rather unbecoming on his moody, sharp, dark frame.

Just the other day, Aziraphale had prodded him into bringing all his plants into the bookshop to find permanent spots for them; then he had taken him shopping to buy quite a few more. The day after that, Aziraphale had not only allowed Crowley to wedge a rather large flatscreen TV up against the wall in the spare bedroom, but had then snuggled up between his legs on the single bed and managed to watch all of Pride and Prejudice with only a handful of interjections about deviations from the book (Crowley had no idea if it would be a mistake to press the 1995 mini-series on him next).

And then Aziraphale had spent two hours this morning bent over his desk next to a mysterious man with a thick accent, ooohing and ahhhing at a simply sublime set of books they were on offer for purchase. He’d made a big show of asking Crowley if he thought the price was fair and Crowley had followed the prepared script and helped him haggle another ten percent off the first editions he’d selected. Why that particular interaction made Crowley extraordinarily happy was not something he was ready to contemplate.

All of this was to say that it wasn’t his fault what happened when he got bored of the book he’d been trying to read (Aziraphale had insisted he at least try reading novels) and slinked up the stairs to search out Aziraphale.

He found him sitting in the center of the four-poster bed in their bedroom (that was still unofficial, that it was theirs, but it was), his back against the pillows fluffed up on the headboard, ankles crossed with only thick woollen socks covering his feet. His waistcoat was all the way undone, as was his bowtie and top buttons. His shirt sleeves were folded back to the elbows and his wire-framed reading glasses were perched on his nose as his brow creased with concentration. Intermittently, he scribbled into a notebook propped open against his thigh and turned the pages of a stapled photocopy of some ancient text back and forth with his other hand.

Like this, especially before he even noticed Crowley lurking in the doorway, Aziraphale was devastatingly handsome. And rather likely to be Crowley’s undoing, he thought, still very happily.

He moved into the room and Aziraphale glanced up, casting him a smile as he continued to scribble.

Crowley rounded the bed and considered his options, although really there was just one: slip onto the mattress, beneath the sheets, and have his way with this perfect, delicious, delectable angel, precisely as lazy Tuesday afternoons and high thread count bedding were designed for. And if Aziraphale wanted to make him wait, to keep working, or even just to tease him, then he would wait. What else was there to do?

“Are you wearing sock garters again”? Crowley asked, trying very hard to sound unimpressed when really he was the opposite and already delighted at the thought of the extra touches and movements required to unclip and slide them down Aziraphale’s warm calves. The fact that Aziraphale must be the only man left on the planet that bothered with them was also infuriatingly endearing, in much the same way most of his endearing qualities infuriated Crowley.

“I am,” Aziraphale responded without looking up. “I’m afraid these socks require them and these are my most comfortable lounging socks.”

“Nobody has lounging socks, angel.”

Crowley knelt onto the mattress beside Aziraphale’s feet and Aziraphale finally looked up at him. “Did you want to take them off?” he asked, holding far too much control and expectation in his voice. Crowley rather liked that, too.

“If you want me to?” Crowley slipped one hand up Aziraphale’s right trouser-leg, over the warm scratchy wool to the skin between it and the smooth elastic material of the garter itself. He stroked his fingers back and forth.

“Are you trying to tempt me away from my work?” Aziraphale asked.

“Well, I mean, ‘s my job, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale lips quirked up. “Trying to entice me into a little afternoon delight”?

Crowley didn’t entirely hate that one, or perhaps Aziraphale really had started to wear him down. And he was so very, very happy that afternoon, for whatever reason, deliriously so, which was the only explanation for why he next said: “A little hanky panky never hurt anyone.”

Aziraphale snorted and Crowley felt the euphemism trip dirtily off his tongue as though it was a proper blaspheme and as though blasphemy was a real thing. He tried to swallow it back down and spit it out at the same time, like it tasted truly awful and should never have been uttered, but it was all too late.  He opened his mouth with a flinch, rolling his tongue and pulling a disgusted face that just made Aziraphale laugh.

“Shut up,” he said without venom and very quickly stripped Aziraphale’s right calf of sock and garter, scratching his nails through the hair across his shin as he did.

“Say it again and I’ll let you take my trousers off,” Aziraphale teased.

“Didn’t say anything,” Crowley grumbled, slipping his hands up the left trouser leg.

“What don’t you just ask me for a roll in the hay?”

Crowley said nothing but stripped the second sock and garter off, taking a moment to give Aziraphale’s naked foot a good, tight squeeze. Foot-rubs were a thing they did now, although Crowley was still making his mind up whether he preferred to give or to receive.

“Knocking boots?” Aziraphale tried. “The horizontal tango? A rendezvous beneath the sheets? What about making sweet, sweet music?” He was failing to keep the laughter out of his voice.

And Crowley was turning red in the face of it, he moved to crawl up the bed and put a stop to what should really be quite an off-putting monologue but Aziraphale stopped him with a foot against his chest.

Which in itself should certainly not have done what it did to Crowley’s stomach.

“Hanky panky,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed out. “Just fucking call it fucking, angel, you’ll find it freeing.”

Aziraphale did not look convinced but he also didn’t look like he didn’t quite enjoy Crowley’s dirty mouth. He’d admitted as much a couple of times by now, only ever in the dark, and only ever in between blissful, euphoric little moans.

Aziraphale let his foot drop back to the bed, moving his leg up and wide, inviting Crowley in. He seemed to search for a middle ground, “Fancy a shag?” he tried.

“What about a screw?” Crowley wasted no more time and crawled up the bed, slotting into place over and against him easily.

“You really are ridiculous,” Aziraphale told him.

“You are.”

#####

The war of the euphemisms waged for months. Aziraphale cheated by ordering in an entire book dedicated to the topic and once Crowley discovered this, there were moments in which he genuinely wondered when it would truly start to annoy him. Except it never did. There were many more moments where it served as a gateway to dalliances – to fucking, to, satan help him, making love – and, importantly, to talking about it. They got tremendously good at it, rather fast, as they very much deserved.  

And in the end, Crowley had to admit, it was all worth it: the red-tipped ears and the giggles of Nina and Maggie, the way his whole body recoiled every time he heard Aziraphale’s latest bad euphemism, and his tongue tasted like cabbage every time he was tricked or enticed into uttering one of his own. And it was especially worth it for the moment when Aziraphale seemed to finally tire of the game, or perhaps, there was just something in the air.

Aziraphale sidled right up behind him, never one to be quiet about such things, and rested his hands on Crowley’s hips from behind. He hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley learned back into the embrace automatically, entirely ready for whatever romantic, archaic, trivial thing Aziraphale felt the need to tell him.

Instead, Aziraphale whispered, hot breathed into his ear, “Darling, would you like to come upstairs and fuck me?” and that broke Crowley for quite a long while.

[norman891]

Dreamtime - One Shot fic

This picture had such a profound effect on me that I actually had a deam about it. My dream actually ended before I could reach out to him, so I finished the dream on paper, as it were. This also is one answer the question posed by #captjameshookthoughts in a post earlier today.

                                                Dreamtime

I’m standing in a dark room in my bedclothes, but somehow, I know it’s not my bedroom. It’s too dark; there’s no faint ambient light from my alarm clock or the nightlight in the bathroom. In fact, it’s almost pitch black. The door isn’t even where it’s supposed to be, it’s right in front of me.  I reach out and run my palms across the smooth, well-oiled door and find an iron bolt in the locked position.  The door is warm to the touch, but the floor is cold on my bare feet. And I can smell the ocean, cigar smoke, and alcohol, and something like linseed oil but not quite the same.

I keep blinking my eyes trying to get them to adjust to the blackness and turn to look around the dark room. That’s when I see him, only because of the thin shaft of moonlight that’s shining in through a window.  One thin sliver of light in a sea of blackness that envelops me and the man straddling a chair with his arms folded across the back. I instantly fight to control my breathing and the volume of my breaths to keep them inaudible. I know this man – even from the back, in this poor light, I know him.

He's been drinking heavily; the smell of rum permeates the air. And I can see a partially consumed glass of alcohol in his hand, but he’s not drinking it. His head is down on his arms and he’s crying silently; I can’t hear a sound, but I can see his shoulders heaving. 

I take a few tentative steps towards him, the lavish, lush rugs on the floor feel much better to my bare feet than the bare plank flooring. Now I can see the vicious steel claw that he wears on his right arm, the moonlight makes it gleam.  My heart breaks for him.  He’s so sad, so lost, so alone. I know this feeling, though not as cruelly as he does, but I am familiar with these feelings.  I have my demons that crawl out when I’m alone with my thoughts, and in the wee hours when I’m trying to sleep or worse, into my dreams giving me the kind of nightmares that make you wake up screaming and crying.

I want so badly to reach out and tell him he’s going to be alright. I want to tell him that I’ve loved him since I was a wee boy of five years old.  That I’ve never found him scary, threatening, repulsive, evil, disgusting, and a dozen other euphemisms for ‘bad’.  I would dearly love to put my arms around his shoulders and hug him, a good long, affirming hug but I don’t think he knows I’m here. At least, he’s given no indication, and he might strike out in anger or shock with the hook.

I know he’s a proud man and the last thing he wants is for anyone to see him so dejected and defeated, so vulnerable. But I also know I can’t just stand here and watch him suffer in silence; my heart won’t let me.  I take a few more tentative steps closer, and a board creaks under my weight – I freeze, thinking I’ve announced my presence prematurely, but evidently creaky boards are part of his everyday life because the noise doesn’t faze him.

