#mercenaries x donald

[abusivelittlebunny]

I'm trying to write the Donald having a bit of fun with his mercenary buddies fic bc that's without any plot and it's just pure smut that I know I won't be making into a gigafic (or is it) but for some reason Donald speaking Spanish to get his Mexican men during sex has me going insane... he's all Texan drawl whining to get fucked harder but then he gives a broken fóllame por favor, papi~♡ and the guy on top of him goes from 0 to 100 real quick needing that southern belle to mewl like a kitten while he punches the Mario coins out of that tight Texan bussy

[shegetsburned]

𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐯𝐬. 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧

summary : Sarge, Donut and Washington are held by the Federal Army on Chorus, the last place the Freelancer thought he’d reunite with a former teammate.

characters : Locus (red vs. blue), Donald Doyle, Agent Kansas (freelancer oc), Agent Washington (red vs. blue), Sarge (red vs. blue), Franklin Donut

pairing : Locus x Kansas - “you are the only truth”

note : Finally, throwing myself into a rvb fanfic! So yeaaah, basically this is how Kansas shows up again and the beginning of something with Locus. I really enjoyed writing it and I do hope you guys will like reading it.

word count : 3,3k

chapter 1 - …

The outpost offered itself to Washington, Donut, Sarge, and General Doyle on the promontory. Doyle had brought them here to have a sight upon the snowy mountains where Outpost 37 of the Federal Army was located.

“Upon your arrival, I ordered Locus to confirm his findings and bring you to us as soon as possible.” General Doyle clears his throat, anxiously searching for words to excuse Locus’ previous behavior. “Unfortunately, it appears as though I should’ve been more specific in the exact method of your acquisition.”

“So what? It was all your mercenary’s fault?” Washington asks, still waiting for an answer to why such violent measures had been taken in their attempt to rescue the Reds and the Blues from the New Republic.

“Not only my mercenary-”

Washington cuts the General off.“You expect us to believe you guys find us this quick, that Locus found us this quickly?” 

“Agent Washington, we had several ways to locate you. One that might appear even more familiar.” Doyle lingers on his last words as footsteps are heard on the metallic stares behind him. 

A dark burgundy armor slowly makes its way beside the General. At the sight of the new soldier, Washington freezes. It’s like thousands of memories come rushing back to him. As if he hadn’t already felt the wrenching pain of reliving painful ones during his few minutes with Epsilon. Feeling his fingers squeeze the handle of his rifle, he can’t help but spit out his thoughts.

“What the fuck.”

“Uh, might tell us who that lady is?” Sarge asks, noticing the familiar anger that surrounded the group every time an acquaintance from the past resurfaced.

It’s this familiar voice, echoing into his brain. 

“Hello, Wash.”

His friend. Another Freelancer. The same one he thought he had lost when she had gone AWOL and never returned. 

“Kansas.” Her name slips from Washington’s mouth in a whisper. “You fuck!” He immediately aims his rifle at her.

The sight of the barrel frightens General Doyle, as he flinches and hides behind his Freelancer.

“Sarge, what is going on?” Donut asks, trying to get a hold of what’s happening. 

As they hadn’t already had enough on their plates, the Reds seemed to attract trouble wherever they went. Especially ghosts from the past.

“I have no idea, private, but it appears we’ve stumbled on another crazy-murderous lady! And this time.. she’s red!” 

“If you could please lower your weapon agent, so I don’t lose one of my most precious assets.” The General pleads, head slightly peaking over the girl’s shoulder. “That would be most appreciated.”

She was calm when she spoke. “Let’s talk. Then you’ll be able to put a bullet in my head.” Understanding the man’s frustration, Kansas wanted nothing more than to ease the mind of the soldier and not get into too many details as to how and why she was still alive.

“You’re supposed to be dead, Kansas.” 

“We sure do seem to say that a lot.” Says Sarge remembering the numerous times Donut came back from the dead.

“I do realize way too many people have strong opinions about my survival.” Kansas states, slowly shifting to the side to reveal Doyle’s shaking figure.

Washington hesitates. His finger was perfectly still, resting upon the trigger. He examines his past teammate, years of friendship flashing into his head. 

Tension filled the atmosphere before Washington finally laid down his weapon.

“You owe me more than a talk.” 

Without any more threat in sight, relieved, Doyle regains composure, his stature rising straight beside Kansas. “Agent Washington, I believe you crashed here for a reason.”

“It certainly wasn’t to see her again.” 

Kansas lays a hand on her chest plate. “Ouch. I’m hurt.” 

“Good.” If it hadn’t been for the helmet, Kansas would’ve recognized a peak of irony in the man’s voice. The usual kind of sarcasm the Freelancers both shared.

“Gentlemen, I am fully aware I might never gain your trust, but let me be perfectly clear, we are not your enemy.” 

“Listen, the New Republic has your men.” Kansas adds to Doyle, trying to draw the conversation towards the most crucial part. The part that would win them over.

“And I can promise you, they’re likely recruiting them in their rebellion as we speak.”

“I could inform our troops not to attack them. But I cannot keep them from defending themselves. That’s the best we can do.”

Peaceful alternatives were always considered by the Federal Army, especially when it meant protecting Washington’s group. Kansas had entrusted him during these many years of training. The trust still remained, at least on her side. 

But Washington also knew there was a cost to getting his friends back. 

The General was a smart man, had he only been in this position for weeks, he had assumed full responsibility for the Federal Army. Gaining the Reds' and Washington’s trust would definitely balance things out. 

Doyle also knew that their first thought, after rescuing their friends, would be to escape this planet, as soon as possible. “So, I can’t promise you a safe way out of here, ships are shot down before they can leave the atmosphere.” Doyle explains, erasing any thought of escape from the minds of the men standing in front of him.

“Then what can you promise us?” Washington asks, credible.

Doyle and Kansas exchange a look before the General decides to once and for all, declare the real reason for the Reds and the Blues’ rescue attempt.

“If you can help us defeat these terrorists, you would not only save our planet, you would also save your comrades.”

“So then? Speak.”

They had withdrawn into the outpost’s quarters. Thin walls separating them from the cold breeze of the mountains.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.“ Declares Kansas “I’m fairly disappointed.” Her attempt to defuse the situation was as poor as her negotiating skills. 

“I’m sure you are. Speak.” Maintains Washington, dedicated to unravel the truth.

“Wash. May you explain what in Sam Hill is going on here?” Asks Sarge, once again, nervously trying to figure out if his shotgun would finally be of good use, today.

“She’s a Freelancer.” 

Freelancer. The word nobody dared to use around the Reds and the Blues. Donut and Sarge immediately readied their weapon in Kansas’ direction.

“Freelancer means problem! And as much as I love proving my superiority to the Blues by taking down agents, I’ve had enough!” 

“Listen, this is important.” Softening her voice, she leans forward, just enough to establish a friendly environment. 

This was one very important task for Kansas, and she was willing to do everything to rally them to their cause, for a better chance to defeat the New Republic and get their people safe.

“What? This? Them? What has gotten into you, all of a sudden?”

Her determination to save these strangers had to be the oddest thing Washington had encountered since their arrival on Chorus. That, and a General that crumbles at the sight of a firearm pointed at him.

“You want to save people now? Not abandon them to their deaths?”

“I didn’t abandon you.” Kansas immediately responds, more on the defensive. This subject was not something she wished to elaborate on. It rested heavily upon her heart. This had to stop.

“Yes, you did. You ran. Without us. Knowing about all the lies surrounding the Project.” The memory of a detailed speech by the Director sparked in his mind again. “They told us you died as a traitor.”

“I went to get help.” There was hesitation in her voice. Like she tried to voice the reasons for her departure to Agent Washington, but something was keeping her from elaborating more. 

“Guess the only help you got was for yourself.” 

Knowing the past events were permanent scars on the Freelancers, Kansas chose to keep her calm, not searching for any confrontation. After all, it’s them she needed to convince.

“I’m not here so you can forgive me, Wash. Doyle hired me to help them in this war.” This ounce of guilt could be heard once again when she spoke. “They’re good people, and if nobody helps them, they’ll die.”

Washington rested only on one word, like all the others were irrelevant to him. Hired.

“So you’re doing this for money, still? Unbelievable.” 

A chuckle escapes the girl’s mouth, reminding the other Freelancer of his not-so-honorable past actions. “Didn’t you work with the Meta to get a ticket out of prison? We all have our reasons.” Noticing Washington’s absence of remark, she centers the conversation, once more, towards what really mattered. “If you want to rescue your friends, working with us seems like the best solution for you guys, right about now. It’s your choice. I won’t have a problem throwing you out of here with the rest of your team.” 

“Hey!” Of course, Sarge was offended by the simple thought of being in the same team as their worst enemies, as he lowered his shotgun. “Don’t you see he’s a Blue?” 

Kansas can’t help but look at the three of them before reformulating her statement to satisfy the old man. “Then with the rest of- with the- the red guy and the other lightish red guy.” 

It takes a second for Washington to realize what she had just said. “Lightish red? Are you kidding me?” 

“Do not give Donut a reason to talk about color palettes again. I’ve had about enough of the practical guidance for color mixing and its terminology based on the color wheel and separation palettes!” Sarge cries out, remembering the horrors of what hours of very intense and detailed explanations of the color palette theory by none other than the pink armored soldier who defines himself as lightish red had felt like. It was engraved in his memory. Forever.

At least, there was a very enthusiastic man in his ranks, now. “Wow, Sarge! Who knew you had time to listen to my seven-hour color theory podcast?”

Kansas, who slowly paves the way for a deeper conversation about colors, crosses her arms, clearly enjoying the situation. “Considering you guys are called the Reds and Blues, and not the Mixed colors and Blues, I’d say it would be more than appropriate to state that Donut is, indeed, not pink…” She slowly shifts her gaze to Washington before emphasizing her last words. “But lightish red.”

There was no way she was not fucking with him. Playfully engaging the conversation with the two simulation troopers standing beside the Freelancer.

“Ah! Who’s the obsessed one, now, Sarge? How can I be obsessed when I’m absolutely right?” Chants Donut, proudly showing off his armor in a twirl.

Sighing, Washington rubs his helmet before intervening, once more. “This is not how obsession works. Quiet, Donut. Can we get back to the point?”

“The point is, your friend here isn’t pink.” She states, with an amused chuckle.

Donut’s head slowly shifts towards Sarge. Unfortunately, his desire to recognize Kansas’ color knowledge is cut off by Agent Washington, who takes a step forward.

“There’s something in it for you other than money. What is it?”

It was fair to think Kansas had other things in mind than money. Her life had once revolved only around missions and war. And she was getting paid for both of these.

“Why would you even think that?” 

“During a civil war, most of the time, both sides aren’t rich enough to pay mercs and freelancers.“ Washington’s words betrayed his knowledge of the Freelancer. “What are they giving you?”

“They’re not giving me anything more, Wash.”

As much as they knew Kansas, even Donut and Sarge waited for a more elaborate answer. 

It took several seconds before she spits out what Doyle promised her as a reward. “Alien artifacts.” 

“I knew it.”

“Advanced weaponry, armor piercing rounds, upgraded terrain vehicles. Did you know you could mount cannons on a mongoose-”

Washington knew Kansas had to be stopped before she felt the need to explain every single vehicle she had fallen for since her arrival on this planet.

“Okay, okay, we get it.” He finally cuts her off.

She can’t help but finish in a single breathed sentence. “Overall, dope as fuck artifacts.”

“Talking about dope as fuck artifacts, where are Lopez and Lopez 2.0?” Interrupts Sarge already hung up on retrieving his robot friends. As a matter of fact, it’s all he’s been thinking about since Kansas mentioned the artifacts.

“Your Spanish robots?”

“That’s right! Where are our friends? And an even more important question would be- Are there any cooking classes here? Ever since we’ve arrived I’ve sensed this amazing pastry smell-”

Sarge clears up his throat. “Shut up, Donut.” 

Washington takes another step forward, readjusting his hands around his rifle. 

“Show us to our robots.”.

After her conversation with Washington and the Reds, Kansas took some time to collect her thoughts. Seeing another Freelancer alive, especially Washington, the man who was always one step ahead of her on the leaderboard. The leaderboard. The Director had successfully found more than one way to divide the soldiers. Divide the soldiers and torture their minds until it was enough for them to break. 

But there was a part of her that felt relieved. After all they’ve been through, the possibility of finding more of her friends still alive out there brought hope to the freelancer. She also hoped to not get the same treatment as the one she received from Washington. Considering all the facts, Kansas couldn’t blame him. She was just glad he was here, and that he agreed to help them.

As she takes a few steps down the road, passing in front of the infirmary, her trail of thought is interrupted by a familiar voice.

“How did it go?” 

Locus makes his way towards Kansas, not stopping her, but joining her walk. He had this intense glare, forcing anyone who faced him to answer whatever question he would ask. His helmet made the mercenary even more frightening. 

Kansas did not mind. She was used to scary faces. Especially his. Several missions had been led by the two of them, used to being the most experienced soldiers in the field by now. Kansas looked up to Locus, but she also felt obliged to not commit the same mistake she once did with her superiors. 

The chain of command was important, but Locus was like an unleashed dog. He did as he pleased and was getting graciously paid for it. He wasn’t the soldier you wanted to have on the opposite side of the battlefield. The man was restless and exemplary. Kansas believed Locus could discern these same qualities in the Freelancer and that it was the reason she had been entrusted with so many responsibilities and classified information. 

But there was something else. Locus seemed obsessed with the fall of Project Freelancer, with the idea of becoming the perfect soldier with the help of the AIs. 

“It went better than I thought it would. I didn’t think I’d get out of this room with a head on my shoulders.” Kansas finally answers, lifting her head to meet the man’s impenetrable gaze. “Imagine my disappointment when I got out with both my head and their help.”

As much as Locus' voice could soften, it did.

“Good.” 

His timbre of voice always had a tint of authority. When he spoke, Kansas couldn’t help but listen. There was not one word that passed over her shoulder. 

But there was more than one question she felt like the mercenary could help her with.

“I know I haven’t been here long, but does the New Republic know there’s a Freelancer on the other side?” Kansas voiced her worries to the mercenary.

“They most certainly do.” 

“Then, why not hire another?”

It was quite simple really. “We’ve sided with the only one that they could’ve hired.” 

Noticing the absence of response, Locus glances down at her. “What is it?”

“I’m not ready to meet more of my past.”

Oh, their past. How painful had they been to these two soldiers. Molding them into who they were today. One thing Locus understood about Kansas was how her previous years had impacted her. 

