#so there ought to be like consequences to knowing that shit

[alecscudder1987]

ive just had a thought. see ive been joking as much as the next person about the ineffable beurocracy getting their shit together after 3 dates while it took aziraphale and crowley since literally before time was invented BUT it's quite literally just privilege.

you saw the shot where aziraphale grabs crowley's shoulder just after beelzebub and gabriel declare their love--this level of visibility is unprecedented, and something he and crowley have never been able to afford. while they (and we) might have softened to not-gabriel throughout the season, the second gabriel is gabriel again, he uses his position and leaddrship weight as archangel to fuck right off with his beloved. which, good for him.

but to aziraphale and crowley, this is fucking bonkers information. they spent their entire existences compromising on their relationship in order to not...be compromised. and gabriel just up and speed-runs dating the enemy because the worst consequence he faces is getting fired. gabriel and beelzebub never face consequences for their relationship, so of course it goes off without a hitch. no one looking over your shoulder because you're the guy looking over everyone's shoulder.

while im thankful they fucked off to alpha centuri so i don't ever have to see gabriel's smug face again, i do wonder if the "going off together" is really the good relationship A & C ought to model. if it's a happy foil to miserable wee morag and her girlfriend from the minisodes, it's still not what i believe crowley and aziraphale are going to do.

they've spent all of time becoming increasingly codependent, and while that's fun and all for a while, crowley and aziraphale really need their little human mundanities. going on walks. getting dinner. going for a drive to blow off steam. their path is getting distinctly more human-looking, and i think someday they're going to have to reckon with the idea of letting other people into their lives.

to bring it back to my first point, i've just been thinking about WHY crowley and aziraphale are Like That, when we've been presented with a new couple who most certainly isn't, and it made me think about it in terms of power. they have leverage, but they built it for themselves by learning everything about earth their superiors didn't know, getting a leg up anywhere they can. gabriel and beezlebub don't need a leg up. they have it. they're stepping on your chest and brushing dust from their costs as you try to climb past the first stone.

you could also look at it like queer versus straight relationships. queer relationships are often by circumstance somewhat secretive and full of codes and longing glances and not-talking-about-your-feelings BECAUSE it might get you into trouble. straight relationships often don't have this problem (though they might have others relating to other intersecting & marginalized identities) so they can get straight away into the declaring it part.

TL;DR beezlebub and gabriel got hitched immidiately while it took crowley and aziraphale all of time to kiss because the ineffable beaurocracy has about a million times more power and a billion times less consequences for getting caught about it than the ineffable husbands do.

[queenshelby]

An Illicit Affair

Part 13: The Hospital Visit

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Whilst Danielle didn't say anything to Cillian during the event that evening, your friend Lucy picked up on his appearance right away and pulled you aside for a talk.

"Are you fucking crazy?" she asked, tidying up your hair with her hands while wiping away your lipstick with a napkin. 

"What are you talking about?" you asked Lucy, feigning ignorance.

"Come on, you know what I'm referring to," Lucy whispered, peeking over her shoulder. "The stains on Cillian's shirt? Your lipstick? It's all fucking smudged," Lucy rolled her eyes. "You are going to end up in some deep shit, girl," she warned you in a hushed whisper as a cold chill ran down your spine.

"I am...," you stammered. "Fuck, I am trying but I can't help it," you admitted to your friend, staring down at your feet nervously. "I know it's wrong, but I can't seem to stop myself," you confessed, gripping the hem of your skirt tightly and adjusting the fabric. 

"Look, I know you like him," Lucy sighed, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "But, seriously, you going to put a stop to this. I mean, he is married and way too fucking old for you," she reminded you, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You guys are worlds apart, Y/N," Lucy added, her voice filled with concern.

"I know, I know," you sighed, your voice sounding defeated. "But, somehow, I just can't help acting irrationally whenever I'm around him," you confessed, shaking your head sadly just as you spotted Cillian leaving the function along with his wife.

"Damn, this is so complicated," you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard as you watched Danielle take his hand in to hers and leading him towards the exit. 

It hurt seeing them together, yet you couldn't bring yourself to admit defeat.

Your feelings for Cillian were too profound to ignore, and the connection you shared transcended logic or reason. But Lucy insisted on warning you, pointing out the risks involved: "You're risking it all," she noted, fidgeting with her hair nervously. "If word spreads, you'll face serious consequences—career-wise, personally."

"I know, Lucy," you sighed, chewing on your bottom lip. "I'm not blind to the dangers."

Lucy shook her head, her eyes brimming with concern. "You gotta draw a line, Y/N. Protect yourself."

"But..." you stammered, but Lucy didn't allow you to finish your sentence. 

"No 'buts,'" Lucy interrupted. "Cillian's a married man and the father to your ex-boyfriend, nonetheless. Don't forget that," Lucy advised, shaking her head.

"I promise I will end this, Lu. No more from here on," you lied, feeling guilty for lying to your best friend.

You took a big gulp of your drink, thinking about Cillian. You remembered the way he'd looked at you earlier—with such raw hunger and desire. It made your heart race, and your palms grew sweaty.

"Hey, Y/N," a familiar voice then suddenly said from behind you and, when you turned around, you saw James standing there, flashing his charming smile.

"How long have you been standing there?" you asked him, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"Long enough to catch the tail end of your conversation with Lucy," James responded, winking suggestively. "And I must say, I'm intrigued now," he added, moving closer to you.

"By what?" you challenged him, crossing your arms defensively while swallowing nervously. 

"You've got the hots for Max Murphy's father?" James ought to confirm, grinning mischievously. "Seems like quite an unconventional crush for you, seeing that you used to date his son, but hey, each to their own," he added, cocking an eyebrow at you slyly.