I steel myself to try and deflect or maybe halt the deadly right arm that is sure to attack any intruder, but I also realize I’m not the strong young man I was in my 20’s or 30’s. I’ve gotten old and somewhat crippled.  I can’t even run anymore if my life depended on it, damn that doctor. I have been told though, that I am the most determined man many people have met, and my heart has not weakened under the catastrophes of life, nor has it lost its capacity for love. I reach out ever so slowly to gently lay my left hand on his right shoulder as I softly speak his name.

“Captain Hook, sir?” 

He almost jumps out of his skin, leaping to his feet and dropping his drink. He staggers a little bit, probably from the alcohol and being startled. An angry snarl is on his lips and the claw is held high ready to strike, little red spots dot the center of his entrancing blue eyes. Everything inside me tells me to run, but I hold my ground trying to keep a calm expression, my hands up at shoulder height.

“How did you get in here?!” the captain demands. “Who are you?!” glaring at the strange, bearded man in his quarters.

“Please sir,” I start, “Don’t kill me. I’m not here to do any mischief….”  He swings the claw at me, and I jump backwards. He misses my throat by fractions of an inch. Good Lord, he is so much taller than me. He must be six foot four at least.

“Don’t presume to give me orders! And how the Hell did you get in my cabin?!” I can tell he’s fighting the urge to eviscerate me on the spot and I’ve no idea why I’m still alive.  It is at this point I begin to wonder if I’m having a really strange dream… except I never know that I’m having a dream when I do.  But I definitely felt the leather harness that holds the barbarous hook and base to his right arm when I touched him. Never dreamed anything like that before.

“I thought I was having a dream,” I say as he attacks again, only this time I manage to grab his right forearm and hang on to it. Odd, I think, my voice doesn’t sound quite right to my ears. It sounds younger than the 59 years I’ve walked the Earth. 

“And why would you dream about me?” he growls, fighting to free himself from a grip I haven’t possessed in almost 30 years. “Having a nightmare, were we?” He reaches for my throat and begins to try and choke me with his left hand, inadvertently tugging the beard hairs on my neck.

“No sir,” I grunt. “I was actually hoping nothing would wake me from dreaming.” I’m trying to lean back and away from his hand while still maintaining my grip on his right arm.

“Rubbish!” he snorts derisively. “Why did Pan send you?! What are you here to do to me?!”

“Pan?!” I snap back, surprised at the vitriol in my voice. “That little bastard?! I’d kill him on sight if I ever saw him!” I snarl between gritted teeth.

“Balderdash!” He manages to snatch his right arm free but does not make another attempt to kill me – not yet at least. “No one hates Pan except me.”

“You’re wrong, sir.” I reply, adopting a more relaxed stance, my hands back up as more of a sign that I’m not armed and have no intentions of fighting. “I’ve hated that mosterous, evil little prick ever since my mother read me the story when I was five. You have no idea how many times I played at killing him and that damned crocodile.” He releases my throat, eyebrows raised.

He snorted again, convinced I’m lying.  “No little children love me,” he paused, a fleeting look of heartbreak gracing his handsome features. “No one loves me.” Though he had quickly wiped his face on his left shirt sleeve, his face is flushed more from his weeping than from anger. He knows I can see it and it gnaws at his pride.  “Get out, now!” He thundered. His right arm drops to about his rib cage as the all too familiar feeling of impending defeat washes over him.

“I don’t know how!” I reply, frustrated. “I don’t know how I even got here in the first place. And your door is locked from the inside!”

Hook looked over his shoulder suspiciously; indeed, the door was still bolted and as he looked around his state room, no windows were open either.  Confusion enters his mind.  “Who...?” he began. “How...?” He has finally noticed my left forearm and the tattoo on the inside of it. His eyes go wide with shock and disbelief.  “Where did you get that?!” he stares at my arm. There, in full color, is a hook. No, not just any hook but his hook and base, permanently etched onto my skin.

“I had that done about 10 years ago,” I reply, feeling a little less frightened. I hold my arm out for him to have a better look. I feel his fingers close tightly around my left wrist as he jerks my forearm towards him.  He looks at the claw at the end of his right arm, then at the tattoo several times.

“It’s… mine,” he finally stammers in complete disbelief. “Who did this? One of Pan’s….”

“No!” I interrupt. “I had it done in Charleston while I was vacationing at the beach. That little asshole has nothing to do with my tattoo!”

He slowly releases my wrist, still staring at the tattoo.  “But why would you want this…” he gestures with his hook, “as a tattoo?  It’s repulsive.  It disgusts me.”

I begin, feeling a knot trying to form in my throat, my stomach suddenly feels like a bottomless pit. “Sir, I have loved you for fifty-four years. Captain Hook, I love you so much I have, at times, feared it was sinful to love another person that much. Sir, I have carried you in my heart all these years, and I wanted something to let the whole world know where my allegiance lies.”  He likes it when I call him “sir”; I can see it in his ever so blue eyes, eyes I want to drown in.

He just stares at me, unblinking, his eyes evidently used to the darkness of his unlit cabin. I tell myself he’s probably wondering about my flannel lounge pants and V-neck t-shirt. I’m sure he’s never seen any attire like mine. He’s also still wondering whether or not to just gut me on the spot. I’m sure of it. Why should he trust this old man in his room, who somehow got in through a locked door.

“You’re lying,” he says finally, his words laced with scorn fueled by all his previous experiences. “I am loathsome. I have done unspeakable things.  I am horrid to look at. I am so detestable, so vile, so hideous that I can barely stand to look at my own reflection so how can anyone look at me without revulsion?”

I feel myself smile gently, my posture relaxes further, and, lowering my hands slowly I take a small step towards my childhood…my lifelong hero. I am inundated by love and empathy.

“You’re none of those things in my eyes. I’ve never felt anything but love towards you, sir. Well, and sorrow for what that hateful beast Pan did to you.”

“I will not tolerate your pity!” He says acerbically.

“It’s not pity.” I insist. “Sorrow is different from pity. Sorrow and grief are born from love. Pity is reserved for the stray dog that’s been so mistreated it doesn’t trust humans enough to even let you get close to it so it can’t be helped or fed or anything.” I heave a sigh. “And I do love you, so very much.” I realize that I’ve inadvertently just compared him to a stray dog and pray he doesn’t pick up on it. “I – love - you!”

“You what?” he stammered, shocked.  “But how?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was an enlightened child.” I grin for a moment but it’s a fleeting moment of satisfaction because Hook starts shaking his head.

“No,” he says flatly. “No, this cannot be. You must be lying to save yourself. NO ONE loves me. Do not try deceit with me… whoever you are. I am alone and unloved, and always will be.”

“I’m not lying, and you are not unloved!” I almost yell at him, a little angry for being called a liar. “I can’t help it if Pan has lied to you and…” I pause. Had Wendy and her brothers already visited Neverland?  “And any of the stupid children Pan has brought here. It’s not my fault they’re all blind as bats and gullible to Pan’s lies. I loved you from the first time my Mom read the story to me.”

“Story?” Hook queried, puzzled. “What story?”

“Um,” I begin, thinking how to put it delicately. He’s been hurt enough as it is, no need to heap more humiliation upon his heart. “Well, one of the children Pan brings here, she decides to leave and go back to her parents…”

“The storyteller!” he exclaimed. “I remember her. The Wendy.”

“Well, after she grows up, she and her husband write a book about her trip and adventures here.” 

“I thought she was different,” Hook says wistfully. “I thought… but no. No children…” he stopped short and looked back into the eyes of the strange man in his cabin. They were not critical of him. They did not hold him in contempt. There was no hate in them.  If eyes were truly the window to one’s soul, then this man had laid his bare for Hook to see.

“Before tonight I have never met anyone who claimed to love me, or even cared for me. Maybe Smee but….” His expression fell back to one of utter dejection and grief and he staggered back to the chair to sit before his knees buckled.

This time I follow him, again laying a hand on his right shoulder as I squat to look him square in the eyes. “I love you. I have always loved you. I will always love you, so long as I draw breath into my lungs. And I’m not the only one. Peter has lied to you, because there are plenty of children who love Hook, and even more like me who never stopped or forgot you.”

He tried to look away but could not, even though he desperately wanted to. He could feel his eyes burning as they had earlier this evening before he started drinking. A single tear crept down his cheek, and he was consumed by shame and humiliation and closed his eyes. “Please go away,” he said hoarsely. Wasn’t it enough to be constantly harassed and humiliated by that flying demon child? Now he was confused and bewildered by the appearance of this strange man in his cabin and even more so by his words and tattoo.

Was he the one that was dreaming? Surely, he’d had enough to drink to be in an alcohol induced haze. Would he awaken in the morning to realize this was all a callous dream? He looked back up at the man. “What is your name?” he sighed glumly.

“It’s Edward, but Ed works too.”

“Edward?” Hook echoed. “Edward…” he said again, thoughtfully. The face that beheld him was still smiling, eyes twinkling with utter joy at being in his presence. “I know that name,” he says, “though I don’t remember… but Neverland makes one forget.”

“I have something I’d like to give you if I may, sir,” I ask, proudly raising my broken body to all of my five-foot, six inches height. “I’ve been keeping it safe for you for 54 years.”