“You won’t have to.”

He suddenly stops, forcing Kansas to lower her pace and focus on his next words.

”Just do what you do best, and we’ll both have what we came here for.” 

“What did you come here for?” 

There was no hesitation when he answered.

“Felix.”

Kansas was already familiar with the name. She also knew he was a big deal for Locus. She tries to discern any sign of emotion under his helmet but he speaks again to diverge from the subject of his old partner.

“I talked to them. They’re meaningless.” 

“Their story proves the contrary.” Responds Kansas, still baffled by the Reds and Blues’ ingenuity and stupidity. “How is it that they’re known throughout the galaxy as war heroes and are still dumber than they look?”

But Locus knew there was something else to it.“They give meaning to senseless objects and fight against all odds to protect them. Where’s the sense in that?” 

“Is it so hard to believe they’ve found meaning in these beings?”

She was particularly thinking about their robots. Those machines they had been so eager to find, after their rescue. 

“What’s hard to believe is their implication in taking down Project Freelancer.” Locus wasn’t wrong. An entire organization taken down by a bunch of simulation troopers? How was that even in the specter of being possible?

“I believe they’ve had help.”

Kansas glances at her surroundings, a thought peaking into her mind. They clearly, very clearly, considering their skill set and tactics, couldn’t have accomplished this prowess on their own.

“Agent Washington.”

She hums in approval. If someone had helped the Reds and Blues, it was most certainly Washington.

“You never mentioned the names of the other participants when you talked about the Project.”

The question brings her focus back to Locus. 

“I told you all you needed to know about my part in Project Freelancer, Locus.”

Kansas tried not to betray herself, pumping her chest in confidence. Unfortunately, she knew she would not be able to fool the mercenary much longer. He was onto her, whether she liked it or not. The truth was bound to come out.

“Listen to me.” Locus shifts his weight forward, just enough to destabilize the girl. “I have been involved in this conflict for months, and you- Agent Kansas, you stumble onto our little planet, involving yourself in a civil war, and in the process, manage to ask for a fee in exchange for your services and gain ranks inside the Federal army within weeks. If there’s something I want to know, you must tell me.” His voice sounds deeper and more menacing. “It is not a question of what you want to tell me, it’s about what I want to know.”

Kansas can hear the man breathing into his helmet. It’s rhythmic and slow. Her chest piece follows her own breathing, twirling her tongue into her mouth and weighing her next words, carefully. 

“I understand.”

Satisfied, the mercenary grunts, before taking a step to the right, his shoulder brushing Kansa’s and finally letting her breathe.

She eyes Locus as he walks away, thousands of questions still left unanswered. She couldn’t possibly let him leave without addressing her biggest concern.

“How do you know so much about Project Freelancer?”

Locus immediately stops in his tracks, not even bothering to turn around and face her. He doesn’t waste any time before responding ever so clearly than before. 

“Do not interfere in my business, Agent Kansas.”

—

tag @sstewyhosseini

[conradrasputin]

 via @abusivelittlebunny

X

Donald: What cha got there son? Let me see that report.

Mercenary: ...

Donald: Well, looks like it’s your lucky evaluation day, hon. Have a seat there soldier, I’ll take care of you real nice for these numbers.

Mercenary: Y-yes sir!

Donald getting on his knees: None of that now, you’re a winner baby. Say what you really mean.

Mercenary: Y-yes mommy 🥵

[swldx]

BBC 0410 7 Aug 2024

12095Khz 0358 7 AUG 2024 - BBC (UNITED KINGDOM) in ENGLISH from TALATA VOLONONDRY. SINPO = 55334. English, dead carrier s/on @0358z then ID@0359z pips and newsday preview. @0401z World News anchored by Neil Nunes. Tim Walz touted his rural roots and said Donald Trump would take the US "backwards" as he appeared for the first time as Kamala Harris’s running mate at a raucous Democratic Party rally. At the event in Philadelphia on Tuesday night, the party’s new nominee for vice-president said their Republican rivals in November's election were "weird as hell". After two days of lengthy negotiations in Doha, Hamas has named Yahya Sinwar as its new overall chief, replacing Ismail Haniyeh who was assassinated in Tehran last week. A resident of the Gaza strip, Israel has been attempting to kill him as the mastermind of October attacks. Four hotel employees who allegedly pinned a man to the ground after he behaved erratically in a Hyatt Regency lobby in the US state of Wisconsin are facing murder charges. D’Vontaye Mitchell, 43, ran into a women's bathroom before staff dragged him outside, beat him and held him face down on the ground for eight or nine minutes, according to court documents. Mitchell was unresponsive when police arrived at the scene in Milwaukee on 30 June. He was later pronounced dead. Congo’s President Felix Tshisekedi accused former leader Joseph Kabila of backing a coalition of rebel groups during an interview with a private radio station on Tuesday. Niger's junta on Tuesday cut diplomatic ties with Ukraine over remarks from officials it said showed Ukraine's support for groups involved in fighting in neighbouring Mali that killed dozens of soldiers and Russian Wagner fighters in July. The move follows Mali's decision on Sunday to sever relations with Kyiv following comments by Ukraine's military spy agency about the fighting in northern Mali in which Tuareg rebels said they killed at least 84 Wagner mercenaries and 47 Malian soldiers. Elon Musk's X/Twitter is suing a group of major companies, alleging that they unlawfully conspired to boycott the site. It accuses the food giants Unilever and Mars, private healthcare company CVS Health, and renewable energy firm Orsted, along with a trade association called the World Federation of Advertisers (WFA), of depriving it of "billions of dollars" in advertising revenue. The lawsuit relates to the period in 2022 just after Mr Musk bought X, then known as Twitter, when advertising revenue dived. The Royal Mint, maker of the UK's coins, has begun processing electronic waste to extract gold from it. The gold is initially being used to craft jewellery and later it will be made into commemorative coins. E-waste, which includes anything from old phones and computers to TVs, is a rapidly growing problem, the UN says 62m tonnes were thrown away in 2022. Sports. @0406z "Newsday" begins. Backyard fence antenna w/MFJ-1020C active antenna (used as a preamplifier/preselector), JRC NRD-535D, 250kW, beamAz 315°, bearing 63°. Received at Plymouth, MN, United States, 15359KM from transmitter at Talata Volonondry. Local time: 2258.

[dwestfieldblog]

CTHONIC ATTACK

Well, Yevgeny sleeps with the Mr Evil/Uncle Fester angels now eh? (Nice that his boys will have a safe harbour in Belorussia, delicate mercenaries need a place in which to recuperate after killing women, children, noncombatants and torturing fictitious enemies.) His people released a statement saying the crash with one wing was caused by ‘traitors of Russia’. (Can’t blame the FSB for doing what they are told, and jolly decent of them to time the explosion over some fields.) The Wagner troll factory, as ordered by the Kremlin Gremlin have already pumped out faecal nuggets that the West planted the bomb/s.

Funny just how many leaders (political or religious) of countries these days are endlessly betraying their people in the name of impure self-interest and calling it patriotism. One more time yet once again… ‘Patriotism is the last rock to which a scoundrel clings’. Comrade Trump et al. Name the shameless in your heads, East and West. Look into their eyes and see their corrupted hearts, withdraw all your energy from them and feed your lifeforce.

The ugly mug shot of the orange Reptilian one… sure he wanted to look defiant but ended up looking like a smacked and sullen child denied his wish. (The moment when an adult knows one smack won’t cut the mustard and the kid will need far more.) And usually, the cops tell you to stand straight, how was such glowering beneath a dyed fringe allowed? The petulant ex-president is using the photo as a rallying (baby man-child) cry for extra funding from morons, outside forces and traitors…as a poster, it aint exactly Che Guevara eh? And yet, so far, has got 1.7million dollars. FFS. Horrific to read how many still support his nomination, some serious mental disease over there. (Says Dave in England). Lock him and his cohorts up or get them all on a plane to St Petersburg.

‘The possibility that empathy resides in parts of the brain so ancient that we share them with rats should give pause to anyone comparing politicians with those poor, underestimated creatures’. Frans de Waal. Pause or paws?

X marks the pus-filled spot…Nice endorsement for Elon from the Talibananna’s ‘Thought Leader’ Anas Haqqani who likes Twitter because of ‘the freedom of speech’. Erm…God is great isn’t he? Jesus saves but Shiva destroys. Boys…

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, established in 1947…shows comedians mainly - the last intelligent group (other than most scientists perhaps) left speaking truth to power. However, the blind - to - irony for using the title ‘Woke’ sleepwalkers honk on about diversity and inclusivity and then refuse a platform for any who disagree with them…So, diverse and inclusive up to a point.  Graham Linehan, an excellent writer of comedy was banned from performing, among others, for calling it as it is (or very much seems to be) vis a vis the gender debate.

Left and Right pointing fingers and accusing the other side of cancelling culture when both are equally guilty of closing down free speech from any with which they disagree. That said, I will hereby admit, without shame that I also, on insanely rare occasions, have been less than innocent of the Great British double standards. E.g., taking part in the early nineties in my second demonstration, to stop Holocaust denying ‘historian’ David Irving from giving a speech. In spite of my beliefs, I would try and close him down again. When someone’s twisted rhetoric encourages a deranged and dangerous mob, they need to be shut off and right out. Hello Donald, Putin’s useful idiot.

But I digress…Back to the modern nightmare of abused language.

‘People who identify as men can, and do become pregnant and give birth, if they possess a uterus and ovaries’ Medical News Today. That’s a BIG ‘if’.

‘Having a period is not a feminine thing, and people of all genders menstruate, including non-binary people, agender people and even plenty of men! Menstruation doesn’t change anything about your body, it’s just a thing that some bodies do.’ Transhub.org. Read this a couple of times, let it all sink in. They also talk about a ‘front hole’, as presumably those members of homo ‘sapiens’ with an XX chromosome reading this blurb do not know the difficult word vagina. And in first place comes…

‘My body is not female. My menstruation is not female. It just is. My body just is.’ Wiley Reading’s Everyday Feminism. This smacks a little of denial rather than Zen acceptance. Someday, coming soon to a western country near you, the words ‘HuMAN’ and MENstruation will become Huperson and Personstruation… Is this an evolution?

Seems like another twisted circular path of time wasting while the world gratefully allows us to die en masse. However, of course I think people should certainly be allowed to choose their own sex if they are sure they have the wrong body. Just don’t start kids on hormone treatment and gender brainwashing so early. (Although the latter is always started in normal (HA) families with pink dollies, prams and action men and guns.) Many children play dress up and at puberty are confused as feelings shift around, so just let them until a definite knowledge has come. I remain suspicious of any who eagerly bid the mentally weak (either from lack of life experience or poor education) to come join their happy crowd and be just like them. As someone would say, ‘Sorry, not sorry’. The force goes into the flow…

Meanwhile, naughty muons are misbehaving (according to outdated theories in sub atomic physics) and there may very well be a fifth force of nature. (Mystics and neuronauts have spoken about this with shinning eyes for centuries but it takes a little longer for provable science to catch up.) That’s what happens when you accelerate particles at approximately 1000 times the speed of light and things wobble faster than current (ha) laws say they should. Watch this ‘g minus two (g-2)’ experimental space for further quantum details. Superconductors should be being used for limitless and clean energy. Why aren’t they?

Doctor and consultant strikes...Christ, has golf club membership gone up so much?  A good income in 2023 is recorded as being 50 thousand pounds…but a basic starter for a consultant is 93 up to 134 thousand. One yacht is never enough. A global Pharmageddon where pills are heavily prescribed by doctors mostly to keep their quotas and freebies from the companies up, rather than being essential to the patient. In 2016 an investigation asserted that drug companies hand over 40 million pounds in the UK alone to healthcare professionals. Many of these pills cause side effects which are then treated by further pills…which cause side effects. Nice money if you can get it and the guinea pig pharmers and dodgy doctors certainly can. Always worth checking the ABPI database to see who is friendly with whom. So why not stop being a hypochondriac and become more paranoid instead…there are pills for that.

Fast scan of random headlines…’Species of ancient viruses resurfacing as ice caps melt…Time travelling pathogens’. ‘New Covid strain rising’…Enough.

Some family and human stuff now…my grandad used to tell granny ‘Nectar and ambrosia’ after every meal and mean it. Vanilla, lavender, peaches and cloves are the world’s favourite smells. I like warm skin with drop of fresh sweat. I love fireworks, bubbles blown and floating in the air, mown grass, dug earth, honest smiles, females and friends. But music over everything else, forever.

My ancestors for a few hundred years were all teachers, priests and medical staff, so now I am past middle aged, this black sheep is really starting to feel like the weakest link on both sides, let alone being last of our lines. Crippling sadness that I never played guitar for mum. Still finding messages written by her for me all over the house. A packet of titanium scissors in the kitchen saying ‘Guaranteed to last for 25 years’ Mum wrote next to it ‘Over to you David’.

Crushed by guilt, heart feels like a dry prune and I hardly breathe unless I need to cough. No, I’m not second hand, but pre loved and fit for the hospice charity shop. That is as far as my light entertainment/black humour goes these days.

Opportunities to do more, more of the right thing, to be gentler, more understanding, more patient. Lost, and then forever too late. Permanent. Thought I could repair and ease her into balance, to be strong enough for the operation or the end. Failed in the most important work of my life, not possible to cry enough when the memories fall and time does not heal guilt.

Only two could forgive me, one is gone and I cannot. Utterly undeserving to be redeemed. No, I don’t want to join a group on Zoom and talk about it, talking makes the mind relive and recreate the same stress chemicals on a poisoning loop. Writing and printing it out on a page has more use for me. But no forgiveness. Arguing for my own limitations again.

As a cheery sidenote, although most men (with guns who wish to kill themselves) shoot themselves in the head, women tend to shoot themselves in the heart. Fascinating. Ask your doctor if suicide is good for you, a problem focused strategy. I don’t have a gun anymore but I am drinking every night as I have been almost every night for the last 25 years. Bacchus hath drowned more men than Neptune. Here’s to me and good health, eh? Cheers…

Still sitting in the morning in what a conceited auctioneer described as a late Georgian chair to write at a turn of the century polished mahogany card table. The armchair general and couch potato pundit, hunched over the keyboard, heavy with the albatross of ego, winging it all my life. Wonderful, the mixed metaphor in the labyrinth again. Many years ago, I wrote a song called You Get What You Are. This seems scarier day by day as the layers peel away.