"I don't have a crush on him, we were just..." you stammered, trying to explain yourself. "We were just joking," you tried to tell him but James raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously. 

"Yeah right," he chuckled. "Listen Y/N, I really don't care who you have a crush on because I know it isn't me," he said, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. 

"James, I am sorry," you began to mumble nervously but, again, James interrupted you.

"Don't worry about it. Your little secret is safe with me," James assured you, winking cheekily before calling it a night. "I just came over to say goodnight. I have to be at the hospital at six o'clock tomorrow morning and better hit the hay soon," James said, yawning theatrically before giving you a friendly pat on the back. 

"I will see you tomorrow then," you told him shyly, forcing a smile to appear on your face.

"Yeah, sounds great," James nodded, turning around to leave without another word.

You stood motionless, staring at the spot where he once stood, feeling nervous while Lucy's chin hang low. 

"You are so screwed if he talks," Lucy said worriedly, rubbing her temples.

"He won't," you assured her, but deep down, you knew that James had the potential to spill the beans about your illicit encounters with Cillian. "Despite, he thinks that I just have a crush on him," you added, hoping Lucy would find comfort in your words.

"Really?" Lucy arched an eyebrow skeptically. "So you don't believe he suspects something?"

"No," you shrugged, swallowing hard. "But even if he does suspect something, I doubt he'd rat me out," you argued, trying to convince yourself more than Lucy.

"Why do you say that?" Lucy wondered aloud, studying your expression closely.

"Because James isn't that kind of guy. He is arrogant, but not vindictive," you insisted, trying to calm Lucy down. "I think we can trust him," you added, glancing around nervously and praying that nobody else had caught wind of your little secret.

"Well, let's hope you're right," Lucy sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "Because if he does blow this thing wide open, your live will never be the same," Lucy continued, shaking her head worriedly.

"Stop worrying," you scolded her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Everything's gonna be alright," you assured her, smiling reassuringly.

"I just don't understand why you're messing around with a married man," Lucy sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're better than that," she added, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I know," you murmured, averting your gaze. "But I really fucking like him," you concluded helplessly before you tried to change the subject, which was something that Lucy allowed you to do, at least for now.

The following morning however, when you went to start your shift at the university hospital at around 9 o'clock, you were met with a somewhat unwelcoming surprise as one of the nurses in charge handed you your files.

"James ordered an ECG and MRI in 19," the nurse explained. "You are also required in 28 for preliminary tests," the nurse explained before also handing you a clipboard containing your assigned patients for the morning. 

"Thanks," you nodded, reading through the list of names. Most cases didn't require further discussion; routine checkups, physical therapy, and medication adjustments. You knew the drill. But then you came across a name that caused your heart to skip a beat.

"Cillian Murphy," you whispered under your breath, your eyes widening in disbelief.

"Yeah, the actor, you know," the nurse said, her eyes twinkling, causing your chin to drop. 

"Yeah, I know who he is, but what is he in for?" you ask the nurse, shifting from foot to foot nervously. 

"He's got a large cut on his arm," the nurse explained, eyeing you warily.

"It says here that he presented to the ER last night. Has it not been stitched yet?" you asked her, confusion  written all over your face.

"Oh, the laceration has been closed up, but he stayed in overnight for observation due to risk of infection. The laceration was close to the tend on, pretty deep actually," the nurse answered, raising an eyebrow as she eyed you suspiciously. "I handed the file to James this morning but he said that he might rather see you than him," the nurse added, handing you Cillian's chart and then disappearing around the corner.

"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, flipping through the pages and scanning the details hastily.

You weren't exactly thrilled about having to interact with Cillian a at your place of employment after last night's encounter with James. Yet, James was your boss and he had instructed you to attend to him, making it a matter of professional duty. You thus had no choice and, even if you had, you were keen to know how he sustained the injury in the first place. 

To be continued...

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[lesbianrobin]

something that i think a lot of pro-choice people who exist in liberal/leftist/pro-choice circles and cities and families don't realize is that a lot of anti abortion people Know that outlawing abortion is misogynistic and cruel. that's Why they are anti abortion. it's the same reason why they'll never get behind prison abolition or the decriminalization of drug possession. they think that wrongdoing must be punished regardless of whether that punishment is productive, and these people think of pregnancy and motherhood as a punishment for having sex.

they think that "irresponsible" women ought to be forced into motherhood so that they'll behave the way that a woman "should." and the pro choice bitches just don't comprehend that like arguments that actually abortion isn't murder and actually people deserve to have bodily autonomy and actually it's better for children to be wanted etc etc don't MATTER to these people because none of that is the point the point is that they think abortion allows women to duck out of their "natural role" and the "consequences" of sexual permissiveness. and because they are conservatives who believe that fundamentalist white american gender roles are actually biologically inherent this is bad to them.

and i'm not just saying shit right now like i have family members who have literally justified their anti abortion stance to me as saying "well i just think that people should have to deal with the consequences of their actions!" and quite frankly there's literally no other logical explanation for why some people might be anti-abortion but still allow exceptions for rape and incest. if they think abortion is murder then the means of conception make no difference it Only makes a difference if your position on abortion is aimed at punishing people for having sex.

anyway idk why i'm saying all of this i just think that a lot of lefties and liberals who don't have to deal with conservatives all the time just do not understand the actual basis of the arguments they're having and as a result they run around in circles and bend over backwards citing medical research about fetal viability and philosophical/legal foundations of bodily autonomy when that quite literally is not even relevant to the people they are trying to convince.