“That’s an awfully long time, in some places.  What is it?” Hook asked suspiciously, but curiously.

“If you don’t mind, sir...” I quickly straddle Hook’s legs and plop down onto his lap, simultaneously wrapping both arms tightly around the man. I lay my head on Hook’s left shoulder, waiting to be torn asunder by the claw but I will not pull away. I will not hurt this poor, shattered soul further. If I die, I die happy.

Hook raised his eyebrows and stiffened briefly, then slowly relaxed. He found himself the recipient of the first affection, the first real hug he could remember receiving since his own childhood with Aunt Emily, ever so long ago. His first instinct was to shove the man away; centuries of rejection were hard to surmount.  The fellow began to speak softly but with so much conviction: “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” Over and over until Hook could hear nothing else in his mind but those sincere pledges.

Then he felt it; a warm, peaceful sensation emanating from Edward and seeping into his own body, into his very soul. His arms slowly found their way around Edward, careful to keep the point of his claw turned away from the man and returned the hug.

I try to swallow the knot in my throat away; I don’t want to bawl in front of him, but I can feel my eyes leaking tears anyway.

Hook gazed down upon the head and took note of the silver that far outnumbered the darker hairs. For a fleeting moment he thought he saw a small boy asleep on his lap, but after blinking several times in disbelief he plainly saw the older gentleman who had called him ‘sir’ out of respect. Who left no doubt in Hook’s mind that he was, indeed, loved, by at least one soul. It eased some of his pain. It made his existence in this living Hell a little more bearable.

Hook stayed in the intoxicating embrace even after Edward became hoarse and ran out of ‘I love yous’ or just succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep with his head on Hook’s breast. Without purposely meaning to, he let his chin rest atop Edward’s head, heaving his own purging sigh. His eyelids fluttered and Hook gave in to the emotionally draining exhaustion – and in all probability the effect of the large amount of rum he had consumed earlier, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep. 

He was alone again in his cabin when he awoke as grey dawn began to light up the sky, once again confused and perplexed. His guest was gone with no evidence he’d ever been there, and Hook’s cabin door was still bolted from the inside. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed his odd, bearded visitor. He slid the bolt open for when Mr. Smee would come with his tea and breakfast. He looked forward to it; for once he actually had a good appetite this morning and no hangover.

While he waited, he sat again in the chair with his arms folded across the back and pondered what had happened the previous night. He again felt very alone and lost, but he also felt the corners of his mouth flick upwards briefly as he heard a voice in his mind like a metronome: “I love you. I love you. I love you…” 

He found wispy, silvery hair, not very long, on the sleeve of his shirt. No, it indeed had not been a dream. Strange by all accounts, but as real as he was himself. Hook would spend many hours pondering exactly how his visitor had reached Neverland and if he would ever return. But he was left with one comforting thought; that no matter what else Pan took from him the imp could not change the fact that at least one soul loved him unconditionally.

I awaken with a start to the rumble of thunder and rain pounding on the roof of my house. Lightning flashes again and my heart breaks: I am no longer with him. I want to go back! I sit up on the side of my bed and weep bitterly until I have to go the bathroom to blow my nose, clear my sinuses, and wash my face. The very idea of an almost 60-year-old man crying like a child over a stupid dream…

I turn the bathroom light on to get my washcloth and dampen it with cold water. I look at myself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot and swollen from weeping and choking on my own snot… and then I see it. A single strand of long black hair, curly, on the right shoulder of my white undershirt. No one in this house has hair that long. It must be his. It has to be his! It wasn’t a mere dream after all.  I take the hair and carefully deposit it in an envelope, then tuck it away in my bedside stand. And though I already miss him dreadfully and wonder if I will ever cross into his world again, at least I have made sure that Captain Hook knows he is neither alone nor unloved.

[empresstheresa-guide]

Theresa and Steve, a love story for the ages.. part 3 B

Recap: Theresa has been dating Jack for a few months. She doesn’t actually care about him and has no long term plans. But one day, she walks into Jack’s room and finds he has a hometown girlfriend he never mentioned to Theresa. Humiliated, Theresa goes into her room to wait for Jack. She puts on an extremely short sexy dress to taunt him.

Steve walks in instead and they share a passionate kiss, despite never interacting before. Theresa then tells Jack’s girlfriend Ginny that they weren’t compatible anyway, and she feels bad for Ginny who is only a waitress. 

BUT all of this was scrapped. Norman wrote three completely new versions, so let’s look at those. 

VERSION 3

This version begins with Theresa donning the ”little black nothing dress” again, so I won’t rehash it. Check part 3 A. 

”It was now nearly nine o’clock and I was near tears.  There was nobody around here who cared for me. There wasn’t one person I could walk up to and call ‘friend’ to their face.”

The more I quote from the book, the more it stands out that Norman often uses the same word twice in one sentence. It doesn’t really matter what time it was, you can just say the evening was wearing on and you were near tears. (Norman also loves exact numbers with distance, time, age etc.) I think the quotation marks around ”friend” are unnecessary, since ”friend” is not a nickname or euphemism, but that’s a minor point. 

Steve enters the room again.

”He walked up close to my desk and said, “Ginny is Jack’s hometown girlfriend.  They’ve been seeing each other for years.  She was supposed to show up next week but she came early.”

      So.  It was going to be all over anyway. 

      “Did you know about her?”

      “No. None of us did.”

Norman actually considered the fact that a Good Catholic Boy wouldn’t just let Jack have two girlfriends, kudos for that. But how does Steve know Ginny was supposed to come next week then? Norman has also changed the punctuation. I think the lonely ”so.” sounds off, but I like it better than the exclamation point. 

This is the last you’ll hear of Jack and Ginny in this version. No more compassion for the lowly waitress.

”Have a seat.”  I indicated the bed.  He sat down on the edge of it.  We looked at each other.  I must have looked pretty sad after a miserable evening.  I sensed that he was aware of how lonely I’d been, but somehow I didn’t mind his knowing.”

I guess this makes sense, she doesn’t mind being vulnerable in front of him. But the way it’s phrased isn’t great. He’s not some psychic for realizing she’s sad. It would be expected in this situation. 

”Anything going on in the dorm?”  I suggested.

       “There’s an all night card game.”

What about all the homecoming week activities mentioned earlier? 

  ”     I heard about the boys playing cards all night.  You would think something exciting was going on, but all they did was throw cards around.  There was no intelligent conversation possible when all you did was look at your cards.  Why did they do it?”

My theory is that Norman walked in on a card game, and everyone fell silent because no one likes him, and they just wanted him to leave. So now he thinks that playing poker is just people silently staring at the cards. 

”  He glanced at my legs.  My hemline was practically up to my hips when I sat down.  Nothing excited boys more than a shirt skirt.  Bikinis didn’t do as much. ”

Who needs a bikini if your dress is THAT short? 10 inches above the knee is basically a bikini when you sit down.  

”  “You’re quiet, Steve.  Something on your mind?”

      “Yeah. I’m trying not to think about what I might see.”

       “I’m wearing a thong.  You won’t see anything but my hip.”

       “And a nice hip it is, I’m sure.”

Oh Norman. Do we really have to talk about Theresa’s underwear? Isn’t she sexualized enough already? I just don’t understand this dialogue, either. If she’s wearing a thong and a 10-inches-above-the-knee dress, then Steve would pretty much see everything. And the dialogue is inorganic too, who would ever say that about her hip? 

I can just imagine Norman sitting alone in his sad little room, staring at his Windows ME computer screen, trying to come up with romantic dialogue for 17-year-olds. I feel kind of bad for him, but as I always remind myself, he’s a complete douchebag who treats everyone like trash. 

  “You’ll get used to me soon, Steve.  We have to get over this awkward moment.”

More unnatural dialogue. Nothing makes a moment more awkward than stating that it’s awkward. They never talked to each other in private before, so it’s bound to be awkward. 

So Jack doesn’t come to Theresa’s room, nor do they go downstairs to deal with the situation. Theresa and Jack are just over and she’s ready to move on with Steve. Good Catholic Girl(tm).

”The feelings of an eighteen year old boy in this close encounter weren’t hard to guess.  I felt safe. There was no way he was going to try to take advantage of me like some boy who would keep trying to get something that wasn’t his right.”

Steve has a giant boner. But if she’s supposed to be with Jack, is it his right to even be there? 

”Anyway, I could throw him out the window.”

I do kinda like this sentence. I wish there was more HAL and her superpowers in this chapter, because it seems unlikely that she would just ignore that whole part of her life. How about if she suddenly did something with her super strength? Or if Steve/Jack noticed she gives off heat? 

Next, Theresa decides to show Steve a TV series about Queen Victoria. More on that later.

VERSION 4

This version is identical to version 3, except the whole ”a nice hip it is I’m sure” thing is left out, and instead Theresa notes:

”I stood up and reached for a deck of DVDs high on my bookcase. Steve must have had a great view of my backside.” 

This is at least better than that awful dialogue, but Norman manages to sexualize Theresa again. Why doesn’t she just change clothes, if the dress was only a way to get back at Jack? Clearly Norman wants Theresa to be as sexy as possible, and it’s gross.

VERSION 5

And now for the worst, most stinking heap of them all. Prepare to hear Theresa’s and her Dad’s thoughts on a film from the 1950’s. 