‘Nowadays the LSD trippers know what the magicians, the pagans and the yogis always knew: the personality is the only part of us that does not survive death.’ The mask does not continue, it cannot. Nowhere to hide in the Light.

‘The nervous system is the instrument which reads all other instruments’. ‘All perceptions are neither the observer nor the observed; they are the representations of the relation between them’. We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.’ Wilson, Crowley and Nin.

And the result of subtracting the universe from itself is… (and here/now/ nowhere, the presenter opens the envelope to wild applause as everything vanishes and reappears in total silence.) I am trying with moderate but inevitable success to subtract my Self from the universe. Follow the Love…

[daily-beast-cheat-sheet-sc]

daily beast cheat sheet mod menu LLNN+

💾 ►►► DOWNLOAD FILE 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 The new Peacock documentary examines Prince Andrew's relationships with convicted sex offenders Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell and why he's been shunned. Good morning from The Daily Beast. It's Wednesday, June 10th and here are the six top stories the Cheat Sheet team is watching right now: Trump's task force. The top 5 things you need to know to start your day. Check out The Daily Beast's other podcasts: The New Abnormal, Fever Dreams, The Last Laugh and Life. These are the top stories the Cheat Sheet team is watching right now: President-elect Joe Biden is not concerned with prosecuting Donald Trump once he takes. Listen to Cheat Sheet Podcast from The Daily Beast, read its reviews and see all its charts on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and more. See historical chart ranks. Data from the year-old Chandra X-ray Observatory add new hues to photos of the cosmos. Now, he spends his day hunting down groceries to feed dozens each night. Amid very public infighting between Russian groups, the Kremlin is reportedly trying to keep a lid on a Wagner mercenary shooting dead a lieutenant-colonel. The convicted scammer will go under house arrest as she fights to stave off deportation after a judge suggested she was too high-profile to vanish. The spooked couple are looking to ease back on their criticism of the royals, Page Six says, but they are reportedly not getting their way. In contrast, Sen. Mandela Barnes. The bombing killed Daria Dugina, the daughter of a Russian ultranationalist. The integrated crews are essential for ensuring the International Space Station has enough hands on deck. Gji Min Sha called the cops in the early hours of Wednesday to say his roommate was dead, authorities said. His company has been at the heart of claims made by election deniers. Crossword Newsletters. TECH Disinformation. Articles Cheats. Published Oct. Julia Davis. Maddie Bender. Josh Fiallo, Pilar Melendez. Adam Manno. Allison Quinn. Justin Baragona. Pilar Melendez. Fletcher Peters. Nick Schager. Tom Sykes. Ursula Perano, Jake Lahut. Cheats Published Oct. Load More.

[mlmxreader]

The New Guy | Donald Pierce x trans!m!reader

@logan-strong asked: Hello. I can't remember if I've sent an ask before so if I have please feel free to ignore it.

But I had this idea for a donald pierce x trans!male reader who is a new part of the reaver gang. Donald takes a shine to them but nobody knows they're trans. The reader is standoffish and cold. They're also a certified badass. I was thinking one day Donald for some reason sees them shirtless and sees their top surgery scars.

summary: you're new to the Reavers, but Donald trusts you not to fuck everything up when he brings you along with him. It's just a shame that being all alone together is the perfect excuse to forget about work and the job that you're tasked with - maybe even a little too perfect.

tws: use of the word Daddy, swearing, smoking, top surgery scars

You were new to the Reavers, having joined up mostly because the money was good and you needed it to help with your transition; as a trans man, it was expensive to get the things that really, truly, made you feel like yourself, the things that really and honestly made you feel like the man you were. Sure, it was hard work and you often went back home exhausted both mentally and physically, and you often wished you had turned down the job, but then you thought of your boss, the leader of the Reavers, and you realised you had more than one reason to stay. Donald. He didn't treat you like the others, he seemed to prefer you and was even a little bit softer with you; you knew he didn't know you were trans, but you did like the fact that he wasn't so cruel and cold towards you.

You drummed your fingers on the wooden breakfast bar, resting your cheek on your hand as your elbow dug into the wood and you sighed, watching Donald; he needed you around for this one, he knew that. No one could take down an idiot with two swords and a mouth that could talk for Britain like you could. Donald trusted you, and as he skulked around the kitchen, he shot you a glare.

"If you're gonna do nothing all night, maybe you should just go home."

You raised a brow, stretching a little as you dared to let out a quiet yawn. Fuck, it was getting late and you doubted the mercenary you were after would be home any time soon. Slowly, you folded your arms on the wood and sank down enough to put your chin on your wrist. "Or not. Someone has to be here in case you fuck up again."

He scoffed, doing his best not to smile as he helped himself to the cupboards and the fridge, most of them were almost entirely empty, but he managed to find a packet of cigarettes and a box of crackers; he chucked the former your way and kept the crackers for himself as he leaned against the counter and tore the box open.

"Relax, baby," he hummed, daring to grin a little but moving over slightly so that the light didn't catch the black metal of his fingers and glare directly at you. "We'll be fine."

You grumbled, not wanting the way he called you baby to fucking claw at your insides, and lit up a cigarette. Fuck, he just had to be hot, didn't he? Of all the goddamn people in the world, the one who sent shivers down your spine and made you grin like a fool, was the one who was as cruel as he was charming. "Do you have to call me baby?"

"Why, do you like it?" He beamed, putting the crackers on the counter and daring to close in on you, his hands either side of you as he leaned over slightly, tilting his head to the side and looking you up and down. "Hm? Do ya? Or would you prefer it if you got the chance to call me Daddy?"

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head a little as you took a long drag from your cigarette, hoping that he didn't see the way your hands shook and how your eyes were a little wide as you swallowed thickly. "Shut it."

"C'mon," he rounded the breakfast bar, putting his metal hand on the back of your chair so that he could spin it round enough for him to grip your chin between his forefinger and thumb with his other hand, a sick grin on his lips. "Y'know I'm a fan of your work, (y/n)... you can tell me the truth."

You rolled your eyes at the remark, blowing smoke directly in his face as you did your best not to grab his shirt and pull him closer. "Go to Hell, Donald."

"Oh, this puppy's got a bark," Donald laughed softly, shaking his head and pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb.

You pulled from his grasp, growling softly as you turned yourself back around, leaning on the breakfast bar again as you took a drag from your cigarette, finishing it and flicking it over the bar. Sure, Donald was incredibly attractive, and you did like him a lot, but you didn't want things to get messy between you two; you were new to the Reavers, you didn't want anyone to think that you only got the job because of some sort of attraction between you and Donald - even if you had the credentials to prove otherwise.

He wasn't about to give up, though, turning you around again and standing between your legs, his hands on your thighs as he licked his lips and dared to drop his gaze down to your mouth for a second too long. "Do you bite, too?"

Unable to stop yourself, you put your hands on his shoulders for a second, but when you noticed where his eyes were, you let one hand drift to the back of his neck, the other buried in the hair at the back of his head. Donald leaned in a little, ghosting his lips over yours before you whimpered softly and tugged at his hair, a pleading look in your eyes that he couldn't help but to fucking grin at; he couldn't hold back, tugging you close enough so that he could finally claim you. His kiss was rough, and harsh, more teeth and tongue and harsh breaths than anything else, but he made you moan as you took your hand from his neck and started to tug at your shirt; still, Donald beat you to it, using his metal hand to rip your shirt so that he didn't have to break the kiss, making you laugh softly until he was forced to pull away.

Catching his breath, Donald looked at the scars on your chest, and he hummed. "Shit."

"What?" You hissed. "You suddenly think I'm fucking ugly because I have top surgery scars?"

"No," he growled. "Why the fuck would I think that?"

His chest was heaving, breath heavy as he dared to use his metal hand to trace the scars, making you shiver with how cold it was, but you couldn't help but to smile; even if you really, really didn't want to.

"So, you can smile," Donald teased, splaying his fingers out as he licked his lips slowly, admiring your body as he nodded slowly. "What else can you do, baby?"

"Fuck you," you groaned, returning your hand to the back of his neck as you bit down at your bottom lip.

He all but laughed, pressing into you a little more as he dared to let a soft growl escape the back of his throat. "You'll have to wait for that, y'know."

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

[wacky-nameless-inventor-24]

Royalty AU

So here's a crash-course list of everything I've got for my Mad Ducktor x Nega Fenton Royalty AU so far, I don't think I'll write a fic for this but I do wanna do more art. 👀

It's set in the kingdom of Duckburg in a fantasy medieval time, there's magic and mythical beasts and everything awesome. The other cities around Duckburg are their own kingdoms. The magic is split between wizard magic and witch magic; witch magic is much more plant-based, it draws it's power from living things and is usually used through potions and food; wizard magic is more like spells and incantations, pulling things out of thin air and flying kind of stuff (also ignore the inconsistencies between 'palace', 'castle' and 'royal' here XD).

Cast~

Negaverse Fenton- The king of Duckburg. He's not the best king but he's also not the worst, he overthrew NScrooge for the throne and he's definitely better than him. NFenton listens to his people and does what he sees as the best, but usually his first response to most anything is violence.

Mad Ducktor- Was a mercenary from another kingdom before he broke loose, then started causing trouble on the borders of Duckburg. Between random attacks and gaining a lot of followers the king was afraid Mads would try to overthrow him, so he had him hunted down and imprisoned. The king was strangely drawn to his new prisoner, and it wasn't long before Mads was out of the dungeons to his own heavily-guarded room in the palace, then a guarded room closer to the king's, then one even closer with even less guards, before ending up staying in the king's room all together... Now he gets his own throne next to NFenton. ;) The entire kingdom just thinks that these two really just have a 'friends-with-benefits' kind of deal, but they're actually a really sweet (if morally corrupt and maybe a little evil) couple.

Gyro Gearloose- A peasant inventor who lives basically in the middle of nowhere, he lived in Duckburg during NScrooge's reign but was eventually forced out by people who thought he was crazy. He always has some crazy scheme going on, and is often accused of using witch magic in his inventions, which would make them not work for very long.

Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera- A witch and Gyro's partner, who was the only person who went with him when he was kicked out of the city. He still goes into town to sell food, and to help people with his magic. The magic part is usually free.

Boyd Gearloose- A little peasant child whose family died, and was left on his own wandering the woods. Gyro took him in and took care of him and always planned to make him leave once he was better, but in the end the inventor loved him to pieces and adopted him.

Della Duck- A royal guard from NScrooge's time, she unfortunately lost her job when she didn't stand with NFenton's revolt against the former king. Now she lives on the outskirts of Duckburg with Donald and her kids (the triplets), and is close friends with Gyro and Fenton.

Bentina Beakley- A royal guard who sometimes also acts as the castle's cook, she and her granddaughter Webby live in the castle. She's friends with Della, Gyro and Fenton, and knows witch magic.

Prof. Gearloose (A.K.A. Negaverse Gyro)- My Nega Gyro is really just this one, I thought that was a great take on him so I really see that as what he'd be like. He's the palace inventor and seems to also think he's the royal advisor, he's always there with random unwanted advice and opinions about what the king should do. People in the castle are used to it, but it drives Mads insane. There's something suspicious about him, everyone always thinks he's up to something. He's also secretly a wizard (he probably isn't called 'Prof. Gearloose' in this AU, but idk what to call him yet so that's just what I put there).

The Blue Phantom (A.K.A. Negaverse Mad Ducktor)- YAY I finally get to talk about Blue! I haven't mentioned them yet, but they're my Nega Mads. Super shy and antisocial, they prefer to not be around anyone really, and when they are they fade really well into the background. Hardly anyone sees them and when someone does it's not for long, which helped earn them their name. In this AU they're the palace wizard (though they do use a lot of witch magic too), and is the one who regulates all the magic use in the kingdom and keeps tabs on all the witches and wizards. They're close friends with Mads, since he was the only one who really put in the effort to get to know them (which is difficult to do, since they're so closed off). Nega Gyro takes every opportunity he can to push them around though, and is always cutting them off or talking over them when they finally decide to talk. NGyro has been known to steal Blue's ideas too.

Lil' Bulb and Blacklight- They're twin imps who were separated when they were hatched, the white one ended up with Gyro, and the other darker one ended up with Mads. They do end up meeting at some point though.

Okay I think that's most of it! I have a storyline for this but that's gonna take forever to explain and Idk how relevant it would be, so here's just mostly the main characters. I'm not exactly sure how all the Negaverse people coexist with the normal ones or how they figure out names and stuff, but I just wanted the characters here.

[niobe-loreley]

(not) a sweet and fruitful MASTERLIST of masterlists

[portal to] Nio's Bio Nio's Works:

The Gray Man

Heaven Is In A Shortcake - ongoing (here's the Masterlist)

Top Gun: Maverick

Smells Like Halloween Spirit - one-shot (read here)

The Quarry

To Be Where You Are - Max x Laura (read here)

Future Works / Ideas

The Gray Man

title- may subject to change = descriptions (notes)

Sierra Seven = reader is recruited by Margaret Cahill, but it was Donald Fitzroy who met with you. After agreeing to join, you asked about other Sierra agents, but your CO never gave a clear answer. That is until you were tasked to help an agent- who introduced himself as Sierra Six. (the first few chapters will be about you as a character/Sierra Seven in The Gray Man. and then the following chapters will be events from the movie- with some changes to fit the fic ofc.)

S for Six Serotonin = reader is Claire’s occupational therapist. Your job is to make her everyday life engaging, i.e. planning activities for her physical health, offering interventions for a good mental health, scheduling her home school and leisure activities, etc. (same as the Sierra Seven fic. first few chapters will be about your character. and then the following chapters will be events from the movie- with some changes to fit the fic ofc.)

You Could’ve Just Shot Me In The Heart = betraying Six (ahh such angst)

The Keeper = reader is a former CIA agent, but because of an accident that made their hearing impaired, they’re now a freelance forger and mercenary handler. (idk what to do with this, just an idea lol)

listen before i go = you're dying in six's arms (ahhh angst)

dancing with your ghost = six dying in your arms (ahhh why angst)

Cruel = six x reader smut (wip cuz i can't get it out my mind)

______________________________________________________________

The Quarry

To Be Where You Are = Laura x Max REUNITE (posted)

Line Without A Hook = Dylan x Ryan REUNITE (wip; changed the title)

Achilles Come Down = Jacob APOLOGIZES to everyone

I Don't Wanna Be Okay Without You = Aby x Nick REUNITE

______________________________________________________________

Top Gun / Top Gun: Maverick

I Just Think That You're Cute = Phoenix x Bob (wip)

So Alright, Cool, Whatever = Rooster x Reader (wip)

Ground Control = Hangman x Reader (wip)

Smells Like Halloween Spirit = ghost hunting with Dagger Squad (posted)

[chelsfic]

Hunted (Prequel) Donald Pierce x Reader - Logan/X-Men fanfic

Prequel to Loving Mourners Be and Magic Words

A/N: This is about HALF of what I actually wrote over the last couple days but I got frustrated with the pacing of the second part so I’m not posting it at this time. 