[collapsedsquid]

Take a modern country like Venezuela. Venezuela is a basket-case, with catastrophic inflation combined with a moribund economy almost entirely reliant on oil exports, all atop substantial internal instability. Prior to the long peace, there’s little question what happens to a country like Venezuela, which is essentially a giant pile of barely guarded wealth: one – or several – of its neighbors would move in, oust the government and seize the territory and its valuable resources (oil, in this case). But because the leaders of a country like Venezuela know that, they may well try to avoid developing their country into such a weak state in the first place. Sure, bribery and corruption are fun, but only if you live long enough to use it; it’s not worth ruining the economy if the only consequence is being killed when Brazil, Colombia or the United States invades, disassembles your weakened and underfunded military and then annexes the country. The reason that doesn’t happen is not because the United States, Brazil or Colombia has suddenly developed morality (the USA’s record as a neighbor to Central and South America is not one we ought generally to be proud of), but because it no longer makes economic sense to do so. The value of the oil and other resources would be less than the cost of maintaining control of the country. This is why, I’d argue, you see the proliferation of failed states globally: in the past it would be actively profitable for non-failed states to take advantage of them, but as a result of the changes in our economies, failed states instead represent a question of managing costs. States no longer ask if they can profit through a war of conquest, but rather if they’d spend less managing the disaster that a local failed state is by invading versus trying to manage the problem via aid or controlling refugee flows. Even by that calculation, invasion has generally proved a losing option.

Brett putting the question with Venezuela but honestly this is the shit I was thinking with the ongoing Lebanon crises, you see that shit and think in any other time period this country would be invaded 15 times over.

[runawaymun]

Hey is there an elf headcanon you wanna rant about that's been tearing your heart out and using it as an embroidery tool? I feel like it's good for authors to get to air this out every so often.

this is has been sitting awhile just because I have been trying to figure out how to put the New Thought into words!

I've been thinking a lot lately about differences between Men and Elves and taking the consequences of what we know about how each interacts with Music to their logical end. So... this has somehow manifested in me thinking about how Elves build homes and decorate them vs how Men do. (and as per usual, this relates to Elrond and how he is different from everyone around him!)

Elves are super orderly and are bound to Arda and bound to their Themes...and they have all the time in the world to really think about their spaces and curate them. So I wouldn't say they're necessarily minimalist, but all of the decor is really built into the structure of the building -- especially for Noldorin Elves who like to Make Shit. So Elves don't really decorate with objects -- like, all of their objects are already inherently gorgeous in how they make them. Down to the silverware. So that's "decor" in a sense. But rather than clutter objects, you get beautifully wrought wall sconces and incredibly detailed murals -- stuff that got built into the building. And when it comes to soft items for making a space comforting, since they don't really spend hours on end sleeping and beds are more for relaxing & sex, and they don't feel temperature, I think they might just have like one or two pillows and one gorgeous coverlet and that's it.

Like they don't really get setting up objects around the room. But humans do it because we don't have the time to think so deeply and most of us don't necessarily build our own homes like that. We nest somewhere. So we bring in objects we love to surround ourselves with and sometimes it can get rather messy, and that's Really Weird to an elf. Especially if you're bringing in rocks/twigs/feathers etc. etc. because that has a home outside??? What are you bringing it inside for??? Leave it where it is???

And then this also brings me to Elves and clutter objects in general -- and collectables/gifts. And I can't remember if this is canon in Laws & Customs or something but I've just decided that you can't just give "raw materials" as a gift, short of flowers (but even then those ought to be arranged carefully into a nice bouquet). Like most Elves won't be mean if you hand them a cool rock you found but they'll just be confused.

Anyway this leads me to Elrond. I've already headcannoned that he has a level of nesting & bowerbird behavior from the Ainur genetics (What are Doriath and Mordor and Taniquetil but Big Nests? Rivendell = nest). And then, via Ainur have Bird Tendencies, that leads to bowerbird behavior of "I have a MATE and so thus I need to DECORATE" -- so naturally this leads to him absolutely going ham feral on Rivendell when he and Cel get married (hello pillows, hello blankets, hello clutter objects and ribbons and feathers etc etc. etc. oh Celebrian likes weaving?? Hi babe I bought you seven looms for your loom room!! Cel: "Wh--")

ANYWAY this brings me to the Mannish side of him, and I wonder how much of the decorating instincts are mannish. As well as the gifting instincts. And when he was younger he kind of learned that rocks & stuff aren't appropriate gifts. You gotta do stuff with that. And he just got super repressed about all of the collectibles and tried to keep that tamped down. Then Cel comes along and he starts leaving her rocks and she's like ????? and Gil's like that means he likes you. And once Cel gets the hang of this I think they make a great team. He collects cool shit and she does all of the crafting/carving/etc.

But yeah I've been thinking a lot about how Elves want things to be orderly, and how this might extend to even a room, and how each piece in that room is carefully designed and curated to be harmonious with everything else...and men, we just throw shit in there because We Like It.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

it's high time that i redid the ✨masterpost✨ of all the shit floating around this blog where i say anything arguably insightful, existential/philosophical, or even just teetering on the cusp of being vaguely intelligent, so voila here you go and fucking enjoy:

worth having a looksie through this: longwinded anon (LWA)✨ masterpost

and then because i am actually so proud of these i did video edits to lewis capaldi (he's my hozier fight me) and im sorry but my beat matching is insane, godlike even:

season 2 (forget me)

season 1 (heavenly kind of state of mind)

also:

did i get emotional over crowley's fall and having to leave behind his creations and aziraphale's various conflicts in faith? you're goddamn right i did (credit to hillywood for the fall scenes that sent me into a frenzy)

stuff that is potentially relevant to s3 or is essentially my safe space to shit on these two incompetent-ass characters for being the most ridiculous beings god ever conceived:

(be warned, all of these will conflict each other bc im a loose cannon, a wildcard, and can't settle on a single thing)

(no seriously my opinion changes over time so interpretations that i once held might no longer be the interpretation that i have now, ya feel me)

you wanted a s3 plot prediction, right?

aziraphale brought an ak-47 to a fist fight and ohooo boy did it have Consequences

god i really ought to work out a tagging system in here, huh - this is my ramble on what i think could have happened during the fall

just a small one on the 1967 scene and the holy water thing (tw: suicide)

crowley found the book of life and tbh it was very james bond of him

saraqael rapidly slotting into my top 5 GO characters based on a singular hc wahoo

fuckin ✨1941✨ (this also upsets ALL of my interpretations of the Final Fifteen which... well what can u do)

a fucking rug just put shivers down my spine

more on raphael/azazel/scapegoat/fall theory, glorious smart anons are feeding me yummy soup

perhaps a more comprehensive rambling on omelas, scapegoats, and Those Promo Photos

an updated maggie rambling why not, she's still giving me a headache (and this ask neatly summarises some stuff too!)

my boy crowley really doesn't like change, does he wee baby (may develop this into a full meta who knows)

you know i think heaven might just be the bad place, i know - shocker

god i hope i was possessed by agnes nutter when i wrote this

a gifset format bc i cba to write, but aziraphale might have been, or might become, raphael

ive lied like a rug in previous theory posts: THIS one, this time travel clusterfuck, is the bottom of the barrel

spent hours studying michael sheens face in utter disbelief that he is capable of portraying every emotion known to man, and wrote about it (ie my take on the kiss)

i think goob might have been more important in the mega miracle than we initially thought (and no - not in the way you're currently thinking)

aziraphale and suffering are pretty well acquainted with each other (warning: i absolutely HATE this meta it's so bad)

um i guess you could term this as god is dead theory? nietzsche strikes again anyway

we REALLY hit rock bottom in the theory stakes with this one, lads (it's about whether crowley does in fact fully remember the fall)

(REWORKED) greasy johnson is the second coming. that's it. that's the post.

finally wrote about the book of life well done me

crowley was offered the same chance as aziraphale, im fairly sure, and as far as ive seen noone noticed??

the motif of lies in job made me come over all poetic

relativity is NOT my milieu especially in GO but giving it my best shot

hahaha is everything aziraphale's fault hahahaha

fuckinnnn BOOOOOOKKKSSSSS

EVERY DETAIL MATTERS? YEAH I SHOULD FUCKING THINK SO (and im still keeping this on here bc if im right in s3 im never going to shut up)

job is crowley and crowley is job except job didn't get sent to sit on the naughty step

never thought id see the day where i analyse richard curtis' 4WAAF but this show has got me whipped, jumping through hoops and over stalls like a fucking show pony

i have the dreadful feeling that we might have been fools by sleeping on aziraphale's own angelic importance all this time

did the costume department just simply go ham in s2 or are the angel costumes Important?

more on outfits

ruminations on the fall, morality and omniscience vs. free will, and making choices as if i have any idea what im talking about

okay this one is a little shitpost-y but the message is sound and im an un-apologetic aziraphale supporter, sue me

a sprinkle of s2 symbology, a dash of ineffable plan speculation, and laure girlbossing on how the two go together mwah

this was sooooo tasty i love talking about nietzsche

honestly this one doesn't even have a theme i just like talking to people

okay so this is the genesis of my aziraphale defence league (population: like 15% of the fandom) but i will not stop until he gets the recognition and empathy he mf deserves

Cancel Metatron 2k23

this was pre-s2 but the concept still stands: something feels icky about crowley's fall narrative and the book of life is ringing alarm bells

the concept of pedestals is one of my juicy favourites in psychology and you will find out just how much if you stick around this blog long enough (aziraphale's critique)

and lastly crowley's narrative of his fall? hm, big issue there and honestly the root of all Crowley discourse on this blog, be duly warned

old stuff if you fancy having a giggle at my expense

come chat to me about things

[estbela]

Look! I even created a moodboard for The Fic.

I also regret everything.

Random thoughts (that I swear that in some manner relate to the fanfic)

This came to me in a dream, or rather, a daydream, during physics class.

The only magical creature I've ever seen Ro depicted as was obviously the vampire, so I decided that Ro ought to be literally anything else. And I like the concept of the iele, so this happened.

writing is fun but you better watch out for The Consequences (the consequences being sleep deprivation and if you already have a cold, like me, to worsen your cold somehow. Again, i regret everything)

I love putting Bulgaria through The Horrors. :]

This might have a continuation, it might not. I have...rough ideas in which I continue to put our protagonists in Situations. :)

You know shit's fucked when Serbia is the more well-adjusted individual (kind of).

The iele have a wikipedia page and mroe info about them on a lot of other places besides wikipedia if you wanna know more about them! :]

This might be badly written and slightly OOC at parts, so apologies for that. Idk Im kinda new to writing.