”I waited a few minutes. There was no knock on the door.  I sat on the bed and turned on the television.”

And here, the action screeches to a halt (ha, I almost wrote HALT) while Theresa watches TV. 

”They were showing the early part of “The Caine Mutiny”.  I’d seen it before.”

If a 17-year-old girl turned on the TV and a 1950’s movie was on, she would instantly change the channel. It could work if this was a hobby of hers, like she's an old timey movie buff who prefers old stuff to new teen movies. But that's not how it comes across here. Norman wants us to know what he thinks of the movie, so it’s included, even if it makes no sense whatsoever. 

Unless there's some deeper connection between "The Caine Mutiny" and this story that I'm missing here. If you can think of something, I'd love to hear it.

” Captain Queeg was a paranoid personality who couldn’t take adversity.  It made him a dictator on the ship.  He made his men miserable with his inflexible demands.  Later,  there would be an ultimate crisis,  a monstrous typhoon that threatened to sink the ship.  That’s when the Captain lost it and his chief mate Maryk took over the ship on the grounds that the Captain was nuts.  As a reward for his courageous saving of the ship, Maryk was put on trial for mutiny.”

I'm not familiar with the story, so I don't have a lot to say on that. I will say that by Norman's standards, this isn't too bad. In fact, it's fairly coherent for him. But I'm confused by the verb forms here. We start with "was" and "made", then there "would be" a crisis, that's when the Captain "lost" it. It's a bit of a mess. Also "the captain was nuts" just sounds dumb and doesn't go with the style of the paragraph.

”My dad who’d been in the Navy read the book and said half of it was about a love story between Ensign Keith and a girl who wanted to be a singer.  Eventually her career took off and she left the Ensign.  Dad guessed that this boring love story meant something to the author, but it dragged down the book.  The movie producers wisely dropped the singer’s story and concentrated on the mutiny. It worked because the chief mate’s willingness to sacrifice his career to save the crew was a very effective love story of sorts.”

”Dad guessed”… that phrase alone should have told him this isn’t a good idea. At least have Theresa herself read the book. I just cannot imagine a situation where a teen girl listens to her dad talk about a 1950’s movie/book, and then later recounts his opinion on it. She’s writing this 600 years in the future, too. She wouldn’t even remember what her father said, unless it was very meaningful for her life.

Here’s the thing about her dad: all we learn about him is that he was in the Navy. This was already mentioned in chapter 1. He has one indirect line. ”He said I had to be the captain of my ship, but sometimes the seas would be rough”, which again relates to him being in the Navy. That’s his whole personality. He’s like a cardboard cutout with a navy uniform. Imagine your daughter writing an autobiography and only mentioning your job. I would be crushed if I were her dad. See also her sister Catherine, whose only quality is being less smart than Theresa. If your family is so close knit and loving, you need to express that in some way. Every relative would hope to be in the book, and they’d all be so disappointed they didn’t make the cut, and instead Theresa talks about some boy she doesn’t even care about. Norman, of course, never considered this. 

Back to the story, I’m definitely not surprised Norman thinks love stories are boring… and he says that while trying to write one. You need to read a lot if you want to be a writer. Norman thinks he can just write the best thing ever, without doing any research. It’s like he’s building a house, when he has never seen one in his life. 

”   I noticed something similar in a book called “The Robe” which my grandmother gave me.”

Oh god. Instead of getting on with the story, Norman digs out another musty old book. 

At least here, Norman had some inkling that maybe a teen in 2017 wouldn’t have read a book published in 1942. So fair save with the grandmother, but it’s still unlikely that Theresa would have cared about the book this much. 

” It was written by a Methodist minister who filled it with quotes from the Bible.  It was a spectacular bestselling book in World War II when the world looked like it was falling apart, but it would probably bomb today. ”

How does Theresa know what the world was like post-World War II? 

” In the Hollywood movie starring Richard Burton, all the Bible quotes were dropped, and they concentrated on the conflict between Burton and Caligula.”

I assume Burton is the name of the actor, while Caligula is the name of the character. Norman doesn’t really explain the story, but hey, who hasn’t read ”The Robe”? It’s one of the big ones, right up there with ”Harry Potter”. Every young person loves ”The Robe”. 

Norman gave more of a recap on the story of ”The Caine Mutiny”, but this book is much more obscure, and he doesn’t even bother describing it. 

” But Burton and his girl marched off to martyrdom from a more dramatic Emperor’s throne room scene than was in the book.  Sometimes subtle messages work better than speeches.”

If I was more dramatic, doesn’t that mean it was less subtle? 

”    That’s how I operate.  I could have criticized Jack in front of his friends for dating me without telling about Ginny, but I said nothing.  I let people think it out for themselves. ”

Well, it was pretty obvious to everyone. Norman is trying to force a connection between his story and this review of two very old movies, but it doesn’t work. Theresa not confronting Jack is just bad writing. If she’s so subtle and says nothing, why even include the story in this book? She could have ignored Jack altogether, they dated for like a month and she didn’t care about him at all. Obviously she wants the readers to know how she was wronged by Jack, but that ruins this whole point. She’s furious and nonchalant at the same time. It doesn’t make sense. 

” The movie ended with the Caine sailing back out to sea.  Ensign Keith was the only officer of the original crew left after the devastating trial.  ”

Just when you think it’s over, they pull you back in. 

”  The next movie was one of those horrible made-for-TV -walking-dead movies. I couldn’t stand them and turned off the TV.  The problem with that trash is it didn’t address an individual’s decisions in life.  It was insulting to avoid challenging the viewer’s ideas as if his ideas didn’t matter. ”’

That last sentence just reads like world salad to me. And thanks for that opinion too Norman, what a scintillating chapter about Theresa’s love life. 

Zombie movies - ”The Walking Dead” being only one franchise - are usually about humanity and the collapse of society. What kind person would survive and how would it change them? What would I be willing to do to survive? It’s thought provoking. Maybe Norman has only ever seen one really bad zombie movie. But this is all consistent with his baseline of scorn and belittling other people’s work, while admiring his own. 

Does Norman think ET addresses people’s decisions in life? Of course he does.  

”At least in ‘The Caine Mutiny’ you were challenged to think whether you would have the courage to take over the ship like Maryk. If you were a real thinker, you’d consider why the Navy didn’t look into the circumstances of the monsoon scene before rushing into putting Maryk on trial. Apparently nothing had been said before the trial.”

Oh man, I feel like this will never end. Your character is having a crisis and all she can think of is ”The Caine Mutiny”. If it was at least a teen movie about cheating, it would make some sense. Have her ponder on Team Edward or Team Jacob. (Since some of this was written in the early 2000’s and also I’m old and can’t think of a more recent example, but almost anything would be better.) 

Of course, Norman isn’t ”a real thinker” by any stretch. Those questions could be asked in a high school English class. 

”I stared at my roommate’s wall.  There was nothing to do and I was milking my loneliness.”

You could go downstairs and confront Jack. That’s something to do. Theresa loves to wallow in self-pity, this will be a theme later in the book. 

” People who never went to college believed it was one continuous party. In fact, parties were rare […] College life was mostly studying and killing time with inane activities.  It was a test.  If you could stand this life for four years you could stand anything. A lot of kids went nuts and dropped out.”

She just said a few pages ago that there were lots of activities on campus that weekend. I thought Norman liked Boston College and specifically wanted to advertise it in this book, but here he depicts it as mind-numbingly dull. 

”  After half an hour moping on my bed I moved to my desk and resumed moping. ”

I love this quote. She’s moping, quits for a second, and then resumes moping.

” The truth was I was desperately lonely.  I thought of going downstairs to see what was going on, but after the scene in Jack’s room my loneliness would be too obvious. I still had a little pride.  It was amazing how quiet it could be on the girl’s floor.  That was another thing people got wrong.”

How would Norman know how quiet or loud it is in the girls’ dorm? 

I actually sort of feel for Theresa.. until Steve walks in again.

This part follows the earlier version, where Steve explains the Ginny situation. There is, however, a new addition:

 “You’re quiet, Steve.  Something on your mind?”

      ‘Yeah.  You want me to leave?”

      “If you leave now I’ll have to kill myself.”

      It took a few seconds before Steve got the joke and laughed. The ice was broken and we each had that little smile of people comfortable in their situation.”

That’s a joke?? Suicide is a joke? Wow, Norman. This book is supposed to have a positive message and provide a good role model for readers. So girls, just remember that if things are awkward, you should make jokes about suicide! 

Jack is still technically her boyfriend and nothing has been resolved. How are Theresa and Steve already comfortable together? They haven’t even really talked to each other before. We know they haven’t, because if they had, Norman would have written a long description of it. 

”Next came planning the night’s campaign.”

They sit in her room and watch DVDs. It’s not like she’s running for office. 

”    I stood up and reached for a deck of DVDs high on my bookcase.  The DVDs were of the famous BBC production series ‘Victoria’.”

Apparently, Norman realized the note about her backside wasn’t appropriate. But the ”Caine Mutiny” bit was still worse. 

”Victoria” is actually an ITV show. Norman probably thinks BBC is the only broadcasting company in the UK. The show came out in 2016, so we can assume this happens in ca 2017-18. Were DVDs still a big thing then? Streaming services were already available. Although I guess if you lived in the US, you were unlikely to have British shows in your streaming services. Maybe it makes sense.