Summary: Just a little flash back to HOW Donald captures the tracker reader...

Warnings: Nothing but anxiety and terror? Absolutely no smut--sorry! The other parts of this series have warnings for stockholm syndrome and abusive relationship dynamics, fyi

By the time you make it inside the abandoned warehouse you’re wheezing and out of breath and your heart hammers inside your chest. You’re pretty sure that Dev and Maria managed to shake the Reavers. You can’t feel either of them in your vicinity anymore. They’re both powerful mutants, with abilities that actually lend themselves to escaping the enhanced mercenaries on your tail. You, on the other hand, don’t have super speed or strength...your only chance is to hide. 

The warehouse is tragically empty, just a huge vacant room with an industrial winch hanging from the ceiling and a lot of exposed ductwork. The Reavers are so close you can hear their footsteps echoing in the alleyway outside. You have seconds to make a decision...thank god you’re tiny. You sprint over to the back corner where a rusted out furnace sits surrounded by a tangle of pipes and ducts. It might be enough to obscure you if they’re not too observant. You squeeze between the concrete wall and the pipes, edging your way into the corner until you’re wedged behind the old furnace. You curl up into a ball on the floor, tucking your legs in close and praying that you’re not visible.

The creak of the warehouse door opening sends an icy shiver down your spine and you start to tremble as stomping footsteps echo through the cavernous building. You hug your knees closer to your chest, willing yourself to disappear entirely. Gruff, male voices shout back and forth. You just try to focus on staying perfectly still and perfectly quiet. To your ears, your ragged breathing sounds like it’s being broadcast over a microphone. You press your forehead to your knees, closing your eyes and telling yourself everything will be alright. You’re reminded of childhood and the sleepless nights you spent terrified that the shadows in your room would transform into ghosts or monsters. You would screw your eyes shut and tell yourself that if you couldn’t see them, they weren’t real.

If you can’t see them, they aren’t real…

“Alright,” you hear a deep, male voice drawl. “Let’s not put all our chicks in one basket. Sweep further on down the alley. I’ll take a closer look in here at all the nooks and crannies.”

The door slams open again and you hear the sound of the Reavers sprinting down the alley. And then there’s silence. Dead, oppressive, terrifying silence reigns in the rusty old warehouse.

“You know,” the man’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a dagger, sharp and deadly, “if you are hiding in here...it’s in your best interest to just come on out right now.”

The echo of his footsteps makes it hard to pinpoint his location. He could be across the room or he could be about to sneak up on you. Tears fall freely down your cheeks now and you have to swallow the choking sounds of your fear. The man hums distractedly as he strolls through the building, taunting you with his levity.

“I won’t hurt you,” he calls out, and he’s definitely closer now. Oh God… “Not if you’re a good girl and cooperate with me…”

He knows you’re in here. He’s toying with you… 

“You might even find...,” he goes on, his voice a mocking lilt, “that surrendering will be a weight off your back! Aren’t you tired of runnin’?”

His footsteps are so close now. He’s going to find you. There’s no escape. You hyperventilate, unable to control your own body as a sob crawls up your strangled throat. In a second he’s on you. Your eyes fly open to see a tall, powerfully built man with perfect blond hair and blue eyes staring down at you from the other side of the furnace. He takes in your tear streaked face and pitiful posture with a pout of false concern.

“Now, baby...this is enough to break my heart. Why don’t you come out of there and have a little talk with Donald?”

You frantically shake your head, pressing your back into the wall as if you could just sink right through it. No no no...this can’t be happening. 

Donald raises his robotic hand in a gesture of warning, “I won’t ask you again. Do you want me to have to drag you out of there? You won’t like it.”

You stare up at him, caught in his cool, blue gaze. He looks almost bored, leaning against the rusty furnace waiting for your response. You want to answer, to scream, to run--to do something. But you’re frozen like a baby fucking gazelle. It’s not until he rolls his eyes and reaches down to grab your arm with that deadly, robotic hand that you cry out. 

“No, no! I’ll come out. Just...please...don’t hurt me…” you sound so weak. You’re overcome with mortification and self-loathing. How easily you surrender to the hunter. Well...at least Dev and Maria got away. They don’t need you slowing them down anymore. 

He releases your arm, looking pleased with your decision, “Thatta girl, come on out now.”

You start shimmying your way out through the jumble of pipes surrounding your hiding place. It’s a lot more difficult than it was getting in. You suppose you were high on adrenaline before. Donald leans over and helps you climb out, holding your hands to balance you. His large hands-- one robotic, one very much flesh and blood--engulf your own; his palm is rough and calloused. How odd...the touch of his skin on yours makes him real. The monster is real...and he’s human. When you’re finally standing before him your eyes are only at chest level. His tall, muscular frame dwarfs you, making you feel more vulnerable than ever. He lets his hand rest lightly on your shoulder, the hint of suppressed violence just beneath the surface. 

“Now, why don’t we sit down and have a little chat…” he steers you to the other side of the warehouse where several metal folding chairs are stacked up against the wall. As he’s setting them up he takes out a walkie talkie and speaks into it, “Target acquired. Circle on back to the vehicles. I’ll be out presently.” 

Now that the worst has actually happened you feel all the adrenaline bleeding from your body. Your limbs are like jello and you collapse gratefully onto the folding chair. Donald...your captor...leans casually in his own seat. You’re afraid of the hungry look in his eyes as he regards you. But mostly...you’re exhausted.

“Let’s start with you telling me a little bit about your abilities…”

So, you tell him. It’s hard to explain the actual process to people, because it’s different every time. But what it comes down to is tracking. You’re a tracker. You think of it like a prey animal’s defense system. You can sense mutants when they get close enough to you. You can tell what direction they’re moving, sometimes you can even detect their strength or moods.

“I’ve only ever used it for survival…” you explain, looking him in the eyes, “I’ve never hurt anyone.”

Donald nods his head, “No, of course you haven’t, baby. But...you have withheld a valuable tool. One that could be used for the greater good. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His tone is menacing. His words are...frightening. What greater good? You shake your head, confusion and fear written plainly on your features, “What are you going to do to me?”

Donald straightens up in his seat, reaching behind his back to pull out a heavy-looking pair of handcuffs, “Don’t worry, darlin’. We just want to figure out what makes you tick.”

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy​ @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook​

[valeriethepussycats]

I’m Only Human

Chapter 6

Pairing- Loki x Reader, Thor x Reader( Best friends)

Warning- cursing

Your thoughts in italics.

texts messages are in bold.

 Heimdall stands at his post, watching the scene. He lowers his head.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Jane stands with Selvig and Darcy in the empty lab. Darcy picks up the book Selvig checked out of the library, looks through it.

“I can't just leave him and Y/n there.”  Jane scolded herself.

“Why not? Y/n can take care of herself.” Erik told Jane.

“You didn't see what happened.” Jane murmured.

Darcy points at an illustration of Thor's hattmmer in the book. “Hey! Myeu-muh!”

Jane looks at the illustration in the book, turns to Erik knowingly.

“Where did you find this?” Jane Asked.

About the illustration Darcy was talking about Erik grabs the book from them, quickly closes it.

“In the children's section. I wanted to show you how ridiculous his story was.” Erik replied.

Jane is unconvinced by this. She knows he wants to believe.

“Aren't you the one who's always told me to chase down all leads, all possibilities?” Jane commented.

“I was talking about science, not magic!” Erik voiced.

“Magic's just science we don't understand yet. Arthur C. Clarke.” Jane informed.

“Who wrote science fiction.” Erik told Jane.

“The precursor of science fact.” Jane Corrected.

“In some cases.” Erik agreed somewhat.

“If that's really an Einstein-Rosen Bridge out there, then there's something on the other side. Advanced beings could have come through it before.” Jane pointed out.

“Jane...” Erik trailed off.

“A primitive culture like the Vikings might have worshipped them as deities.” Darcy Chimed in.

They give her a look, surprised by her unexpectedly insightful input. Darcy shrugs. Jane points at her, grateful for the support.

“Yes! Exactly! Thank you!” Jane cheered.

Darcy beams.

“Jane, if you do this, you'll find yourself in a situation that I won't be able to get you out of this time.” Erik remarked.

“I'll help you.” Darcy declared.

Jane looks grateful. Selvig looks at her, sees there's no stopping her. He sighs.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Y/n checks her phone and see there’s a texts message from Erik

Shield came and took everything do you think you can do something?

Y/n text Erik back

Thor got Capture and I’m gonna need you to make him profile I’ll come up with the rest. And I’ll see what I can do about getting everything back.

Y/n heads to  The entrance to the base

“I’m Agent Munroe here to see Phil Coulson.” Y/n told the guards at the entrance of the base.

“We will need to check.” Said one of the guards.

“Sure. That’s fine I can wait.”  Y/n said calmly.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor sits in a chair, staring forward blankly, hands cuffed behind him. Coulson stands across from him.

“It's not easy to do what you did. You made us all look like a bunch of mall cops. That's hurtful.” Coulson started. “The men you so easily subdued are highly-trained professionals, and in my experience, it takes someone who's received similar training to do what you did to them. Would you like to tell me where you received your training?”

Thor sits silently.

“Pakistan? Chechnya? Afghanistan? Then again, you strike me more as the soldier of fortune type. What was it, South Africa?” Still no answer. Coulson leans in close to him. “Certain groups pay well for a good mercenary. Especially HYDRA.” Coulson remarked. Coulson waits for a response, but gets none.

“Who are you?” Coulson questioned

“Just a man.” Thor answered.

“One way or another, we find out what we want to know. We're good at that.” Coulson noted before walking out the room.

An agent walks up to Coulson and notifies him that Agent Munroe is here. Coulson walks over to where Y/n is waiting.

“Agent Munroe?” Coulson questioned. “What are you doing here your tracker has your location in New York at your apartment.”

Angrily gets up from her sit. “Trac- tracker there’s a tracker on me. What the hell Phil.” Y/n swore.

“Agent Coulson.” Phil corrected Y/n.

“Ok We’re being formal what the hell Agent Coulson.” Y/n replied.

“All agents have a trackers Directed Fury makes it an requirement.” Coulson answered.

“Oh really so show me yours.” Y/n insisted.

“That’s classified.”  Coulson replied.

“Oh that’s Rich he has a tracking device on me is he worried November 18th is gonna happen again?” Y/n Asked.

“We don’t speak of November 18th you know that.” Coulson told Y/n. “What are you doing here.”

“Where is Donald Blake.” Y/n Asked.

“Who?” Coulson asked.

“Oh you know built real nice, pretty eyes, blonde hair, beard.” Y/n replied.

“He’s in shield custody he broke into our facility and beat up most of our man.” Coulson informed.

“I could’ve took him down easy but you want to watch the show.” Clint Chimed in.

“Clint you’re here?” Y/n said “shock” walking over and hugging her longtime friend.

“Director Fury assigned me along with Coulson to this assignment it’s kind a like sword in the stone.” Clint answered. “I told you that she was near by. Was that your doing with the rain.

“Sadly no that wasn’t my doing. I just got here when I found out my base was rated by Shield.” Y/n lied.

“So your here with Erik Selvig?” Coulson questioned.

“Yes.” Y/n answered. “And so is Donald Blake. I just want my friend back ok if you would so kindly release him in my custody we will be on our way.” Y/n claimed.

“How does he know how to fight like that?” Coulson questioned.

“I’ve been teaching him and he had some lessons when he was a kid and he’s my friend.” Y/n told a half lie half truth.

Well Thor was taught how fight to fight when he was younger so am I really lying.

“All right fine you want him to be released he would be released to you and your custody.” Coulson announced.

“Thank you Agent Coulson.” Y/n said with a Controlled smile.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor hangs his head low.

“I thought he'd never leave.” Loki said appearing before Thor. Thor looks up, shocked to find Loki standing there, dressed in 21st century attire.

“Loki? What are you doing here?” Thor Asked.

“I had to see you.” Loki replied.

“What's happened? Tell me! Is it Jotunheim? Let me explain to father.” Thor urged.

“Father is dead.” Loki lied.

Thor stares at him, stunned. “What?”

“Your banishment, the threat of a new war, it was too much for him to bear.” Loki started.The implications of Loki's words dawn on Thor -- he's responsible for his father's fate. Loki draws close to him, looks in his eyes, consolingly. “You mustn't blame yourself. I know that you loved him. I tried to tell him so, but he wouldn't listen.”

“It was cruel to put the hammer within your reach, knowing you could never lift it. Thor stares ahead, falling deeper into the abyss. “The burden of the throne has fallen to me now.” Loki finished.

“Can I come home?” Thor wandered.

“The truce with Jotunheim is conditional upon your exile.” Loki explained.

“But couldn't we find a way to--“

“Mother has forbidden your return. Thor nods, lowers his head, beaten. This is goodbye, brother. I'm so sorry.” Loki Noted.

“No, I'm sorry. Loki... thank you for coming here.” Thor said sincerely.

“Nothing could have stopped me.” Loki Told Thor. Coulson enters the room, but seems to take no notice of Loki. “Fare well, brother.”

“Good-bye.” Thor replied to his brother.

“Good-bye? I just got back.” Coulson announced.

Thor looks up to see that Loki is gone. “Now. Where did we leave off?”

Agents and Scientists work to repair the damaged area around Mjolnir. They take no notice of Loki as he steps up beside the hammer. He stares at it -- intrigued, wondering. Can he do it? He reaches down, tries to lift it -- but can't. He lets it go, eyes it with contempt, then steps away. He gestures with his arms. An odd green and gold light rises from the ground, enveloping him, then he disappears. Just as Loki disappears Y/n looks over at Thor’s hammer.

I could’ve sworn there someone just there. Maybe it’s my imagination.

Y/n walk to The entrance of the beast and see Erik.

Perfect timing.

Sitwell enters the room and speaks to Coulson.

“Sir... he's got a visitor.” Sitwell informed Coulson.

Coulson and several other Shield Agent stand across from Erik Selvig and Y/n.

“I’ve already told Agent Munroe that I will be releasing Donald Blake but I want to know do you have to say.” Coulson told.