...that's it! :D

[mcalhenwrites]

The Dragons' Cosmos - excerpt

“Heard some shit at work this morning,” said Wayne, adjusting the volume on his favorite podcast to a whisper before backing out of the drive. “Everyone’s excited about this video of a ‘dragon’ flying around Plexira’s moon.” Oh, here we go. Roscoe took a deep breath as quietly as he could as Wayne went on one of his favorite rants of late. “Idiots are falling for this shit! With technology like ours—going to other planets and shit—they should know that crap is fake. It’s all CGI, like in the movies.” Roscoe couldn’t completely blame the podcasts for his father’s views. They fed the controversies Wayne sought, because arguments and complaints were his favorite forms of communication. Wayne wanted to be the smartest guy in the room and was often the dumbest, countering everyone’s reality with his conspiratorial ideas and fake facts. With the backing of his extremist podcasts, he had joined an entire movement that sought to deny the existence of dragons. “Some planets don’t even know what dragons are, and you wanna know why, Ross?” Roscoe didn’t answer, keeping his head down and his teeth clenched behind a perfectly neutral expression. That could either please Wayne—give him a chance to explain to his idiot son How the World Worked, According to Wayne Grover—or he’d resent Roscoe for not taking the bait and allowing him an antagonist for the fight he desperately wanted. For this particularly conversation, it seemed Wayne sought the former. “Those other places are isolated from these theocratic crazies! They don’t know what a fucking dragon is, so if dragons exist, why don’t all the planets have them? They don’t. No one has fed them that lie yet, and that’s the truth.” Lots of planets had lifeforms that others didn’t, and some dragons were elusive while others were excessively social with humans and their environments. But Roscoe wasn’t stupid enough to bring up those points. He only had to listen for as long as the drive to the work site. If he could survive that, Wayne would be in less hospitable territory for his rants. As much as he wanted to fight with others, he was not the kind of person to risk his employment by starting shit with coworkers and customers. (Those were the people he would go home and insult in private.) Those conditions made Roscoe his best audience, because Roscoe was the only one who ever had to worry about consequences if he refused to provide it. “A lot of people in this world need to wake up. Do some research. They’ll realize how foolish it is to believe something just ’cos you want it to be true.” Wayne nodded enthusiastically with each point he made. “I can’t believe they teach this dragon shit to you in school, as if it’s science and history! I ought to pull you out of an environment like that.” Roscoe sucked in a sudden shaky breath. Luckily, the sound of the car engine drowned it out, and Wayne was preoccupied with his own rambles and driving to pay his son any mind. Roscoe had to navigate his responses carefully, to craft a fib that held some truth to fool Wayne and make it sound believable on the lips of someone who didn’t much care for using dishonesty.

[airyairyaucontraire]

Watching The Mandalorian S3EIforget, "The Pirate"

Okay, 44 minutes of a show that's rapidly losing my allegiance, not for being offensive or brutal, just for being kind of dumb and palpably losing interest in its title character. Let's go then.

If this show was going to go with pirates while also being addicted to re-introducing characters from the CG TV shows, I really feel they could've graced our screens with Hondo Ohnaka. But I fundamentally don't want them to keep bringing in characters from the CG shows. The only exception I would make is Rex, because Temuera Morrison, but I would rather still have more Boba, because also Temuera Morrison.

They haven't even tried to re-member the dismembered IG-11 statue.

shiny ass-kissing droid

and now there are pirates

and I just feel like a man in Greef's position -

actually speaking of Greef's position, I love how before skyping the mossy pirate captain, he squares up and puts his hands on his hips like Henry VIII posing for Holbein

- okay, a man in Greef's position, formerly deeply involved with the bounty hunters' guild, ought to have a staff of mercenaries on site in readiness for shit like this. Instead he's as unprepared for the possibility of bad guys with a big ship showing up wanting to take his stuff as Boba was on Tatooine. Presenting these middle-aged guys who have been involved in the underbelly of the galaxy for their whole adult lives as so naïve about the security challenges of running one's own fiefdom during a somewhat lawless period of regime change is such a bizarre choice. Why is everyone in this show so dumb about stuff they should be totally used to? They're not Luke Skywalker coming from the middle of nowhere with starry eyes and feathered hair. Like they should be smarter than me at this type of thing, and I'm a typist from Auckland.

there's a PIRATE NATION taking over the Mid Rim? THAT I ACTUALLY AM SEMI-INTERESTED IN so I bet they won't show it.

Retreat to the lava flats - a large, open area without shelter or cover. Super.

exsqueeze me, Disney+ subtitler, but PSYCHEDELIC ROCK MUSIC PLAYING?

well, the krill farmers are still pumping out the blue juice, I see. And here's a nice Korean Canadian dad - you know what? I feel like Captain Teva is here to provide the Papa Smurf beard that Rex is not onscreen to give us.

Okay, so just as apparently Ragnar just hung out in a dinosaur's crop totally uninjured for 12 hours minimum while a search party stopped to rest overnight on their way to him, Mr Kim has time to travel to Coruscant and try to get a meeting with his superiors while Nevarro is under active pirate attack. He doesn't say "screw it, time is of the essence, I'll render aid and take the consequences." This show's idea of time in rescue situations is bizarre.

Who else feels like this fucking boring New Republic plotline was supposed to be part of the Rangers show that presumably Cara Dune would have headed up if the actress hadn't insisted on being a douchebag on Twitter? And now they're just trying to fold it into The Mandalorian. I resent it.

You know, when I heard the name Tuttle I had a brief feverish flowering of hope that a M*A*S*H tribute about the insanity of military bureaucracy might be in the works, but then it withered.

I know this guy from somewhere, somewhere relatively recent, but I am unable to place him. I am not interested enough to look him up.

I'm so irritated by the lazy cynicism of "If the Rebellion got into power they'd be useless." They're not the Democrats.

so now everyone's just wandering around in the blazing sunlight on hot black lava flats. Sorry Greef, your planet sucks.

And now... is this Jurassic Planet? yep, so I hope he doesn't get eaten by a serpent while he's here. Dude. Sir. You're standing so close to the bay that the mosasaurs like to pop out of. You've got your back to it. Please.

please help me

why does Paz address Teva as "Blue Boy"? He is dressed from neck to ankle in the most garish orange. Paz's own armour is predominantly blue. Is he fucking colour-blind?