”An eighteen year old girl becomes queen of England and the British Empire.  Everybody wants something from her. She survives eight assassination attempts. You wonder how a teenage girl got through it. You wonder if you’d have the nerve to take on what she did.”

Laying the foreshadowing way too thick here. We get it, Theresa has to take responsibility at age 18. She tells Steve what he will think of the show, before they even start watching it. Theresa and Steve often work as a hivemind who has the same ideas of everything.

”Victoria’ was made for the English who already knew the story. It was very complicated with rapid changes from one subplot to another. I had to explain the characters and their motivations.  Steve seemed interested.”

He was probably just thinking of her dress and thong. It’s also oddly random that they start watching DVDs instead of going downstairs and dealing with Jack. It’s almost like he never existed. 

British people on Twitter confirmed that they do not, in fact, already know everything about Victoria, so the show couldn’t be that obscure. I wonder if Norman saw one episode and couldn’t really follow it. 

”We both marveled at the responsibility the girl took on.  She could have withdrawn in her castle and ignored everything going on in the world. She went out to be seen by the people despite assassination attempts and made heavy decisions like sending a band of traitors to Australia instead of letting them being drawn and quartered. ”

That last sentence desperately needs some punctuation. This is one of the most boring chapters, half of it is just recounting old shows and historical events. I preferred the version where Steve passionately kisses Theresa out of nowhere. It was bad but at least there was a story. 

”Her uncle was next in line if she abdicated.  He did maneuvers to bring this about. The girl queen told him, “I have made mistakes and perhaps I will make more, but I’m a better monarch than you could ever be.” I wondered if I could do as well at her age.”

He makes the same point again! And it wasn’t even subtle the first time. Norman clearly sees no difference between Victoria, who was an actual queen and a real person, and his fantasy ”Empress” Theresa, who only exists in his head. She’s not even a real empress, they just call her that for no reason. Well, at least ”Victoria” didn’t come out in the 1950’s, and is slightly more relevant to Theresa’s story. 

THE GRAND FINALE 

We’re near the end now. Forget about the part where Theresa and Steve go downstairs. This time they stay in her room all night. This ending is the same in versions 3-5. 

”We took two breaks during the night to go downstairs and get little snacks out of the food machine. Some people saw us at two a.m. which was sure to start rumors. By daylight we were giggling from fatigue.”

She’s OK with rumors.. more on that in a bit. Imagine watching DVDs all night, with the other person explaining every detail while you’re watching. I would have fallen asleep at some point.

” We went to breakfast. I was still wearing my little black nothing dress which stood out at breakfast.”

Two sentences ending in ”breakfast”. 

Why does Theresa act like this? It’s like she wants people to gossip. 

 ”It was obvious from our demeanors that we’d been up all night. Girls gave us the eye. I didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted.  We hadn’t done anything we couldn’t tell our parents.”

Theresa doesn’t care about her reputation.. but later in the book, she says she kept herself clean, because she knew one day she would be world famous. In a story where government agents spill confidential information to other nations, she doesn’t worry about other students telling the press about this. It would be a scandal. Good Catholic Girl dated two boys at the same time! 

”Nosy girls filled our table and asked what we did all night.

      “Nothing” I said.

      “Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre, Theresa!”

Great writing there with so many rrrrrrrrrrrrrr's. It's like a teenager's writing. "OMG I loveeeeeeee this song!" Norman will occasionally use inappropriate numbers of letters or punctuation to make a point. e.g.

”There must have been a lot of panic.  ‘Theresa Hartley’s plane is missing!!!!!’ 

And if you're going to use it, it should be "suuuuuuuuuure", not "surrrrrrrrrrrre". Norman never sounds out his dialogue.

Back to the scene:

      Steve joked, “The video is on YouTube”.

For once, Steve’s joke isn’t that bad. Norman has heard of YouTube, I’ll give him a point for that. He did get upset at KrimsonRogue and said that KR would soon be forgotten, while ET would be known forever. 

But why is Theresa so OK with people gossiping about her? She herself makes nasty comments about ”bad girls” in the book, and puts herself above them. These are mostly in the old versions. 

Chapter 1 (older edition):

”A lot of people said I was the girl who had it all together or my story would have been very different.  Perhaps it was because of what I didn’t do as much as what I did.  I tried to be a good girl. 

I had good parents.  By the time I was ten they convinced me I should get myself through the school years without drug or boy problems.  There are girls like that, you know.  You wouldn’t think so to look at the news.  I find it strange that people are interested in news about troubled girls, but don’t want to associate with them.”

But by this definition, isn’t Theresa a ”troubled girl” now? She’s taunting boys with an extremely short skirt, and spends all night in her room with a boy, even if she doesn’t actually have sex with him. Even sitting right next to him in your sexy thong-dress is something a Good Catholic Girl would not do. What would her parents think of it? Norman’s obsession with sexualizing Theresa, while still presenting her as some kind of pure Madonna figure, just backfires.

Chapter 8 (older edition): 

”In college I heard talk of a girl who had four intimate boy friends who knew about each other and what was going on.”

So they had a consensual poly relationship. I guess in Norman’s head, that’s as bad as cheating on someone. 

”A couple of other girls took a vacation in Barcelona, Spain where young studs waited for American girls at the airport.  The girls had wild orgies where nobody knew them, and when they got back home they could pass themselves off as virgins.  This was not the conversation I wanted to be part of.  I didn’t have steamy sex stories about myself like many of the girls.”

Girl reading ET: ”Mommy, what’s a stud? What’s a wild orgy? What are steamy sex stories?”

I’m amused at the idea of Spanish guys waiting for American girls at the airport. There are plenty of beautiful young girls in Spain. But I digress. The point is that there are ”bad” girls and Theresa clearly looks down on them.. but she ruins her own reputation with no care in the world. It’s not a ”steamy sex story” per se, but if everyone assumes she had sex with Steve, she’s right up there with those ”bad” girls.

This is one big issue with the book: Theresa often does not live according to her stated values. She just does whatever and we’re supposed to support her, and not only that, but admire her. She’s a good girl, despite wearing a 10-inches-above-the-knee dress to arouse boys, and walking around in that dress at breakfast. She seems to be reveling in her own beauty and sexiness, which is not a very likable trait, and makes it harder to relate to her. 

And then the conclusion of the story. 

”We suddenly had lots of friends. An attractive couple was invited to everything.”

Was Jack unattractive then? We never did get any description of his looks. At least he didn’t have red hair and glasses, like Jeff Winslow. 

Theresa makes two jabs at Jack later in the book, when she gets rich. It shows how petty and vindictive she is. In case you didn’t know, she’s also very greedy and hogs natural resources to make ludicrous sums of money. 

Chapter 14: 

”Total sales of my gold and silver reached more than a billion dollars a week and was climbing fast. This might taper off after a while, but in less than a year I would be richer than some small countries.  Theresa calling Jack.  How are you doing with Ginny?”

Chapter 16: 

”Corporations were already blabbering about all the things they could do with the metal.  Within a month I was a billionaire.

      I wondered what my old BC boyfriend Jack Koster was thinking of all this!”

Norman either forgot he already said this, or he thinks it’s such a great point, he should mention it twice. It makes Theresa look so bad. She didn’t even care about Jack, it’s her ego that’s bruised, and if she didn’t let this go in 600 years, she never will. Even if she’s happily married with her soulmate and has 420 children. (Yeah) She can’t help but remind Jack of what he lost.. even if their relationship was never meant to last anyway. 

Part 4 will feature Norman’s discussion of their relationship. If you want something romantic, you will be disappointed. It’s mostly reiterating over and over that they’re sooo compatible and that they waited for marriage. 

[mightyflamethrower]

Democrat Candidate Proposes Reeducation Camps

What’s next for New York Democrats after finding the leading presidential candidate guilty on 34 felony counts of being their opponent? How about throwing his supporters into North Korea-style reeducation camps? 

No seriously:

The New York Democratic congressional candidate running against GOP Rep. Elise Stefanik suggested “MAGA” supporters should attend a “re-education camp” after the 2024 election — even if Democrats see a “resounding blue wave.”

Paula Collins is from New York City. But she did stay in a Holiday Inn Express in Stefanik’s upstate district last night — or rather, she is renting a bed and breakfast room.

Collins realizes that her fellow Democrats will need a euphemism before the policy of incarcerating supporters of their opponents so as to inflict brainwashing is actually imposed:

“Even if we were to have a resounding blue wave come through, as many of us would like, putting it all back together again after we’ve gone through this MAGA nightmare and re-educating basically, which, that sounds like a rather, a re-education camp. I don’t think we really want call it that,” she said during the Zoom townhall. “I’m sure we can find another way to phrase it.”

You know, the way they found another way to phrase illegal aliens (asylum seekers), abortion (choice), sex change operations (gender-affirming care), insanity (neuroqueerness), fake (authentic), exclusion (inclusion), et cetera. A suitable way to phrase reeducation camps might be “fun centers.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

❛ your heart is beating so fast right now. ❜

Choice-era Jessica/Leto, PG-ish, also on ao3.

This is all a mistake of world-ending proportions.

Jessica is well aware that her power is matched only by her impulsive streak, the impacts of her training faded by a few years of far less supervision than she knows how to function under, and she knows just as well that she is prone to blowing things out of proportion. But direct defiance is a new one for her, and the disapproving thoughts in her mind these past few months have been endless, and-

This has all been the biggest mistake of her little life. It’s about time for her to at least not be alone in it.