“Doctor Donald Blake. He's part of our team. MD turn physicist. He's quite brilliant,really.” Erik explained.

“Uh-huh. You mind if we take a moment to verify his identity?” Coulson told them not really asking.

“Certainly.” Erik replied.

The Techie at a computer nearby runs the name.

On the Techie's monitor, a DMV record from the State of New York pops up reading "Dr. Donald Blake". The license photo is indeed a picture of Thor -- the one Darcy took with her cellphone.

“Release Dr. Blake to Agent Munroe here.

The Techie looks to him, surprised. “Make sure he stays in town for the next few days in case we need to talk to him again.” Coulson told Y/n.

Erik shakes his hand. “Thank you.”

Y/n bursts into the room with a to find a seated Thor.

“Donny, Donny, Donny! There you are!” Y/n beamed.

Just Go with it. Y/n Broadcast her thought to Thor.

Thor looks up,and see Y/n. She pulls Thor to his feet, gives him a warm hug. “It's going to be all right, my friend. Come on, I'm taking you home.” Y/n promised. Y/n leads the bewildered Thor out the door.

As Thor, Y/n and Erik make their way past the Shield Security Room, Thor notices Jane's possessions and equipment from the Smith Motors lab stacked under a tarp. He spots Jane's hand- written journal among them. As he passes, he quickly takes it from the pile and pockets it.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Coulson looks at the computer bearing Donald Blake's DMV record. A security warning over the image clearly reads "SECURITY ALERT: FALSIFIED DATA." He knows it's been a ruse Pall along.

 He looks to Y/n,Erik,and Thor heading away from the Security Room, then follows them outside. Coulson and two SHIELD Agents watch as Y/n walks with Thor away from the base to the SUV. Coulson calls to Y/n. “Just keep him away from the bars.”

“I will!” Y/n lied.

“Where are we going?” Thor asked Y/n and Erik.”

Erik rops his cool demeanor.      

“To get a drink.” Erik told Y/n and Thor.

Y/n, Erik, and Thor climb into the SUV.As they drive off, Coulson turns to the other two agents -- Garrett and Cale.

“Follow them.” Coulson ordered.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Loki, looking apprehensive, walks alone across the icy surface of the planet. Darkness shrouds the ruined temple, save for the shafts of light which knife their way in through the damaged ceiling. Loki enters. Frost Giant guards surround him on all sides. Laufey approaches, towers over him menacingly.

“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you.” Laufey commented.

I've come alone and unarmed.” Loki replied.

“To what end?” Laufey wondered.

“To make you another proposition.” Loki answered.

“So you're the one who let us into Asgard.” Laufey realized.

“You're welcome.” Loki grinned.

“My men are dead, and I have no Casket. You are a deceiver.” Laufey declared.

Laufey lashes out, grabs Loki around the throat, but Loki voiced. Calmly stands his ground. “You have no idea what I am.” The blueness spreads across his face, as Laufey and the guards stare in shock. Loki grins.“Hello, Father.”

Laufey releases him. Loki's body turns back to normal. Intrigued, Laufey sizes up his son.

“Ah, the bastard son. I thought Odin had killed you. That's what I would have done. He's as weak as you are.” Laufey told Loki.

“No longer weak. I now rule Asgard, until Odin awakens. Perhaps you should not have so carelessly abandoned me.”  Loki remarked.

This gives Laufey pause.

“Or perhaps it was the wisest choice I've ever made. I will hear you.” Laufey grinned.

“I will conceal you and a handful of your soldiers, lead you into his chambers, and let you slay him where he lies. I'll keep the throne, and you will have the Casket.” Loki explained.

Laufey studies Loki's face.

“Why would you do this?” Laufey questioned.

“When all is done, we will have a permanent peace between our two worlds. Then I, the bastard son, will have accomplished what Odin

and Thor never could.” Loki noted.

“This is a great day for Jotunheim. Asgard is finally ours.” Laufey answered.

“No. Asgard is mine. The rest of the Nine Realms will be yours, if you do as you're told.” Loki disclosed.

Laufey considers the proposition.

“I accept.” Laufey told Loki.

Loki turns to leave. As he goes, the slightest trace of a smile crosses his face.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Loki emerges out of the Bifrost, as Heimdall steps away from his controls. Heimdall glares at Loki. Loki notices.

“What troubles you, Gatekeeper?”  

Part 7

[abusivelittlebunny]

Can't stop thinking of this fic idea I had for Logan x Donald that's making me so soft it hurts....

Falling in and out of Love

Basically Logan and Donald settle down in a little house on the edge of a small town in Canada, to raise Laura. Logan is sure it's only temporary at first, he only started fucking Donald a couple of months ago "out of accident" as he claims ("Accident? Did you fall and land dick first in his ass?" Is what Logan's few friends ask him); they're not in a relationship. They're not. Donald just took it upon himself to help them find a place and move in too and share a bed with Logan; and Logan would love to kick him out or kill him (or so he claims) but the bad thing is, Donald is much better at the whole playing house than he is. Donald gets Laura into the local school with extra classes to catch up with her peers and get a good education, and he gets Logan a surprisingly well enough paying job as a driver in this new town ("Did you suck or threaten the guy who'd be my boss?" Logan sneers and Donald just coos "Shut the fuck up, you ungrateful dick." And adds a little kiss on his cheek). Besides that Donald is better at upkeeping the house and he's... a fantastic cook. Logan hates to admit it but it's true.

It's not some gourmet culinary shit but food that warms your soul and is always seasoned right; hell, even coffee tastes better when Donald makes it even though it's just the same instant powder and hot water. Laura, who's been their grumpy edgy princess this whole time warms up to Donald surprisingly fast from all those delicious home-made casseroles, muffins, fried chicken, pancakes and waffles he makes that are just mind-numbingly good. He got the waffle-maker from the house of a guy he was hired to beat some money out of (because of course HE couldn't be fucked to get a normal job, no, he's now working for some agency to be a little reinforcer and hit-man for hire with his other mercenary dogs following loyally behind him). He was so happy when he brought it home too, beaming like the sun and squealing like some little girl about how happy he was that now he could make Laura some killer waffles. Logan first rolled his eyes but those waffles WERE fucking spectacular.

The situation quickly changed from a temporary arrangement to a weirdly comfortable and domestic one: Logan woke up every day to Donald nuzzling against his jaw, peppering him with sleepy kisses and rubbing at his morning wood. If Logan was too sleepy still to roll over and fit himself between Donald's thighs to lazily rut into him eased by the plentiful mess he left in his hole the night before, Donald would just get under the covers and blow him expertly, swallowing his load down and kissing up his torso afterwards, planting a cheeky kiss to Logan's lips that always made him grimace before getting out of bed and pulling on some sweatpants to go down and make breakfast while Logan went off to shower and get ready for work. He'd always come downstairs to see Donald in his cute little apron swaying his hips to some old country music that made Logan roll his eyes but the moment he'd sit down at the table Donald would pour him his coffee and give him a warm plate of buttered toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. Sometimes he switched the menu up, but the breakfast was always filling but not weighing him down. Laura would come downstairs, eager to receive her portion and Donald's sweet treat of the day, be it waffles, pancakes, cookies or muffins, that even Logan couldn't deny himself a couple of.

Donald was just... like a perfect old-school housewife from the movies, keeping his and Laura's spirits up in the early morning and packing them both lunches to take in to school or work, with plenty of fruit and veggies to keep them healthy. Donald had work start later in the day so he sent them on their way with a kiss to Laura's forehead and another kiss on Logan's lips right outside the door so the nosy neighbors could get an eyeful as Donald purred "have a nice day, honey♡". Not what they expected of the tatted up mercenary with the robot arm for certain, but Logan did have people in the grocery store tell him what a lovely family he has while he was struggling to find everything Donald wrote up on his shopping list. After work he'd come home to Donald cooking dinner with Laura studying and doing her homework at the dining table so Donald could ask her about her schoolwork and even help out, and Logan would just sit near on the sofa, watching with utter peace before they sat down to have dinner together. He never really thought he'd have this, this domestic bliss, watching his ...daughter and his.... well. Partner? It seemed they involuntarily slipped into something like that. But watching them talk and laugh and share a really fucking good meal and afterwards curl up on the couch and watch a movie or anything really that was on the TV before Laura headed off to bed with a yawned good night to them both.

And then it was just him and Donald snuggled up, quiet for a while, before Donald kissed his neck and whispered "I missed you today," and then he'd kiss back instead of admitting that he missed him too and before long they were fucking hot and heavy on the couch (sometimes slipping down onto the floor) with Donald's arms and legs wrapped around him tight enough to bruise but Logan gripped him with just as much need. Donald would give out those sweet little noises of his and gasp for more more always more, but try to keep it quiet in case Laura was still awake. It felt good, crashing down between Donald's thighs after a long day and rut out the daily pent up frustrations, but what he really liked was after that, after he let Donald go to take a shower while he washed the dishes, after that, when he was warm and relaxed and done with every chore of the day and he went up to their room, and changed for bed, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth while watching his pretty boy clean his pretty body before helping him towel off between kisses and then. Then. When they had nothing else on their mind but feeling each other and they could take their time as they stumbled into bed to fuck to their heart's delight. When he didn't feel rushed by his own needs so he could eat Donald out until he was a shaking whimpering mess, or when he could let his boy take control and tie him to the bed and ride him to heaven and back or when they just took their time touching and kissing and... Logan didn't want to use the phrase "making love" but that was exactly what it was. And Donald wasn't the type to be up for any of that sappy shit before, but things were different now, and even if they ended up fucking hard and brutal and nasty four times in a row, they always made time for a final soft and loving round where they ended up falling asleep tangled in each other with Logan's cock still lodged in Donald's warmth.

But then one day, maybe six or eight months after they moved in, Logan came home to Donald not being home. He didn’t think much of it, Donald sometimes arrived home late, blaming work, sometimes even arriving in the early morning if a job proved to be needing it. Logan just heated up the leftover pasta bake they had and fed Laura and himself before plopping down to watch TV. Laura watched it too for a while but headed off to bed earlier. It wasn't the same without Donald constantly commenting to what was on the screen. He initially thought he'd wait for Donald to come home but after midnight he thought he might as well do all that waiting in bed.

But Donald didn't show up, not even in the morning. It didn't taste as good when he made his own buttered toast and coffee, and he could see Laura looking around for Donald before resigning to Logan's scrambled eggs, which were nowhere near as good as Donald's. They were just eggs, and she could make do for a day, no? He gave her some money to buy lunch, but ready made sandwiches seemed like crap after Donald's carefully created homemade packed lunches of joy. Nevermind. They still had the leftover casserole for dinner at least, and Logan wrapped up the last piece for when Donald comes home. But he didn't come home again that night and Logan packed that piece up for Laura to take in for lunch the next morning.

Laura didn't say anything just munched on her overcooked egg on toast. Logan thought about where Donald could be all day through, the bastard left no messages, and he even attempted to call him at his lunch break, but there was no answer. He knew there was no reason to be frustrated about the situation but when he got home late that night and he was met with Laura asking what's for dinner all he could do is sigh and curse Pierce while dialing up the local pizza joint. He thought of Donald coming home late that night, and how he'd be grumpy fuck with that blond bastard for just taking off without a single message and how Donald would have to be sucking his dick nonstop for a week if he wanted Logan's forgiveness and how good it will feel to have him grovel and whine for cuddles at night which Logan will only give if he's in a generous mood. He went to bed warmed by these spiteful thoughts.

But he felt like a failed parent when all he could offer up for next morning's breakfast was leftover pizza; but at least Laura didn't complain openly, she must have seen the toll Donald being gone took on him. He attempted to cook that night. Strong emphasis on attempt because Donald really made baking a casserole look easy when it was really not and they had to end up scavenging through the half-over-, half-undercooked pasta bake Logan could come up with. Laura ended up sneaking a bag of tortilla chips to her room that they'd only ever open for movie nights and retired early saying she has a lot of studying to do. They all knew Laura liked to study right there where they were, but without Donald, Logan wasn't that great a company. He blamed having a rough day at work on smashing that awful casserole against the wall that he had to clean up for two solid hours, but Laura didn't say anything when she saw the stain on the wallpaper or the bits in the trash the next morning.

The fourth morning with no Donald. Logan drank himself to the floor after the casserole incident the night before so with his pounding headache all he could manage was coffee and butter sort of smeared on toast. Laura saw how he looked like a sack of wet shit ran over by a truck and attempted to cook an egg which resulted in an abstract sunny side up that made her finally ask "When is he coming back?" To which Logan could only groan, "I don't know, kid. I really don't know." The night before, when he was fucking raging at his own incompetence he thought if Donald walked through the door now, he'd punch his lights out for being gone without a single call or message. Beat him to a pulp and then fuck him so hard he'd beg for him to stop with tears. But after that day, where he left six messages on Donald's phone and bought ready-made meals and cans of soup to make dinner out of and watch Laura eat with no joy whatsoever and a very pitying look thrown at his direction, he went to bed thinking he'd do anything to wake up to Donald in bed with him. He wouldn't be mad. He'd just ask him not to do it again.

But he didn't. Fifth morning without Donald left him feeling heavy like a stone as he made sunny side up eggs and buttered toast for breakfast. Laura wrinkled her nose when she bit into hers and the yolk spilled out. "He always makes it just right so it doesn't get all runny." She muttered to which Logan replied after taking a sip of his coffee that seemed too fucking bitter that morning with, "Well, he's not here, is he?" Laura didn't say anything else. When it was just the two of them, it was very quiet. Donald previously joked that it was because they were so fucking similar, that if they had nothing to say they just didn't fucking say a thing. When Donald was around though, they could talk like a normal fucking family. Family? What family? They were not a family. Laura was just fucking grown out of his DNA and Pierce was a fucking enemy of his before they stumbled into a fuckbuddy relationship and since Logan killed Donald's previous boss, he wouldn't be getting paid for capturing him so he just stuck around for some dick. Logan was only filling his head with those stupid old movies Donald loved to watch where the mommy and daddy were living in domestic bliss taking care of their child and he projected that fairy tale nuclear family idea onto their fucked up situation. His dinner was beer and macaroni salad from the gas station he brought home after he volunteered for an extra late shift just so he wouldn't have to face Laura that night, but checking the trash at least he knew she ate one of the pre-packaged sandwiches he got her for dinner.