Why does the Disney+ subtitler still head up Din's dialogue as "THE MANDALORIAN" when we've known for actual years that his name is Din Djarin?

they pride themselves on their secrecy... and their idiocy.

You know, this would never have happened if you'd stuck with your plan of repairing IG-11. He was no snitch.

Din calls him "Blue" too! HE IS DRESSED IN ORANGE

I CANNOT RECALL THE COLOUR BLUE EVER BEING SIGNIFICANTLY ASSOCIATED WITH THE REBELLION OR NEW REPUBLIC

HE HAS SOME BLUE STENCILS ON HIS HELMET BUT HE DELIBERATELY TOOK THAT OFF AND LEFT IT IN HIS SHIP WHEN HE GOT OUT TO PARLEY SO DIN AND PAZ CAN'T SEE IT

anyway BK's doing her swaggery walk again and while we're at it WHO ELSE PROMINENTLY WEARS BLUE?

and now we're going to have a long, leisurely meeting to discuss because what is time? what is urgency?

"and our children can feel what it is to play in the sunlight" - which we already let them do because we take absolutely no safety precautions about living right next to a bay where dinosaurs regularly pop out of the water or swoop from the sky to devour our young

"Does anyone else wish to speak?" No, because we are all just elaborately dressed extras. We know our place.

I'm... skipping stuff.

So the pirates are boozing it up in the school, like they wanted to. I'm happy that someone got what they wanted.

I like that one warthog pirate!

Did a Salacious B. Crumb monkey just tip off the Mandos?

I know they want me to be excited for the big battle, I know they do... I'm just too grumpy. I have a glass of wine, though, so that's good. Recognisable salmon pink in colour, The Ned Pinot Gris 2022 showcases classic aromas of quince, pear drop and vibrant stonefruit. The palate is lush with juicy nectarine and Braeburn flavours supported by an underlying hint of spice that leads to an unctuous ripe finish. A versatile wine when it comes to food matching with its notable fruitiness and gentle acidity. Try pairing this silky wine with succulent chicken thighs added to a creamy, lemon fettuccine pasta sauce.

you know, I don't usually tolerate words like unctuous and succulent being thrust at me by a mere product description, but I'll allow it

So... there wasn't much point to the mossy pirate at all, was there? Unless he bailed out with a parachute, he blowed up.

yes, the Anzellans are very cute. Always a pleasure to see them.

You know why I have a problem with this effort to do a whole thing about Bo-Katan and reuniting Mandalore and everything? It's the problem of trying to link up with the sequels, which were made before The Mandalorian was a consideration and gave absolutely no hint that the Mandalorians were a consideration either. Did they just "retake Mandalore" and then become totally isolationist, neither fighting the First Order nor supporting the Resistance? Did they get wiped out for keeps? Where were they when shit went down? You don't have to engage with that if you're prepared to just tell a small story of one dude and his kid, and a personal saga of family and faith, friendship and love, but once you commit to doing a big political historical story, you've gotta and it seems doomed to be unsatisfactory.

anyway if people are just whipping their helmets off now I reckon Din should pop back to Tatooine and show Cobb his smile

[dragon-snoots-a-boopin]

It's time for a rant about how absolutely fucking STUPID people are and also about how much I hate Tiktok. Tiktok, in my opinion, is the worst social media app out there because of stupid shit like this. Who the fuck would ever think that filming yourself while stealing a fucking car is a good idea???

First of all, the amount of legal consequences there's going to be once these idiots get caught are going to be more than these teenagers can afford and so that shit is going to fall on their parents. Of course, what happened in this video I linked here, is that people fucking DIED!!! Yes, lost their lives doing a god damn Tiktok trend to get fucking views I mean what the fuck is wrong with these fucking people???

Another part that baffles me is that the car manufactures are getting sued because it was made apparent that whatever year of cars that are getting stolen were missing some kind of engine immobilization feature (I know nothing about cars, it was said in the video) which, I get that's important but it also feels like blaming Kia and Hyundai for the stupidity of the people who decided it was a good idea to do something so fucking stupid just for views on TikTok!!! Just Fuck Tiktok to its core, someone ought to kill that app for good.

[hippiegoth97]

Diary of a Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

Diary Entry #7: Steve Harrington

Warnings: smut, swearing, heavy kissing/groping, mentions of heartbreak, light crying, oral sex, unprotected sex, lots of praise, dirty talk, fluff

May 30th, 1985

Dear diary,

Today is the grand opening of Starcourt. The whole town has been buzzing about it for weeks. Even Alex and Julie are excited to check it out, despite hearing my numerous diatribes about how malls kill small business. But I suppose that's just how things go. Everyone likes the shiny, new things. Long-term consequences be damned.

The storeiscompletely dead today. Hell, most of downtown is quiet and empty. I only hope the novelty of Starcourt will wear off soon enough, and people will realize where quality product and exceptional customer service truly comes from. A true, personal touchiswhat keeps people coming back, not some corporate-mandated mannerisms and brain-dead training videos. Just you wait and see. In a few weeks, they'll be back.

June 7th, 1985

Dear diary,

I decided to bite the bullet and check out the mall. I figure it doesn't hurt to get an idea of what I'm up against. I had no intention whatsoever of purchasing anything, mind you. Except maybe a snack. Sleuthing tends to work up an appetite, you know. I drove over there in the early afternoon, and it was exactly as I'd expected. A huge, hulking building with a ridiculously large parking lot. It was almost completely packed outside, which tracks for a Friday at the beginning of summer. Well, that, and the fact that the mall has only been open for a week.