Not completely alone, she reminds herself – she has felt flickers of the other life inside her since she created it, the vague forming energy that is becoming her son. With this, fear; with this, love in a way that overwhelms her. Damned reckless decision, yes, but already the power of it, already-

Her mind keeps secrets; her body keeps more, the slight changes of her shape buried under her usual layers, the preferences she has allowed herself to develop perfectly suited to hide a pregnancy for several months more if she decides to. Only exposed is something different, and even that is indefinite for now, just the slightest redefining of her shape, no obvious explanation and besides she was always just a little too small, and-

If her partner has noticed, he hasn’t said, but the kindness of oblivion will only last so long. Like everything else, she is learning, this will be easier if she takes control and does it on her own terms.

She decides to have the conversation in the quiet of night, as she does all important things – easier to make herself be a person if she’s tired, and that happens easier now than it did before. This is already a defining line in her life, perhaps even more so than her placement, and-

“What am I going to have to pretend I don’t know?”

How thoroughly they have built routines, she thinks, and how little of this will have to change if they survive the year. She is overcome with love for her partner, for how easily he adapted to her behaviors and tendencies – no efforts to change her, just the development of polite euphemisms and an interpersonal dynamic that hinges far too much on plausible deniability. Normally when she goes quiet it’s that sort of thing, some minor bit of damage control that shouldn’t cause fallout but one never knows and it’s always better to be safe, and-

“You always assume the worst,” she replies, hoping she sounds affectionate enough. She has proven herself in these years, she has responded to what has been offered, she has-

“You’re not normally that tense unless you’re up to something.” Reciprocated affection, and not wrong, and-

“We do need to talk,” she says, well aware what meaning those words tend to carry in a feminine voice. “About me. About us. About…”

Skies, there is no good script for this conversation. She’d been half tempted to wait until her new curves are too obvious to politely ignore, there are no good options for this, she’s too tense and far too clothed and-

“Is something wrong?”

She suppresses a blush, suppresses the affection she should know better than to feel at every little kindness. “No, not… nothing wrong, love.”

“Then what-“

This would have been easier with skin visible, she thinks again, and she’s half tempted to strip but that would cause more problems than it would solve. Normal women, she suspects, do not have this much panic about such confessions. Normal women do not-

Jessica is not and will never pass for normal, and she’s winging this as she goes the same way she is learning to do everything else. She moves closer to her partner, perches her body on the edge of a chair, damn how domestically useless he is sometimes, damn-

“I am not alone in my body.”

For a moment there is silence; for a moment it is as if the planet itself has stopped moving. She watches him react, counts the seconds until he realizes what she’s said, the restrained reflex towards closeness, towards her, this moment he will remember with his dying breath because he has never wanted anything more in the world. The certainty of it all, of desire manifested, of-

“How long?”

“Close to two months. I… I have faith in this. In us.”

She sees how it hurts him to hold back, to not know the state of her heart and how much she would tolerate right now and she wants to freeze this moment forever, wants to hide it deep in her own heart where the storms ahead cannot touch it. She will face reality in the morning; for now, in her confession, it is enough to cross the small distance, to melt into her partner’s offered embrace, to be safe, to be-

“I don’t know what to say right now.”

Affection in that, and pride in return. To render that man speechless, to be so overwhelming against his core nature, to do so by accident… this is the depth of what it is to be loved, she suspects. To be, from here until the end of all things, everything because of one decision that was objectively the worst thing she could’ve done but oh how could anything be wrong that gives her such warmth in return, how could anything-

“Your heart is beating so fast right now,” her lover murmurs, bringing her back to this moment, back into her body. His hands have found a place on her abdomen, already protective; he has known about their child for only a few minutes and this is already his deepest loyalty. Even she, important as she is, will not compare to the commitments currently forming in his mind. Even she-

“Is this…”

She wants to be told she is loved, she is perfect, she is completion. She knows she is all of these things, but words would be nice, the warmth with which she responds to her partner’s voice would be nice, she would like-

“I didn’t think you would.” Voice deep with a longing she still does not understand, a set of wounds acquired long before her that she may yet heal. “I didn’t really think-“

“You ask me for so little,” she murmurs, and she would do more, she would do so much more in a heartbeat but it is not in his nature to burden her. “But you wanted this and I-“

Her voice breaks with the fear of it all. To be so reckless, to take such risks, to not know what sort of being their son will actually be and still-

She focuses inward for a moment, on the flickers of half-life assembling themselves in the warm hollows  of her body, and makes her own promises. Whatever happens, she will love as best as her fragile heart can. Whatever happens, she will defer to her partner and otherwise run every bit of damage control she can think of. Whatever happens, this is where life is.

“I still didn’t-“

“Of all times for your confidence to slip,” she laughs, and for a moment she believes they will be alright. “You have made me… you have made me feel safe enough for this. I hope our son always feels that too.”

Perhaps it is too soon to give her partner that weight too, but she feels the wave of emotions come over him, that one little detail making their situation even more perfect. She tries, for a moment, to see it all as he must, the unexpected but hoped-for result of so many tired daydreams, of-

“Our son,” he repeats, and few things have ever sounded so important. “You have truly given me everything.”

More than he’ll ever know, she wants to say. From now on, her personal obligations to protect their family carry risks she will do her best to make sure he never knows. Those precious requests had been made without understanding, and she will keep that innocence, she will-

“I would like to keep quiet a few more weeks,” she murmurs, already thinking ahead to plans turned logistical nightmares turned oh goodness she doesn’t even know the relevant planetside protocols. “If possible. Think through how to-“

“That would be alright.”

She shifts position and takes a kiss, and for the first real moment of her life, Jessica feels safe. Perhaps her rebellion is a false alarm, but even if it isn’t… she knows what she has done, what she has bound herself to by opening her body in this way. Her partner is nothing if not loyal; he made space for her in uncertainty, did not shape them into anything too soon, and… now look at them. Look at the beauty they have become. Look at-

“A few weeks,” she repeats like a promise against his skin. “No more than that. No-“

“I already said yes,” her partner murmurs as one of his hands moves to her hair. “What more do you need?”

Everything, she’d say if she were brave. Vow against her skin that he will choose them above all else. Actually say things instead of just showing her. Be the man everyone outside these walls thinks he is. Be-

For the moment, at least, Jessica is not brave, and she is too tired for a fight or how they tend to each other afterwards.

“I don’t want to be difficult,” she says, even as she knows that means nothing right now.

“Can you stop panicking and let me hold you?”

She is not panicking, she would like to point out, she is having a perfectly rational set of responses to the vivid possible complications and the more realistic but still frustrating administrative work associated with the most spectacularly impulsive thing she has ever done, but…

She does. What else is there?

[stitchlingbelle]

Watching Avatar, Part 11

Aaaand here we go! Shit is about to get real, but there's still a lot fo episodes left! I'm sure this is fine!

9. “Nightmares and Daydreams”: Very cute episode, it did a great job breaking the tension between the horror of “Puppetmaster” and the upcoming invasion. It was also nice to see so much attention paid to Aang’s fears, which really adds the personal aspect to the stakes they’re playing for (lbr, no one thinks he won’t defeat the Firelord eventually). And in such a relatable way, with that greatest-hits-of-bad-dreams playlist. That “I was perfect but I wasn’t me” line of Zuko’s might have been the revelation I was hoping he’d get to. We’ll see.

10. “The Day of Black Sun, Part 1: The Invasion”: Awwww, my continuity-loving heart adored this. Also, I was relieved—I didn’t realize they had so many groups signed up, if you will, which makes this whole plan sound more feasible. (Of course, my meta-brain reminds me we have two more discs to go, so I am Concerned.) Loved Aang’s snack-compartment staff, that’s perfect for him. Also loved Iroh getting that nice girl to get out safely. The battle was great, although it does make me think of one of the problems with “good guys don’t kill” stuff in stories like this—they kill mooks right and left! Sure, a lot of the time they find other ways, but you can’t cause this many explosions and avalanches without killing people. It’s only when it’s Main Villains that “killing is bad” gets trotted out, which can occasionally feel ridiculous. You already killed so many people! But that’s storytelling for you. Great twist ending—where DID everyone go?

11. “The Day of Black Sun, Part 2: The Eclipse”: WOW, that was intense. Zuko finally gets himself together, and HOW. Great emotional showdown, great use of the Chekov’s Gun that was redirecting lightning. What did happen to Zuko’s mom? (Listening carefully to the dialog here, I realize the official story is still that Azulon ordered Zuko’s death, but since they used a lot of euphemisms, I’m free to keep that other headcanon. It makes more sense.) Amazing use of Azula’s control of the Dai Li and her general terrifying badassery. YAY, Suki’s alive! Oh crap, that plan failed dramatically and now they are all screwed. Are they going to kill off Hakoda? I hope not. Loved Iroh’s “escape during the eclipse when they’re not expecting it” plan, he’s still the GOAT. Watching the Gaang flee on Appa was utterly heartwrenching.

[seabreeze2022]

Bahamas cruise 2022. Part 10 April 4. DECA station, Pipe Creek.

Great start to the day, home baked muffins washed down by steaming coffee. Can you smell it?

We moved up to the old DECA station and anchored out, (see tip of pen in photo below). Once secured we explored the DECA station harbor and beach. Then we checked out Pipe Creek. This turned out to be one of our favorite places in the Exumas.