Sixth morning Logan woke up to Laura crunching down on cereal at the breakfast table. He not only overslept, but he never made it to his bedroom (his bed felt too cold without Donald and he thought he was going slightly crazy being there but not feeling Donald's body in his arms). He only had time to pour some coffee into his thermos and Laura handed him a mugful of cereal to eat while he drove her to school. "Where did you get this?" Logan asked while driving, the cereal in the mug surprisingly not a bad idea, and Laura just shrugged.

"You always give me too much money for lunch. I had extra to buy some cereal and snacks on my way back from school."

Logan sighed, "That's for you to save up and buy yourself something nice." Laura frowned at that.

"But that's what I did."

"No, I don’t mean food. I buy you food. That's for me to do."

"Why?"

Because I'm your father and I need to take care of you even if I'm bad at it, is what Logan wanted to say but the words stuck in his throat. "Just because. I'll buy you cereal and whatever you like just... write me a list, okay?"

Laura sighed, and it would have been so much like Logan if not for the dramatic eyeroll, which was so much like Pierce it made Logan's heart clench.

On his lunch break he didn't have the patience for his coworkers; usually they tried to make friends, banter, joke about with him, they've been teasing him too lately for being a sour cunt because his "he-missus" was gone on a work trip, but he couldn't be bothered to deal with them right now, even if they didn't mean any harm, so he went into town to grab a bite at a good enough diner, the one he went to with Pierce and Laura the first night they arrived in the town, tired and hungry. Then the food felt like fucking heaven, but then again, he got spoiled on Donald's cooking since.

When he went in to order himself a burger he didn't expect to see Laura sitting in a booth doing her school work with Pierce's sunglasses perched on her head with a half eaten burger and milkshake by her side. Logan walked over to her, and when she finally noticed him, she looked like she got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Logan just sat opposite of her in the booth and corrected himself to the waitress saying he'll dine in instead of take away, "And, I'll be paying for my daughter's meal as well, okay?" And the lady just nodded, but when he turned back to Laura, the sunglasses on her head were pulled down to cover her eyes.

"I told you I'll pay for your food." Logan sighed but Laura just looked away, out the window, taking sips of her milkshake. She usually preferred the chocolate one but now she was drinking strawberry, Donald's favorite.

"You are. You gave me money for it this morning. The school cafeteria just sucks."

"Don't you still have classes?"

"Not for another hour. I still can't take some classes together with the others because I'm too behind. But Miss Bundy said I'm catching up quick in the afternoons."

"That's good to hear." It was really Donald's merit for helping Laura study normally every day after school; Logan wasn't good at that stuff. "I'm sorry I can't help you like he does."

Laura shrugged, knowing instantly who Logan was referring to. "It's not like he's a hyper genius or something. Sometimes I tell him stuff he didn't know or at least pretends he didn't to make me feel smarter. But it's still nice. Even when he curses out my math homework and he asks me to explain it because he's too dumb for it." She hid her smile in her palm, resting her chin on it and gazing out the window to avoid Logan's gaze. "It's fun with him."

Logan swallowed thickly. "I know, babygirl."

"I miss him." Laura sounded very small then.

"I know." Me too.

"Do you think he'll come back soon?" Laura bit at the nail of her thumb. If Donald was here, he'd tut at her playfully and tell her she shouldn't ruin her nails like that. She did it before, in the beginning, but stopped the habit after Donald painted her nails fun colors she liked. He really had a knick for this parenting thing unlike Logan.

"That, I don't know." Logan looked outside too, all of a sudden unable to look at the orange lenses of the sunglasses. Pierce had a couple of the same pair stashes all over because he hated losing them, so no wonder Laura decided to nick one.

"Do you think he'll come back at all?" Laura muttered, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Maybe he got tired of us."

"I don't think so." Logan tried to reassure her, but hearing her so sad also broke his heart.

"Then maybe he's dead."

Logan didn't say anything. Maybe he was. He could very well be. Logan killed mercenaries like Donald without a thought in packs before. The fact that he didn't end up killing Donald when they first met in itself was a miracle but Donald and his kind knew the work they were getting themselves into paid so well because they could die any day easily. Maybe someone like Logan, or some rival gang took it upon themselves to off Donald who was in their way, an everyday occurrence on the job for them and Donald's current employer couldn't be fucked to send a message to his pet soldiers' families that hey, you just lost the love of your life and the closest thing your child has to a parent besides you, you, who is an utter shit at parenting on your own. Donald could be lying in bits in a warehouse, his blood already dry on the concrete and if his boss is gracious enough he'll have his and his coworkers' bodies scraped up and thrown in the river, if not blow the whole place up to give them an unmarked mass grave.

Meanwhile Logan is left here in fucking agony watching their daughter try to hide her tears behind Pierce's sunglasses and seem strong when the family she thought she could have after a nightmare of a childhood got ripped away from her and stomped upon.

"He could be." Logan finally said, clearing his throat to not seem too choked up about it, and Laura turned to him, looking fucking furious.

"How could you say that?!"

Logan didn't expect the outrage at all, "What? You said it first, I just said he could be-,"

"No! You should say he's not and that he'll come home!"

"That's only in those fucking cheesy movies-," Logan tried to wave her off but that just angered her more.

"No it isn't! If you love someone you should have hope! You should have hope he's alive and that he comes back! You should be telling me it's okay and everything will be okay!" She lost her battle with trying to hold her tears back as she slammed her hands on the table but Logan himself was too fucking heartbroken as well not to yell back.

"But I can't fucking tell you that because I don't think that! I could fucking lie if that's what you want but the reality is he could be gutted in some ditch never to be heard of again by now! And no amount of love will make me think everything will be fine because that's not how the world works!"

Laura stood up and screamed profanities at him in Spanish that Logan had only a vague idea of what they could mean before she took her notebook and bag and stormed out of the diner. Logan tried to shout after her, but she was gone. Better that way. Logan truly didn't know how he could've remedy the situation. He slumped down back into his booth just as his plate of food arrived, which he asked the waitress to wrap up together with the rest of Laura's food for take away. He didn't have the stomach to eat lunch and ended up eating it instead for dinner, leaving Laura's portion at her door that night, because she refused to come out and talk to him.

Logan didn't drink that night, just took Donald's hoodie out of the closet, the one he slept in when he wasn't naked, and he burrowed his face in it, inhaling the familiar scent as he laid in the bed that felt too big and empty now. Usually he was grumbling about Pierce hogging up all the space and how they needed a bigger bed but not now. Now he sniffed at the collar of the hoodie and wished for Pierce's body wrapped around his, cuddling close with his warm breath against his lips and his eyes sleepily blinking up at him as he grinned and said something coy. He faintly realized that he hasn't gotten off since the last morning that he saw Donald.

That day Pierce woke him with his warm wet mouth around his cock, sucking slowly, his head bobbing beneath the blanket, taking his time to lick and suck on his balls too and humm as he deepthroated Logan's thick shaft, nuzzling against his crotch. Logan pet his hair sleepily before turning over, to fuck Pierce's skull into the mattress the way he liked, humping his face shallowly because Pierce could take a throat-fucking so well. He spilled down his throat when he should've pulled out and fucked Donald's tight ass until he was unable to fucking walk, not just dump a load into his mouth like a lazy pig that could only enjoy a blowjob but was too tired to ruin his partner's sweet spot. He shouldn't have bothered showering, he should've been bending Donald over the kitchen counter and rutting into that sweet fucking cunt of his, making him cry out and cum over and over again, have him scratch the wooden surface to shreds. Instead of going to work he should've been eating Donald out until he was a sopping wet fucking mess, whining for his cock, and then he should've sucked on his perfect fucking tits until they were fucking bloodshot and unbearably tender. Then he'd have fucked him against the wall so hard, in thar brutal savage pace Donald likes and he'd have played along with Donald's fucking daddy kink and asked him if he likes daddy's cock deep in his little womb breeding him up? Then after sex, when they'd be sharing a cigar while still naked and sticky, he would have asked if Donald wants more kids? If they should get married and adopt another one or two they could raise as their own? If Donald could be a stay at home parent or just find a less dangerous fucking job so Logan wouldn't be worrying about him so fucking much.

That's what he would've done if he knew he wouldn't be seeing Donald again if he doesn't play his cards right.

Because here he was now, ruining his own orgasm that he built up with his coarse hand, which he no longer had a taste for and he just groaned into the hoodie that he wrapped around Donald's pillow so he could hold it through the night: utterly miserable.

Laura said that if you love someone you should have hope. He didn't know how Laura knew that Logan loved Donald even before he himself knew that, but as he dozed off, he found himself chuckling bitterly at that sentence and his last thought was hoping that Donald comes through the door that night and cuddles him to sleep like he used to do.

Seventh morning without Donald he found himself strangely calm. Like he made peace with his situation. Or he just got tired fighting it and resigned himself to losing with dignity. He played one of Donald's old country songs he loved so much and he hummed along it while he made himself coffee and poured Laura cereal, and on a second thought, himself as well. When Laura, who came downstairs determined to not speak to him and remain angry, stared at him in disbelief, he just shrugged.

"Don't tell him I like this sugary shit when he comes back. He'll start putting me on a fucking diet."

"He won't come back." She muttered, but Logan just shook his head and looked at her reassuringly.

"You don't know that. He could be coming back today."

"How do you know that?'

"I don't." Logan lifted his bowl and downed the rest of his cereal how Donald would with his sweet porridges that drove Logan insane before. When he was done he looked back to Laura who didn't miss the source of the habit. "But that doesn't stop me from hoping."

The stars that appeared in Laura's eyes were priceless, truly. She bit her lip and didn't say anything, but when they walked through the door towards the car she took his hand like a child and Logan squeezed it. They weren't good at words, the two of them, but they could still tell each other what they mean without it. In the car, Logan played the rest of Donald's country Playlist, and Laura wore his sunglasses openly through the ride before they arrived to her school.

"Bye, dad. Love you." She said quickly as she closed the door and rushed off before Logan could fully comprehend it, but then he was late for work twenty minutes trying to comprehend it without crying on the side of the road.

At work he engaged in conversation one of his coworkers, which surprised everybody, and asked him about easy to make home-cooked recipes. He made a list and went to the store after, and worked hard but patiently on that cheesy broccoli pasta. He may had to redo it twice, but he didn't give up. It paid off in the end by the look on Laura's face. She had seconds.

"Alright, I'm gonna put the rest away for if he showes up tonight, if not, you can take it for lunch tomorrow, deal?" Logan asked nonchalantly, and Laura nodded with a hopeful smile.

They sat down and watched an old western movie, one of Donald's favorites after dinner, something they haven't done in a week now, and Logan watched with a small smile a Laura's yawns turned bigger and more frequent until she completely dozed off leaning against his side. He gently scooped her up and off the couch after turning the TV off, and took her to her bedroom where he tucked her into bed gently. He kissed her little forehead and whispered a "Goodnight, kiddo," before he turned to leave, but stopped as an insistent hand tugged on his sleeve.

"You'll wake me up if mommy gets home, right?" Laura asked with a sleepy kitten yawn, looking adorably soft. "Promise me."

"I promise. Sleep now, love." He didn't question why Pierce was now mommy in her mind but he didn't think he'd mind.

"Okay, goodnight, daddy." Laura closed her eyes, and Logan swallowed thickly; he didn't know if his heart could take being called dad by his daughter twice the same day when she has never done it before. Nor did she call Pierce mommy or anything like it before.

"Goodnight, Laura." He whispered before planting another little kiss on her forehead, getting up slowly and shutting the door quietly as he left.

He wiped at his wet eyes as he went downstairs to wash up, a smile still stuck on his face, and he thought about how he should learn how to make Laura some pancakes just as the front door opened.

It felt so surreal now, seeing Pierce walk through the door, like it was a dream come to life. Logan was stuck standing there like he just saw a fucking ghost as Pierce tiredly shrugged down his bag and coat; he looked like he's truly been through it; his one whole arm was in a cast in a sling wrapped around his neck, his trousers and shirt weren't ones he's ever worn before and were probably bought recently but they were still caked in dirt and blood. His prosthetic hand was missing two fingers and his hair looked damp with sweat, matted with even more blood. He had bandages around his neck and shoulder with a dark purple bruise fading around his right cheekbone and his split lip bled as he grinned wide at the sight of Logan. He was still so beautiful.

"Honey, I'm home. Did you miss me?"

Instead of answering, Logan found himself crossing the distance to the door in record speed and pressing Donald's sore and broken body against it forcefully, not caring about the soft gasp of pain leaving his lips because he was crashing his own against them immediately. It was always Donald who was desperate before, not to say he wasn't now, but Logan could easily outmatch him at the moment, kissing him like he was trying to devour him alive, wrapping his hands around him until Donald cried out in pain.

"Fuck, I have a couple fractures ribs, go easy on me, big guy."

"You're never leaving ever again." Logan growled against his mouth, keeping Donald's jaw in his hand to make him focus. "I don't give a fuck what your boss says, I don't give a fuck how much money he offers. You're never leaving my sight again-"

"I can't even go to the store? Or the bathroom?" Donald's chuckle was cut short by Logan's glare. "Alright, okay, alright, I'm not gonna leave, I promise. This was just... a major shitshow, okay? I didn't expect to be gone this long at all. I've already packed my boys up and told them we quit. My unit is going where I'm going. This shit we've been through, I'm telling you-,"

"You can tell me later." Logan took Pierce by the hand, dragging him through the living room and up the stairs.

"Right, I need a shower, good call-,"

"No, you need to say hi to our daughter first."

"Our... daughter?" Donald stopped in his tracks just as they reached Laura's door, his eyes so big and shocked by Logan's words. One of them was bloodshot.

"She asked me to wake her up when mommy arrives back home. She made me promise." Logan watched as Pierce's eyes softened and welled up with warm tears, his laugh sounding like diamonds as he sobbed into it. Logan pulled him close by the back of his neck, planting a kiss to his temple before looking him in the eye, "She missed you a lot. I missed you a lot."

"Careful, I'll think you're in love with me or something," Pierce's smile was so fucking bright Logan had to kiss it again. And again.

"Think later, say hi to Laura now, you dumb cunt."

Pierce giggled and kissed back before opening the door. His "Hi, baby," was so soft and sweet, Laura only sighed at it first, turning in her sleep until Donald sat down on the edge of her bed and gently cooed her awake with light pecks to her cheek. "Laura, sweetheart. Mommy's home."

Laura finally blinked her eyes open and when she caught sight of Pierce she threw her arms around him immediately, squeezing him hard, but Donald only laughed, even if in pain.