When I walked inside, I was honestly shocked to see just how clean and shiny the whole place was. Two stories hosting an endless array of shops and restaurants, the first sets of escalators to ever grace our sleepy little town, even a fancy water feature. It was worse than I thought. And that was before I even scouted out my direct competition. Sam Goody. Ugh, it was awful, diary. They must've sent a spy to my damn store, because all of their records and cassettes just barely undercut my already measly prices! I have no idea how they make a profit like that, they were practically giving the shit away!

I couldn't bear to stay in what essentially is a death sentence for Waxed Out, so I left the store and walked around the mall aimlessly for a while. I felt helpless, honestly. There's no way I can feasibly compete with them, it's only a matter of time before I'm out of business. I can't believe I went all in on this damn shop. I can't believe I talked myself out of taking the Mayor's deal. But who am I kidding? That deal could've been complete bullshit anyway, that man is not to be trusted.

After what felt like hours of walking, though I'm sure it was only a few minutes of moping, I happened upon the foodcourt. 'Oh, yes', I thought to myself. 'Some fattening food ought to drown my intense dread and sorrow'. I looked around at the choices, letting my stomach make the decision for me. Imperial Panda, too salty. Hot Dog On a Stick, too greasy. Orange Julius, too citrusy. And then my eyes fell upon a nautical-themed ice cream shop. Scoops Ahoy...

Bring on the empty calories, you think to yourself as you approach the rather long line at the ice cream parlor. It's a cute place, with the employees dressed in sailor outfits and particularly nautical sounding music playing over the speakers. You get behind the mass of ten people waiting to be served, allowing yourself to space out while looking at the menu. You're thinking a USS Butterscotch sounds nice. A big, messy sundae to stuff your sad face with and forget all about your troubles for a little while. The line moves pretty quickly, thanks to the two young kids scooping their butts off behind the counter. Your eyes wander, noticing there's only a couple people that have gathered behind you now. You suppose the lunch rush is beginning to die down.

It's eventually your turn, and you find yourself face to face with one of the prettiest young men you've ever seen. He has fluffy brown hair, slightly smushed and pushed outward by the white sailor hat on his head, embroidered with the word 'Ahoy' in blue thread. Well-groomed brows rest casually above his gorgeous brown eyes. He's got a strong nose and jawline, and plush, pink lips that almost shine in the fluorescent lights above you. His skin is fair and healthy, with a few small beauty marks gracing his flawless complexion. In one word, he is hot. You notice those kissable lips of his moving as he speaks, but don't you register a single syllable. You're too focused on admiring his handsome face.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" You ask dreamily, snapping yourself out of your trance. A light blush creeps up your cheeks for ogling in the middle of the line.

His smile grows from your reaction, finding your attraction rather flattering. He repeats himself, no doubt speaking in a more flirtatious tone this time. "Ahoy! What can I get for you?" He asks cheerfully, giving you a subtle once-over with his eyes.

"Uh..." You start, cheeks growing redder by the second. It's not like you to be so bashful. Usually, this kind of interaction goes the other way around. You suppose it has been a while, though. You've been avoiding dating and hook-ups like the plague ever since Scott ended things. "Sorry. Um, I'll have a USS Butterscotch, please!" You finally get the words out, though they spill out of your mouth in a rushed half-yell. Jesus christ, what is up with me today?

"Of course. Is there anything else I can get for you?" The young man says with a chuckle.

Your phone number, you think, but don't dare say. You doubt he'd be interested, he's far too attractive to waste his time on the likes of you. Plus, he's busy working. You don't want to hold him up. "N-no, thank you. That's it for me." You answer nervously, reaching for your wallet inside your purse.

"Aye, aye, Captain." He says, giving you a playful salute and a wink while he punches in your order. "That'll be $2.50."

"Here's five. Keep the change." You give the crisp bill to him, your hand trembling slightly. You really don't know what's gotten into you, but you're making a total fool of yourself.

"Thanks. It'll be right up." He gives you a charming smile.

"Thank you...Steve." You say, pausing to read his little red name tag. You step off to the side, waiting for your sundae to be ready. The girl working with Steve, who's own tag says 'Robin' calls out your order a couple minutes later. You grab it and a red plastic spoon, and take it over to one of the booths inside the shop. You sit down on the leathery cushion, and finally feel like you can breathe again. You're thankfully facing away from the register, hiding yourself as your flushed face falls into your hands for a minute. You feel like an absolute idiot for being so bumbly and flustered. You sigh deeply, raising your head and letting your arms fall to rest on the table.

What a day it has been. You've found out just how bad things are truly going to get for your store, and you managed to look like a complete ass in front of a cute sailor that sells ice cream. At this point, all you want to do is gobble down your rapidly melting snack and get the fuck out of here. You pick up your spoon, and dig into the ship-shaped sundae. You lift the messy bite of banana, whipped topping, and butterscotch ice cream to your lips, and take the whole thing inside your mouth without another thought. It's cold, and sweet, immediately sending all your woes running for the hills. You moan quietly in satisfaction as you swallow, ready to dive in for another bite.

"That good, huh?" Steve says, suddenly taking the seat across from you in the booth.

"Uh, yeah. It is. What are you—" You start to ask what he's up to, wondering why he isn't helping his rather surly-looking coworker.

"I'm on break, don't worry. I noticed you were a little flustered back there." He cuts you off, leaning back into the seat to get comfortable.

"Yeah. Sorry, you're just...um, really— cute. I guess." You explain clumsily, your ears and neck heating up along with your face this time. You stare at your ice cream, unable to meet his eyes.

"Thanks. So are you." Steve replies, like it's nothing at all.

"Thank you." You say meekly, absent-mindedly picking at your food.

"You might want to eat more of that soon. It's gonna melt." He says, encouraging you to take another bite. You do, scooping up another hearty spoonful. And once you take it in your mouth, chew, and swallow, you feel far more in your element.