Nancy on the beach at DECA station. For a detailed explanation of DECA check out Wikipedia. These were an early global navigation signals that mariners could triangulate, designed by the British.

Deep foot prints in the sand at DECA Station, and dinghy anchor rode. This is such soft sand!

“Sea Breeze” anchored off of DECA Station with calm wind. Note the wind scoop sending what little wind there is into the forward hatch. There is a fresh water pit at the nearby worksite which we think produced the mosquitoes after sunset.

This is Pipe Creek. We really loved this place. A couple of tour boats drop their people at the mouth. We took the dinghy all around. Small sand bars, sand bores, and beaches. We found where the conch were. Many small juveniles which is great to see. And then enough legal adults we felt ok taking them. It is assumed at todays rate of catching conch, they will be rare in 15 years.

Nancy on a sand bore with a King Helmet. They eat sand dollars which are black when alive. Hence the black coloration on the lip. We only find 1 or 2 each year in the Florida Keys. Here we end up finding them very regularly, now that we know where to look. NO, we do not kill these. But we do enjoy looking at them.

Nancy on one of the many small unnamed Cays in Pipe Creek.

Unbelievable how far the Red Mangrove roots lope a ross the sand.

Here is Nancy enjoying the warm waters, while our dinghy floats in the background.

We have collected three mature conch, just enough for a fresh dinner. To be legal they should have “a well developed lip”. We placed these in a bucket in the dinghy. There is a small fish called the “conch fish” that lives inside the shell. Don’t know how, but they do. Later with some water in the bucket, several swam out and I released them. They are pretty fat for their 2” length.

With conch becoming more scarce these days. The conch fish are adapting and live in Pen shells.

Here, using the claw end of a hammer, I have hammered a hole in the third ring down on the shell. Then placed a knife vertically in the hole and cut the conch part holding it to the shell. I have the easy part, bashing with a hammer.

Nancy cleans the conch separating the meat from the entrails, the very tough outside skin and hard foot. To explain to people how hard the process is she says, “…it is like skinning an Elephant”. Let me be the first to emphatically explain, Nancy has not actually skinned an Elephant. It is more of an euphemism but sounds very appropriate.

Nancy has served up fresh out of the shell conch cerviche.

After lunch it is time for Nancy to get out the sheep shears and cut my hair while I stand on the back of the deck. Notice the extension cord is tied around the chartplotter hand rail. She can not get eletrocuted.

So ends a great day at DECA Station. Our wind ghost is funneling as much wind as possibly down the forward hatch. If there is a possibility of rain, I sleep directly below the hatch. When I feel rain drops, I run up on deck and close all hatches. Later I open them back up. This might happen twice a night.

Now that we know where to pick up conch. We return the next day.

Three conch are kept fresh for dinner. The locals would have punched a hole in the large lip and tied them all together. Then they could not walk away.

The second day of cleaning conch, I was bashing and bashing and bashing. But I could not make a hole in the shell. Finally, I looked at the claw part of the hammer. It had been bent back parallel to the handle. That is when I realized that I had been lucky the first day. You need to hit it vertically not horizontally. The shell is actually very thin, where you need to hit it. Anyways, this hammer now has a story and proudly lives in my tool chest.

I will close this blog for the day.

S/V Sea Breeze, DECA station, Exuma, Bahamas.

[nesttrust]

Ilift top hat

#ILIFT TOP HAT DRIVER#

#ILIFT TOP HAT MANUAL#

#ILIFT TOP HAT PROFESSIONAL#

Sure, cases can be made that the 40-yard dash has little to do with the movement requirements of American football, but there’s no doubt that players are being scouted on their raw ability to move with speed. I have worked with college football players that missed making it to the NFL strictly because they ran a bit too slow in their 40-yard dash.

#ILIFT TOP HAT PROFESSIONAL#

How many times have we heard that? Anyone who has worked with team sport athletes understands that in order to make it to a professional level, athletes MUST have the speed necessary to do so. Eventually I'll get around to removing them and seeing if loosening with an impact is possibly able to unstick them.Speed kills. What I did not realize at the time, though, was that sustained impacting like that tends to slam the adjusters toward the full-loose side, jamming them in place. Still had to keep the shaft from spinning, but they went together way quicker. So, sharp fella that I am, I grabbed my 3/8" cordless impact and used it to tighten the rears. I converted to NB mounts and remember tightening the front by hand. Maybe adding 1% more wear to my bumpstops or something.Īfter my last re-install, my rear rebound adjusters did become seized, but I'm 99% sure it wasn't from grabbing the shaft (.). Either with Knipex pliers, plain old-school channel locks, or, my preference, the swedish pipe wrench (no, that's not a euphemism for a sex move). I've assembled them by grabbing the larger 'ball' section at the top multiple times. I've been afraid of clamping anything on the shaft to stop it from rotating for fear of damaging the shaft. The lockwasher under the shock nut looks compressed. I don't know if the shock shaft is moving in the mount, or if bearings or other parts in the mounts are moving.

#ILIFT TOP HAT DRIVER#

I tried hitting it a few times with a 1/4"impact driver with a right angle attachment, but it didn't seem to make a difference. I was never able to get the shock nut to 10 ft*lbs since the shock shaft spun before this happened. I verified the torque on the upper mount nuts. I believe this is where the noise is coming from. I can feel some movement between the upper shock nut and the mount. When I do this I hear a noise from the upper shock mount area. I think what I am feeling is movement before the shock starts to resist. With the car up on the lift I can feel some "free play" when I lift on the rear lower control arms. A bad noise from what sounded like the upper shock area when driving over bumps after install. I suppose the next test to confirm the cause of the issue, would be to swap the Flyin'Miata tops left and right, while leaving the shockabsorder and spring on their current sides, to see if the noise moves to the other side with the top hat?ĭid you figure this out? I might be having a similar issue with the FM 2.5 kit (konis and purple top hat). In total it's traveled no more than 150km (approx 90miles). The vehicle drives great, handles well but the noise is horrible and concerning. Refitted the new shock absorbers and had the wheels aligned. I've refitted the old shock absorbers incase it was caused by them - no change.

#ILIFT TOP HAT MANUAL#

In attempt to resolve it I've gone back and loosened off all the suspension bolts and retorqued to Service Manual torque specs. Does this sound like the symptom of a failed spherical bearing? At higher highway speeds (110km/h - approx 70mph) it does seem to ease up and almost become not noticeable. Any small bump in the road seems to cause it. A friend described it as 'chatty' which seems to be a fitting description. Recently reassembled I took it for a test drive and have an awful noise coming from the rear left corner - it's a rattly, clunky noise. my 89 NA6 was off the road for a year or so during which time I replaced all the suspension bushes, ball joints, tie rod ends and shock absorbers, fitted the Flyin'Miata NA Rear Upper Shock Mounts and Bumpstops, frame rail braces, braided brake lines, updated to 15" wheels with Bridgestone RE003 tyres, fitted a 2 1/4" exhaust and headers. Due to our first son being born, renovating the house, work being busy, etc. What is the signs and symptoms of a failed spherical bearing in the Flyin'Miata NA Rear Upper Shock Mounts ?

[aeide-thea]

new ao3 tag of all time: ‘implied previous happenings’

[guccigarantine]

It’s every gay person’s nightmare: the person you ghosted on a dating app is now the one running the time travel murder game you got yourself involved in 

Two whole hours and I still hadn’t figured out what to do. It sounded decent in theory to just talk to him, but this was a game about murder. This was the guy who made the game about murder and my plan was to tell him forcefully that I was going to make him stay. I’m supposed to get out of this situation through my wits alone? Past me had so much confidence in present me-- or maybe he hated present me. “Sorry, not my problem.” Signed, Past Me.

Ryan looked nervously to the door and then back to his phone, perhaps checking to see if CANNONBALL had emailed him back about anything since it was taking so long for the door to open. I squinted. Ryan looked... eerily familiar. I didn’t think that he looked like someone else. I had the distinct impression that I had seen him somewhere before. My mind wandered, and it was as I thought about how he was sort of my type that I made the connection.

I flung open the door. “Seriously, it’s you?” I asked.

 A few expressions swept over Ryan’s face. Confusion that I wasn’t CANNONBALL, fear and anger as he realized that CANNONBALL’s involvement in WOE.BEGONE had likely just been compromised, and finally recognition.

“Mike Walters, pleased to meet you,” I said and smiled a fake smile.

“You’re from--”

 I interrupted him. “We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to.”

“I know, but what are the odds?” He asked, jaw slightly agape.

[Beat]

“He left all his data unsecured. I found all kinds of stuff on--”

He interrupted me. “We’re seriously not going to talk about it? Are you embarrassed? Or maybe discreet or...?”

I blushed. “Fine. Yes, we messaged back and forth on Scruff a long time ago.” Scruff is a dating app, mostly for masculine gay men looking for other masculine gay men, but its use is a little bit broader than it sounds from that description and its more feature-rich than Grindr and apparently there are local guys in your area who are down to alter space time tonight. We had exchanged some messages and non-lewd images on there a long time ago. Well, a gay long time ago, so like a year and a half. Gay temporality is a type of time travel in itself.

“You were hot. I forget why we stopped talking,” he said. See, podcast listeners? Proof that I am in fact hot. I mean, as long as you take my word on it that he said that I was hot.