Maybe if he was a better father, Logan would've told Laura to go back to sleep, it was late after all but instead he let her drag the both of them down by their hands to show Pierce "the delicious dinner daddy made" which made Donald fucking squeal and look at him with fucking heart eyes.

Laura forced Donald to eat the portion they left for him while she talked about their week without him, and Donald had to admit that was some good food. She was like a completely new child, you couldn't stop her from talking your ear off until she broke off in yawns again, sleepiness finding her once more, and she held onto Logan's and Donald's hands again as this time they were the ones guiding her back to bed.

"You're not gonna leave again, right?" Laura yawned once she was tucked into bed once more.

"No, baby, I won't. I promise." He wiggled his robotic hand's remaining digits. "I'd make it a pinky one, but some son of a gun crushed it. But I'll be busy staying at home and getting better and then I'll make a new one and then I'll make it into a pinky promise, okay?"

"Mhm, okay," Laura closed her eyes as Donald kissed her forehead and whispered, "goodnight, mommy. Love you."

"Love you too, babygirl." Donald's voice broke adorably and he sniffed back some tears before they could erupt as he made his way to the door.

Logan couldn't stop smiling at him even as Donald rolled his eyes at his smug expression, and bid Laura goodnight again before closing the door behind themselves.

"Fucking hell." Pierce whispered to himself before chuckling and dropping his forehead on Logan's shoulder. "We're parents."

"Yep." Logan chuckled back, rubbing his hands over Donald's back and kissing his neck.

"Never would've thought... but... it's nice. Real nice."

"It is."

"You like it too?" Donald peered up at him with a tired but hopeful smile. "This arrangement?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Logan smirked as he added, "For a while. Maybe longer, if I do."

"You remembered that one?" Donald laughed with big eyes and snuggled further into Logan's embrace.

"How could I forget that country shit you play daily?" Logan teased, dragging Donald along to their bedroom without breaking their embrace, stepping together like fucking penguins and it made Pierce giggle. "Besides, Laura wanted me to play it a couple times while you were gone."

"Aww, my baby got my good taste," Pierce grinned up at Logan as he shoved him gently down on the bed so he could help him undress. He really let himself become a pillow princess out of exhaustion, barely moving on his own as Logan removed his clothes.

"So it's over?" Logan asked after a minute of comfortable silence as he peeled Donald's undershirt off of him.

"Yeah. Done deal. The bag? Filled it up with a bit of extra cash I borrowed for my troubles. They won't come looking for it, trust me. I made sure," Donald had that smile on that told him he probably killed most if not all of his bosses. He sighed as Logan started taking his trousers off and leaned back to raise his hips. His torso was littered with red and purple bruises. "It wasn't a good one. The company and the job. I lost one too many good men. Besides, it'll be a pain in the ass to repair my arm without use of the other so I need to find a good mechanic. Fucking animal tried to crush it to bits."

"I'll help. Just tell me what to do." Logan hummed as he threw Donald's clothes in the laundry basket. He frowned as he realized something. "No underwear?"

"It's a bit more complicated than repairing a car, Logan." Pierce massaged his nosebridge, wincing at the cut on it.

"Can't be harder than your fucking five star pasta bake. Come on. Just tell me what to do and let me help." Logan walked back to the bed, watching Pierce's beautiful body beneath him and thumbed at the bruises on his thighs. They had a sort of fingerprint quality to them. "Where did your underwear go?"

Donald snorted, "Don't know if you noticed, but most of the clothes I left in are gone. Got fucking ruined. I got the new ones at a gas station. Long story."

Logan quirked an eyebrow and fit his hands on the marks, spreading Donald's thighs and making him wince as he lifted his hips.

"Love the enthusiasm, honey, but I do need a shower first." Pierce bit his lip and caught Logan's hand before it could reach his ass. "Let me clean up, okay?"

"Did someone fuck you?" Logan asked bluntly, and everything was still for a minute.

Donald swallowed heavily before managing a weak chuckle. "My boss wasn't very happy when he heard I have a hubby and kid at home that I want to return to."

Logan's jaw clenched at the implication and he placed Donald's hips back down, leaning over him to kiss his face all over while growing, "I'll fucking tear him to pieces, I'll fucking rip him to shreds-,"

"It's okay, hon, I took care of it, okay? Most of them anyway. Left some for you to have fun with, though, because I'm such a good wife." Pierce cooed, raining his own kisses onto Logan, sighing into their embrace. "I'm just a bit sore now, so we gotta put that fun on hold for a minute, yeah? I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Those fuckers do though. I'll hunt down every last one of them." Logan growled into their kiss, and Donald wrapped his legs around him, purring.

"Such a good hubby you are, you know that? Makes me think you might actually love me, or something," Pierce chuckled, but Logan could hear the hope in his voice.

"Well. I did keep hope that you'd come back and I could tell you all the things I still wanted to do with you." Logan gave a small smile and Donald nudged him with a bratty impatient whine.

"Like what, like what?"

Logan got back up cheekily and headed to the joined bathroom as he called back, "I'll tell you tomorrow, let's get you cleaned up first."

"Tomorrow?! Come on, I almost died several times, Wolvie!"

Logan came back with a warm wet towel and a bar of soap and shrugged, "But you'll be here tomorrow, so it can wait until then. You'll be here, won't you?"

Pierce pouted as Logan begun cleaning him gently, "I won't be able to sleep if you don't tell me now," he said that but he yawned bigger and bigger as Logan rubbed his aching body.

"I wouldn't trust that." Logan hummed as he cleaned finally between Donald's thighs, careful not to hurt him too much as he dipped in and Pierce bit his lip.

"Can you at least give me a hint?"

"It's about our future." Logan took Pierce by the legs and pulled his body closer, so his butt was right at the edge of the bed. Logan kneeled down in front of it and said, "This was also something I wanted to do to you."

Pierce didn't get the chance to ask what because Logan's tongue found its way into Donald's sweet tight hole he loved so much. Pierce was whining and gasping and trying to claw at his hair with his metal hand as Logan ate him out, slow and deep and sloppy, the way he knew Pierce would go insane from and get a beard burn. He made him cum like that, in a fairly short amount of time. He remembered just how Donald liked it, where his sweet spot was, and he licked his cum up from his belly and fed it to Pierce in a filthy kiss.

"Your turn, your turn-," Donald whispered coyly as he licked the remainder off his tongue, "I'll suck it, let me-,"

"You're tired, you need to get some rest," Logan tried to chide him, but Donald nipped at his jaw.

"What I need is my husband's big fucking cock in my mouth," Donald whined, licking at the shell of Logan's ear. "I've been craving to suck you off all fucking week. Craved you in my ass too, but those bastards ripped me up too bad for that now. Give me this at least."

"You want it? You want me to be your husband? Want me to marry you?" Logan moaned and grinded his erection against Donald's hip, still confined in his boxers, chuckling at Donald's eager nodding. "You wanna marry me, baby?"

"Yes, please," Donald gasped into their wet kiss, tugging on his lower lip with his teeth and groaning, "I wanna be your wife so bad, wanna be yours, all yours, daddy."

"Yeah? You are," Logan hastily kicked off his underwear and straddled Donald's chest, feeding him his cock. He kept Donald to a moderate pace by his hair, the slutty little thing not minding his injuries and trying to throat him down all the way. He pet his face with his other hand and Donald looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of his and those pink lips stretched around his cock, and Logan thought he was the luckiest fucking man alive. "My pretty little wife. How gorgeous you are. And all mine."

Pierce moaned his confirmation around his cock as he swallowed him deep and it didn't take long before Logan found himself on the edge of his climax, but pulled out instead of cumming down Donald's throat. He was met with a bratty whine right until he started jerking himself hastily and then Pierce opened his mouth wide, sticking his tongue out, and looking up at Logan with those fucking eyes that made Logan cum so hard. He painted Donald's darling face with it, covering him in thick plentiful ropes, the fruit of being pent up for a week, and even leaving a generous amount disposed on Pierce's pink tongue which he swallowed diligently.

"Fuck, you did miss me," Donald chuckled, licking at his lips before Logan took the towel to clean him up. "What a fat fucking load. Your right hand wasn't a good enough company? Neither the girls in town?"

"Why would I need any of those when I have a wife at home who takes care of me?" Logan leaned back down and kissed Pierce on the mouth, something he never willingly did after a blowjob and it made Donald giggle and wrap him in a tight hug.

"You mean it?" Pierce asked later in the evening, once Logan was already half asleep against his back. "The stuff about marriage?"

"Why did you think I was saying I wanted to talk about out future?" Logan sleepily grumbled and kissed Donald's nape. "Sleep now, we'll talk about it more tomorrow."

"Okay, g'night," Pierce snuggled in closer, and after a couple minutes added with a barely audible whisper. "Love you."

Logan smiled, "Love you too."

[abdifarah]

Bloody

There was never a time when Spike Lee wasn’t Spike Lee to me. I seem to remember being born with images from his movies pre-installed on my mental harddrive. School Daze, one of the first few VHS’s in our house, was a favorite of my mom, and seemed to always be on in the background. Watching it recently, I had a this is water realization: “This is a musical?!” The movie’s mechanics and construction were so overly familiar as to be invisible. 

I love Spike Lee the way Americans love Jesus. More than any particular film (He Got Game, Do the Right Thing, and Malcolm X are three favs), I love everything Lee represents, has represented, and what I’m sure he will continue to represent. I knew even before instagram was invented that he would be great at it. And I am sure whatever mechanism comes next that facilitates a creator’s connection to their audience, Spike will embrace and master it like a surfer to the waves. Spike is always Spike, which probably facilitates his uncanny ability to appear comfortable in many worlds, from high art auteur filmmaking, to pop culture fare, to sports documentaries to political commentary. He is unapologetically ambitious, unapologetically confident, unapologetically black; a trio that America works hard to keep separate. He believes in the imperative of his movies and will do anything–hawking merch, launching a Kickstarter, starring in Capital One commercials–to get them made. 

Spike’s work is not just black, but majestically black, sophisticatedly black, dangerously black. This man made Bamboozled, a movie about a television exec that makes a modern day minstrel show! There are obviously a small handful of other successful and busy black filmmakers, namely Tyler Perry and Lee Daniels. Their movies do the necessary, but not-that-interesting work of simply putting blackness front and center. But the vision of blackness of Daniels or Perry has always felt like it was for someone other than me; someone either less black or less smart. Spike’s films, while often informative, never preach or pander. They assume a black outlook as a given and not an oddity. His films are challenging and do not often resolve with easy lessons. They incorporate the broad history of film and culture and do very little to catch the audience up. It is his way of showing respect to us as viewers.

Even when I do not like a Spike Lee Joint, I always admire the chutzpah, which for me is higher praise than simply liking or enjoying a work of art. Spike will go down as one of the most prolific filmmakers. He prides himself on his goal of producing a major work annually, as opposed to many of his contemporaries like Paul Thomas Anderson or Quentin Tarantino who move at a more leisurely clip. I wonder if Spike’s breakneck pace emanates from a conscious or subconscious fear of being forgotten, and having the door closed on him; ending up like so many other promising directors of color or women directors that after successful early work find it harder and harder to secure funds and get new projects greenlit. Spike has spoken candidly of the trouble he has getting movies produced, even as a celebrity director. While historically impressed by the amount of output, I now wish Spike Lee felt the freedom and permission to slow down.

Da 5 Bloods has so much in it that I love, and multiple scenes that I found genuinely moving, but this is a mess of a movie. For a film about finding buried treasure, Lee seems to be unaware of how much gold he’s sitting on. The movie undertakes the meaty premise of having four older black Vietnam veterans return to the site that indelibly changed them, mostly for the worse, to find the remains of their inspiring troop leader, Stormin’ Normin’, and a chest of gold bullion boosted from a crashed plane and hidden in the deep jungle. They returned to America after the war broken by what they saw and unable to partake of the freedoms they supposedly fought for, but like all black folks attempted to make the most of this reality. Their meeting in Vietnam is a college reunion of sorts, if you went to college to major war atrocities, and ptsd. Like any good reunion plot, each man has their post-war war stories; divorces, estranged kids, bad breaks, bankruptcies. 

They are different, almost unrecognizable to each other. Delroy Lindo’s, Paul, once a black militant, is a Maga hat wearing Trump supporter, but they are all family still. I could have watched these dialogues amongst black men who lived through civil rights, survived Vietnam, but are still fighting their own private wars all night. I wanted to stay in this movie. But about halfway through the tone of the movie shifts and whatever this movie was supposed to be about tragically steps on a landmine. The movie changes from a subtle portrait of these GI’s, their relationships to each other, and their quest to lay to rest the ghosts of the past, and becomes a gory shoot-em-up and basic-bitch heist movie, albeit with some still compelling scenes dripped in, mostly involving Paul. 

In New Orleans you can often see a big storm rolling in from miles away. The writhing clouds, tinged with the primordial reds and purples of sundown and coursing with whip snaps of lightning, mesmerize to the point where you forget you’re about to get drenched. Delroy Lindo’s performance similarly entrances as he descends like King Lear into paranoia and madness, enroute to self-sabotaging the mission and his relationship with his fellow soldiers and his doting son, who has stowed away on the excursion. Spike Lee’s casting has always indicted the rest of Hollywood, by highlighting the black actors and other actors with looks were deemed too “ethic” or too “this” or too “that”, but who have more chop in one of their nostrils than many on the A-list could muster sitting on each other’s shoulders. Why is Lindo not considered one of our great actors? 

While some of the creative and plot choices can be forgiven as artistic liberty, the depiction of the actual Vietnamese people in the movie is hard to justify. Other than a compelling cinematic portrait of the historical figure Hanoi Hannah whose radio broadcasts entertained and taunted American soldiers during the war, the other Vietnamese characters in the movie are pretty flat at best and ugly stereotypes at the other extreme. One of Lee’s perpetual explorations across all of his movies has been the destructive violence of racial stereotypes. Do the Right Thing ends when Police indiscriminately kill Radio Raheem, perceiving the imposing black man as only a threat and not a beloved community member and human worthy of dignity and protection. Blackkklansman presents us with a black man who is also a cop and all of the complexity that entails. Strangely, Lee regurgitates the worst stereotypes of the Viet-Cong in the group of Vietnamese mercenaries serving at the behest of bloated Jean Reno’s french gangster (and Donald Trump surrogate?) who ambush Da Bloods for their gold, leading to the films Tarantino-esque bloodbath ending. The climactic scene which sees Da Bloods, like retired athletes, reliving their glory days as soldiers by extension glorifies the Vietnam conflict and the killing of the Vietnamese, which is disappointing and sad. For a director that for decades avoided tidy popcorn conclusions, this film and his previous outing, Blackkklansman, basically end in good guy vs. bad guy gunfights. 