“I probably flaked or we didn’t have enough in common. Hobbies and interests are really important to me. I can’t believe we are having this conversation while I have a guy tied up in his own apartment and not in the fun way,” I said.

[Beat]

“That’s a shame. There’s a parallel universe where we kept talking and you’d be on the other side of this WOE.BEGONE game,” he said. “I mean, literally. There’s literally another dimension where that happens. A statistically significant number of dimensions, actually. I could probably write a program to figure out roughly how many. Finding them would be almost impossible, though.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

[Beat]

“I guess you aren’t going to let me in on this whole thing, are you?” I asked.

“For someone as sexy and smart as you… no,” he said.

[Beat]

“Is your goal to hunt down the quantum computer so that you can seize it for yourself and skip the middleman?” I asked.

“Well, it seems like you have some fun ideas of your own, so I won’t ruin your fun. You seem to get off on wildly speculating. You should add that to your Scruff profile,” he said.

“I try to imply that through euphemism on my profile,” I shot back.

“Guys on Scruff don’t get subtext, Mike,” he said.

 As frustrated as I was with Ryan, nothing that he was saying was untrue. “What are you going to do when you walk out of this apartment?” I asked. “I assume that I am relatively safe based on what you have said to me tonight.”

“I don’t have to decide that right now. I can decide it whenever I want to. But I know what would make it most entertaining for me,” he said. “I think what I’ll end up doing is getting a little closer--” He came and sat right beside me on the couch I was on. “And leaning in real close--” He brought his lips up to my ear. “And in the faintest whisper, telling you...”

And then I woke up standing in the middle of the fucking road! [Punches desk]

[gnocchighoul]

the demons brothers + a touch starved mc

Lucifer

If you’re going to Lucifer because you’re touch starved, then you’re definitely going to be close to him already -- he doesn’t let just anyone touch him.

.......He’s also touch starved but won’t admit it, so one of you is gonna just have to bite the bullet and make a move.

(It’s gonna have to be you)

You’re going to have to go about this carefully--make a really good plan and then execute it flawlessly.

Literally just throw yourself at him. 

He’ll catch you. 

Probably.

Nothing says ‘give me affection’ quite like yeeting yourself off the staircase at him, and he definitely understands what you want when you latch on tight to him like a weird little barnacle that he cant peel off no matter how hard he tries dfghjkkgf

He’s really warm and he smells Really nice and he hugs you so tight, like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get, so he’s honestly one of the best snuggle buddies. 

He’s gonna act all fussy about your love-attack at first--just play with his hair and smother him with lots of kisses and he won’t be able to resist snuggling u. Or banging u, but that’s your choice

Y’know, because “demons can’t resist temptation” and all that jazz. 

(tbh he just likes likes you alot)

Mammon

...Why are you staring at him like you wanna eat him?

Seriously, knock it off, you’re freaking him out!

Wait, why are you coming closer…? Get Back you Fiend don’t you DARE wrap your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his chest like that what the FU--

...Oh.

Huh. This is kinda nice.

(Just hug him. If you want his affection, just wrestle him into a bear hug and don’t. let. go.)

At first, Mammon doesn’t really understand affection that isn’t along the lines of a friendly/loving punch. He’s not used to kindness. It’s a fucking tragedy. 

He doesn’t know how to ask for love because I don’t think he even realizes thats an option, tbh. 

He’s kind of like an unsocialized puppy--will definitely put up a fight until he realizes that, hey, being snuggled is nice.

Luckily for Mams, you are touch starved and determined to show his stupidass what affection is supposed to be like. 

He’s going to get so blushy. Sooo blushy. He totally pretends to not like it at first, but inside he’s over the fucking moon happy.

It takes him a while, but eventually, he realizes that he can ask you for snuggles too. At first he’s all “C’mere human, I bet you’re just itchin’ for me to hug ya, so let me make all your dreams come true!”

(It’s a defense mechanism.)

But over time, he eventually seeks you out and just flops on top of ya, and doesn’t feel the need to make a big show about it.

He feels safe with you, and that’s priceless.

Levi

Is incredibly confused about why you’re seeking out him for affection.

When you ask him if you can give him a hug, he expects you to just like... Wrap one arm around his shoulders for .2 seconds. 

Which doesn’t sound too bad, so he says “Um, sure, I guess? I dunno why you’d want to though” 

So when you climb into his lap and wrap your arms around him like a koala bear, his brain straight up blue-screens. 

Seriously, he forgets how to breathe. Don’t squeeze him too hard or he might never restart.

You smooch him on his cheek and his soul promptly leaves his body and is ejected into the atmosphere at mach 5.

This is literally better than Heaven. And he would know, he used to live there.

He totally freezes up and makes a wheezy sound that’s somewhere along the scale of “Dying Animal” and “Exploding Sink”

Needless to say, you create a snuggle monster.

I promise you that you’re never going to be touch starved again, because once you’ve given Levi a taste, he can’t get enough. 

He constantly needs to be touching you. Holding your hand or the fabric of your shirt, leaning against you, sitting with you in his lap while he plays video games--it literally doesn’t matter, he just needs that contact with you or he might literally die. 

He’s very enthusiastic about it dfghkfd

Satan

Look… Satan is very smart. 

But he’s also incredibly dense at times. 

You have to be blunt with him, or else he’s just not going to know what you want.

(Feelings that aren’t all consuming anger and hatred are still a bit new to him--he’s learning as he goes)

Just walk up to him and tell him that you need him to snuggle you right now, dammit. Lay your soul bare to him. 

He really does love that you trust him. It makes him feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

And how can he possibly say no when you set his heart alight?

That said, he is a bit of an over-thinker. 

Worries about crossing boundaries or making you uncomfortable and a million other things--give him lots of reassurance pls

He isn’t opposed at all to cuddle sessions, especially if he’s able to read at the same time. 

It definitely becomes a normal thing to cocoon yourselves up in a really fluffy blanket to read together.

Satan is honestly one of the best to snuggle with because he’s very chill about it. You want this and he wants this, so he doesn’t see a point in playing games.

So yeah, he’s chill! But he’ll also threaten the life of anybody who interrupts you guys 

Asmo

Please, he knows that you’re touch starved before you even do.

Until you’re upfront about it, he’s going to tease you by like, patting your head, playing footsie with you, giving you only the briefest of hugs--just slowly giving you a taste of his affection until you finally cave and demand that he snuggles you properly. 

(Is that a euphemism? It could be lol)

As soon as you ask he’s gonna push you down onto the nearest couch/bed/whatever and just flop on top of you. 

Honestly, Asmo wants You to be the one holding Him. He wants to use your chest as a pillow, and doesn’t he just look so cute all snuggled up to you like this? He totally does, you should take a pic of him!

Cuddle sessions are absolutely going to become a regular thing, and he makes them into a big event each time. My mans Asmo is gonna bust out the candles and the softest blankets and the fluffiest pillows.

If the opportunity strikes, he’s definitely gonna try to bang you.

If not, expect to do face-masks together. Maybe manicures. But definitely the face-masks, at least.

He’s gonna spin this into a fuckfest or a self care session--it really just depends on what you prefer sdghjk

Once you’re in his arms, he will tickle you. rip

Beel

He is the BEST hugger in the whole entire world.

When you approach him and ask for cuddles he will pull you into a hug without hesitation.

I do not care how tall you are, Beel is taller. He will engulf you in a hug and rest his chin on your head and sway you back and forth 

You want a piggyback ride? Hop on. 

Just wanna watch tv and snuggle? Great idea! :D but maybe don’t watch cooking shows or he’s gonna drool on you dfghj

(lowkey I think he would really enjoy watching human movies with you. He found Mamma Mia to be absolutely enchanting)

Want him to lay on top of you and crush you until all of your woes have been squeezed away? He will absolutely oblige you

Congratulations on your newly acquired teddy bear! Please don’t forget to feed him.

Literally just sit on his lap or wrap your arms around him whenever you want, he’s always down for a good snuggle. 

He’s by far the nicest about it too, he won’t tease you about it and he will never hold back from telling you exactly how much he loves holding you in his arms

Definitely loves to be the big spoon but has no problems with being the little spoon either. 

He’s just so fuckimg SWEET

Belphie

Oh, you're touch starved? Perfect. He's been in the market for a good snuggle buddy.

You silly human, why didn’t you come to him sooner?

Don’t listen to what Asmo says, snuggles are Belphie’s domain.

Once it’s established that you two are going to be snuggle buddies, he will literally just abduct you for snuggle time. 

He doesn’t care what you’re doing, he’s going to throw you over his shoulder like a sack of flour and haul you off to his blanket nest whenever he wants.

He just wants you all to himself. 

Will share your snuggle time with Beel tho.

After abducting you, he's just gonna toss you onto his bed and fall on top of you. He's really warm and he really just wants to lay on you. Partially so that you cant escape once he falls asleep lmaoo

He's happy to just talk to you about whatever you want while you guys get your snuggle on, but be warned: he's eventually going to fall asleep. 

Probably mid sentence. 

He won’t wake up when you poke at his cheeks or shake him, either. So uh. I hope you’re in the mood for a nap too!

Get matching sloth onesies with him. He’ll tell you it’s stupid but he’s actually thrilled with them. (Make sure you also get Beel a bear one though)

((part two with the undateables + Luke))