Da 5 Bloods should have been Girls Trip but with Vietnam vets; former friends with divergent lives butting heads and ultimately reconnecting; learning from while burying the past. There’s a strange moment in Da 5 Bloods before the movie breaks bad when the gang finds a pistol hidden by Clarke Peter’s character, Otis, the ostensible leader of the adventure. For battle worn vets they seem weirdly squeamish at the thought that one of them is packing. These astute Spike Lee characters, knowledgeable of movie and theater orthodoxy, understand that if a gun appears, at some point it's going to go off. Perhaps they, like me, were lamenting the inevitable end of the more dynamic and challenging first half of the movie. Maybe through them Spike Lee is voicing his own reservations about the pending violence of the film. Either way, Spike, like Otis, shouldn't have brought the gun.

[mrepstein]

Daily Mirror - Monday August 28, 1967 [high res image: x]

The Star Maker

By BRIAN McCONNELL and BERNARD FALK

They called him the Prince of Pop... the Napoleon of Show Business. And Brian Epstein earned his fame and his nicknames the hard way.

He once said of his struggle to the top: “It was tough. You shout and you fight and you claw and if you haven’t got faith and tenacity, you give up. I kept on.”

But Epstein, the Star Maker, was more modest about his greatest show business find - the Beatles. He repeatedly denied that their success was due to him.

Thirty-two-year-old Epstein stumbled across the Beatles when he was selling records in his family’s Liverpool store.

Ruthless

People kept asking for their records, so - in November, 1961 - he went to the Cavern Club to hear them.

A month later, he signed them up - and Epstein, the former public school boy who had been a window-dresser, salesman and soldier, was on the way to making them millionaires and becoming one himself.

Many things drove Epstein on to success. He was a formidable man whose bland smile and affable charm could hide a ruthless streak.

But mainly it was his craving for friends that gave him the talent of finding unknowns and making them famous.

For even in the limelight, surrounded by the big names of show business and the fans, Epstein was a lonely man.

And loneliness was the thing he feared most.

The four Beatles were among the few people he regarded as real friends.

He liked them, he said, because they were natural.

One cause of his shyness and loneliness was his unhappy days at boarding school.

Social

He left at 16 and decided to be “good at things I like, rather than work at things which will give me social company.”

And it was selling records in the North End Musical Stores - which gave his enterprise the name NEMS - that Epstein heard of the Beatles.

As their manager, he believed in them, and had many rejections from recording companies.

The first record was not a success, and they operated at a loss in the first year.

Then, as Epstein put it: “Well over a year’s hard work, a bit of luck, and we were in.

“I didn’t make them. I was not their boss. I was their friend.”

Besides the Beatles, the Epstein “stable” included Cilla Black, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Billy J. Kramer and other big “names.”

In 1964, Epstein moved from Liverpool to London, bought a £31,000 house in Belgravia, and ventured further into business.

He backed several successful London shows and gained a controlling interest in the Saville Theatre.

Last night, the lights went out at the theatre after the first house.

Of the Beatles, by the Beatles and for the Beatles..

By DONALD ZEC

Brian Epstein discovered the Beatles.

The phrase is short, but its significance, whether measured in millions or by the way it jolted an antiquated world right down to its hardening arteries, is a phenomenon of the century.

It must now stand as the untimely epitaph - to one of the most extraordinary, almost unparalleled careers in the history of entertainment.

Brian Epstein did not merely unleash a new, exciting sound. He harnessed its vibrant energies, lived to see it orchestrate the young revolution now pulling the rug out from under the entire world.

Those of us who recoiled with faint derision at John, Paul, George and Ringo’s thundering and unscissored debut were soon to have our old-fashioned smiles knocked sideways.

To Epstein the swinging sound first heard in that dark, dank cave in Liverpool was something raw, fresh, unfathomable. But Epstein was no cigar-smoking business manager in for the fast percentage and out again when the heat cooled off.

He was of the Beatles, by the Beatles, for the Beatles.

He loved their restless music, poured their lagers and lime, lived with them, jazzed around with them, erected the tough yet silken curtain between them and those jealous for a piece of the action.

Embraced

He was part of the “scene.” The moods, the fancies and the fantasies, the transcendental “experiences,” the new cults and cultures that embraced the Beatles, embraced Epstein, too.

He loved them. I know that because he told me so - with the quiet candour that won friends and made enemies.

And they loved him. Not because he helped to make them millionaires (although there were no audible complaints on that score).

They rooted for him because he was ahead of them in the minefields, pointing a way, offering a hand.

John Lennon has said: “He’s the only one we take things from. He’s one above us. We couldn't be run by anybody but him - not anybody.”

The question, too early to be asked but soon to be answered is this: Can the Beatles, the most lucrative quartet in pop entertainment - survive without Epstein?

A dim, but mercenary entrepreneur of the old school might have been glad to squeeze this talented foursome dry, chew them up and spit them out on to the open market. But Epstein, like the Beatles music, was out of a different and more substantial mould.

Tough to deal with, determined, shrewd, coolly suspicious - he was all that to be sure. But anyone who goes out on safari into a jungle must know how to deal with the man eaters and the rest of the devious carnivores.

Handsome

The big Hollywood magnates who welcomed this slim, handsome, deceptively genial gent into their close-carpeted offices were convinced they could con the cuff-links off his Turnbull and Asser shirts.

In about thirty seconds flat he had them reaching for their ulcer pills, meekly accepting his terms, lodged uncomfortably in their gullets.

It was hard enough to take from any business manager. Coming from this polite, diffident 32-year-old made grit in the eye a more acceptable hazard.

My last meeting with him was over lunch at his period house in Belgravia. Cilla Black was there. She, too, was an Epstein discovery. She, too, like the Beatles, was raised from street level to a penthouse suite.

The intuitive skill of Brian Epstein resided in his sure knowledge of what millions of young people wanted in music - what excited him.

Agents told him that Cilla Black, nasal of voice, homely of face, wouldn’t earn a penny at the box office. Epstein advised them to queue for the next performance. She now tops the bill, is starring in a film.

She too, will feel that a mighty comforting arm slipped from her shoulder last night....

Epstein entertained me in a house which, like its owner, was stylish and defiantly extravagant - a luxurious mixture of mosaics and old masters. An 8ft. blow-up of the handsome face of El Cordobes, the bullfighter, adorned the bathroom wall.

The famous Spaniard was his friend. So too, was Nureyev the ballet dancer.

Vanity

But unlike those blazing extroverts Epstein was a mild egocentric masquerading as an enigma. He permitted himself the odd, amusing touch of vanity - like having as his telegraphic address simply “Nemperor” - the “nem” for his vast company NEMS Enterprises. The rest you will grasp for yourselves.

His was no rags-to-riches tale. He came from an Orthodox Jewish middle-class family; went to RADA; ran a record shop, discovered the Beatles, turned the pop world on its slightly-deafened ear, taking it all inscrutably over a cup of China tea.

In the last few months Epstein, like one or two of the Beatles, entered the bizarre world of experiments in “mind perception.” He has declared in interviews his experiments with marijuana and LSD. And like others who have “turned on” he strenuously defended it.

Did he know that LSD could have extremely damaging and sometimes fatal effects, Mike Hennessey of the Melody Maker asked him recently.

Epstein replied: “I did have some apprehension, but I took that risk. I think LSD helped me to know myself better and I think it helped me to become less bad tempered.”

Whatever the effects of the drug, there can be no doubt that Epstein had withdrawn from the more raucous and spectacular elements of show business.

He lived almost like a recluse, more the mystic, less the manager.

The mysticism has acquired a harsh and tragic reality.

To manage this sometimes difficult, sometimes beguiling, often downright cussed group required a kind of gentleness, kindness and goodwill.

Brian Epstein had those qualities and considerable skill besides.

Not only the Beatles mourned and measured their loss last night.

[mexicancarolina]

Chorus Masterlist

**Chorus**

Scenario: They catch you singing

Donald Doyle x Reader

Need [NSFW]

Before I go

Antoine Bitters x Reader

Lazy

Just a scratch

Charles Palomo x Reader

Reward

Clothes

Felix/Isaac Gates x Reader

Don’t give me that look

Beat him

Intimidating  (Felix x Reader x Locus)

Broken

Watch your back

Until you see stars (Felix x Rebel!Reader x Tucker) [Three Sentence Fic] [NSFW]  

Silence [NSFW]

Choice  (Felix x Blue!Reader x Tucker)

With you

Punishment [NSFW]

Apocalyptic [NSFW]

Hands (Part I)-(Part II)

Broken Promises (Part I)-(Part II)

Ticklish

Don’t threaten me with a good time

Obey [Three Sentence Fic] [NSFW]

Not leaving

Come here

Loose ends

Dance (Bounty Hunter! Reader)

Choices

Mine [NSFW]

Care

Paths (Felix x Freelancer! Reader x Washington)

Passion

Make it up to you [NSFW]

Take me back (Felix x Mercenary! Reader x Locus)

Bad guy

Ruined [TW: Character Death]

Promise me

The bad ones

Call me [NSFW]

Grief [TW: Miscarriage]

Locus/Samuel Ortez x Reader

You are not a monster

Intimidating (Locus x Reader x Felix)

We can’t be together

All I want to do...[NSFW]

Not going to die

Lust

Soulmate

Make things right

Afraid

Bet (Bounty Hunter! Reader)

Lingerie

No secrets (Federal! Reader)

Possessive [Part 2]

Eternity

Angrily cold

Warmth

Make you smile

Take me back (Locus x Mercenary! Reader x Felix)

Feel

Time

Panic (Shy! Reader)

Alone

The end of me [NSFW]

Little thief

Humanity (Civilian! Reader)

Don’t say it (Mute! Reader)

Stay (Blue! Reader) [NSFW]

Who you are

Cry, you need it [TW: Miscarriage] (Freelancer! Reader)

Painkillers? (Bounty Hunter! Reader)

Optimistic killer

Patience and control [NSFW]

Breaking through (Federal! Reader)

Safe heaven [NSFW]

Future

Hate to love you

Sharkface x Reader

Don’t be rude

Fire [Three sentence Fic] [NSFW]

In love (Part I)-(Part II)

Tease

Something

Sacrifice

Hopes

[samuelguthric]

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s SAMUEL GUTHRIE/CANNONBALL, a HERO from MARVEL! HE is 25 years old and look an awful lot like SEAN TEALE. I hear that they work as a FLIGHT PROFESSOR. Rumor has it they were AGAINST the Accords and ARE NOT registered under the new laws.

I wonder what they’ll find with their new beginning!

basics —

NAME: Samuel Zachery Guthrie

NICKNAMES: Sam, Sammy Boy, Farmboy, Kentucky

ALIAS: Cannonball

AGE: 25

BIRTHDATE: October 17th

PLACE OF BIRTH: Guthrie Farmhouse. Cumberland County, Kentucky

he does have a southern accent!

SPECIES: Mutant

RELATIVES: Thomas Guthrie (father, deceased), Lucinda Guthrie (mother), Josiah Guthrie (three year old son), Paige Guthrie (sister), Joshua Guthrie (brother, deceased), Melody Guthrie (sister), Jeb Guthrie (brother), Joelle Guthrie (sister), Lewis Guthrie (brother), Elizabeth Guthrie (sister), Cissie Guthrie (sister), Unnamed Sister, Lucas Guthrie (paternal uncle), Raymond Jr (adoptive brother)

MAIN AFFILIATIONS: X-Men, The Avengers

he’s a member of both teams!

OTHER AFFILIATIONS: New Mutants, X-Force, Hellions, && S.H.I.E.L.D.

these are all groups or organizations he has also been part of!

HEIGHT: 6’0”

WEIGHT: 180 lbs

EYE COLOR: Blue

HAIR COLOR: Blonde

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

OCCUPATION: Flight Professor At Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters

brief history —

samuel zachery guthrie is the eldest of eleven siblings in kentucky. he was to born into a rather large farming family, having many animals to help take care of growing up. his father became a coal miner to help support his family that continues to grow. when sam was sixteen years old he became the man of the house when thomas died by inhaling coal dust in the mines.

there was a responsibility passed into the young boy, needing to provide for his family too. he took on the duties his father once had and became a coal miner too. the job was dangerous, and sam found himself stuck inside a collapsing mine shaft on his first day!

he was stuck with a fellow worker that was friends with his father, and helped get him the job — knowing how important this was to him. the panic samuel felt manifested his mutant abilities which allowed him to propel himself out of there and bring both of them to safety.

this incident attracted the attention of donald pierce, who wanted to hire sam as a mercenary for the hellfire club. he had intentions to use him to attack the new mutants. although, he didn’t expect sam to be so kind natured — which quickly brought him to his senses and betrayed pierce before he could do anything he would come to regret. the professor saw some food in the boy, and invited him to join the new mutants as a member. of course, sam got the blessing from his mother before joining the team. he loves her and how accepting she has been when discovering how many of her children are mutants. half of his siblings are and half of them aren’t.  

he has a three year old son, who’s also a mutant with powers that have already manifested. they’re identical to his own, who would have thought? he also can levitate at will which josiah finds amusing watching everyone try to catch him, but sam doesn’t find it as funny.

( i’m not going into detail about the rest of his history because it’s a lot, but what teams he’s part of is covered above. )

powers —

THERMO-CHEMICAL ENERGY FIELD PROPULSION: possesses the ability to bodily generate thermo-chemical energy and release it from his skin. this energy is used as thrust to cause his body to be propelled through the air, like his namesake, at great heights and speeds with considerable maneuverability. he can control his speed and direction through sheer act of will. at first he could only release this energy from his feet, but now he can fire it from almost any part of his body, to a wide variety of effects, such as channeling it into bio-kinetic blasts from his hands.

BLAST FIELD: this energy also manifests itself as an impenetrable and virtually indestructible "blast field." he can use this blast-field to function as a personal shield or extending it to encompass others, shape the field around another person to imprison them, or absorb outside kinetic impact into his own energy supply and then re-channel it to increase the bludgeoning power of his blows or create explosive shock waves upon impact. sam is also capable of generating the blast field without actually having to blast off, though it takes him extreme concentration to prevent himself from propelling into the air.

SUPERHUMAN DURABILITY: when he is using his superhuman powers, sam possesses superhuman durability due to the energy field that forms around his body.