"Sorry." You lift your head up to finally meet his gaze. "I'm not usually like this. You know, all blushing and...sweaty." You laugh at yourself, finding an amused look on his face. "It's just been a while since I've put myself out there." You say honestly, though you're unsure Steve wants to hear about your personal problems.

"It's alright, really. I think it's sweet. I haven't really been 'out there' much lately, either." He replies, which surprises you.

"What? A total dreamboat like you? No way!" You giggle in disbelief, but his face falling makes it die off. "I'm sorry. Bad breakup?" You tut, reaching your hand across the table to put it over his.

"Yeah. You could say that. You?" Steve says with a sigh, warming slightly at your touch. It's been quite some time since he's had a girl touch him, in any capacity. A couple stray butterflies form in his stomach, flapping anxiously against the internal walls.

"Same. I..." You trail off again, wondering if it's a good idea to tell him what's on your mind. "...I thought he could be 'the one', ya know? But life got in the way, and—" You stop again when his eyes meet yours, widened in understanding. It's like you've told him everything, without really saying a word. He knows how you feel, because he's been in a similar place himself. "Well, anyway. You get it." You brush off the subject, pulling your hand away.

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do." Steve says, laughing dryly. "Shit, I gotta get back. But lemme give you my number." He says, pulling a napkin out of the dispenser on the table, and a pen from the pocket of his apron. He scrawls his number down on it, sliding it over to you. "Maybe we can help each other get over our exes. Or, whatever." He shrugs, still trying to come off casual.

"Sure. I'd like that. Or whatever." You tease, mimicking his shrug with a laugh.

"It was nice meeting you, uh..." Steve pauses, searching for the name you didn't give him.

"Y/N." You answer, and he nods.

"Y/N." He repeats, finding it to be a very pretty name. "Great. Well, enjoy that sundae, and call me. I'll see you around." Steve says, walking backwards towards the counter. You can't help giggling when he almost slips on a spilled glob of Cherries Jubilee, his shoe squeaking loudly against the tile floor. He barely catches himself by grabbing the edge of the counter, his chest heaving. He straightens himself out, and gives you a small wave. His cheeks burn bright red, which only makes him look cuter than he did before. You wiggle your fingers back at him, and turn around to finish your treat and head home.

June 8th, 1985

Dear diary,

As much as my trip to Starcourt left me feeling really gutted about where WaxedOut is probably heading, it was nice to meet Steve. I didn't catch his last name, or learn very much abouthim at all. But I've still got the napkin with his number written on it, and I fully intend to use it. I think I'llwait until after the mall closes, though. Just in case he has to work the evening shift. Plus, late-night conversation tends to be far more entertaining.

I'm not saying I want to know everything about him, just the basics. This feels like a rebound right from the jump. But Idon't mind. I need this, diary. I need one good fuck to get over Scott, it's been so long since I've brought anyone into my bed. Or been in anyone else's bed, for that matter. I feel so cold and lonely at night, despite the summer taking a firm hold on Hawkins. And even though whatever is going to happen betweenSteve and I will surely be a one-time thing, I know we have one thing in common. Heartbreak. We can talk all of our shit out together, and then kiss it better. Well, hopefully more than just kissing. But you get the point.

June 9th, 1985

Dear diary,

I called Steve last night. It was really nice talking to him. He's very sweet, and funny, too. We talked about our exes, and got to know each other a little bit. We also made plans for him to come over tomorrow night after his shift...

You carefully read the crumpled napkin in your hand, punching the digits into the phone. Once you've pushed the final number in, it starts to ring. It takes a couple rounds of that vibrating tone for your call to be picked up, possibly catching Steve right as he walks through the door after work. There's a small crackle on the other end as the call is accepted, and the sound of someone clearing their throat before speaking

"Harrington residence." You hear Steve's voice say in his usual cool tone.

"H-hey, Steve. It's Y/N, from the other day?" You reply nervously, hoping he remembers you.

"I was wondering when you'd call. Had me worried for a minute there." He says smoothly, and you can practically hear his smirk through the phone.

"Well, I-I didn't wanna seem too desperate." You laugh, causing him to chuckle too.

"It's not desperate at all, Y/N. I gave you my number, remember?" He reminds you, putting you at ease. There's no need to be so nervous. He likes you, he wanted you to call him.

"No, I know. I just...well, I—" You struggle to find the words to explain why you waited, but he finds the answer for you.

"I know. It's that whole 'putting yourself out there' thing." Steve says calmly, finding your fumbling rather sweet. It's been a very long time since he's made a pretty young thing like you get so out of sorts.

"Yeah." You sigh, rolling your eyes at your continued mess-ups. You used to be so good at this. It used to be second nature to you. But your confidence has been rocked to its core, and it'll take far longer than you'd like to build it back up again.

"Just relax, Y/N. Let's start with the easy stuff, hm?" He suggests, and you nod. Easy stuff, that'll work.

Realizing he can't see you bobbing your head like an idiot, you speak up. "Sure. You first."

"Where do you work?" He asks, getting right into it. You don't mind that one bit, though. This'll surely become easier as the conversation goes on.

"I actually own Waxed Out Records downtown." You answer, leaving out the part where the mall is going to put you out of business. There's no need to be negative right now.

"You own it? That's awesome!" Steve lights up, very impressed by you.

"Thanks, I appreciate that, Steve." You chuckle, glad he finds that interesting. "My turn. How old are you?" You ask, biting your lip. You feel like a silly teenager again, twirling the cord of the phone around your fingers.

"Eighteen. Just graduated in the spring. What about you? You seem pretty young to own a store all by yourself."

"I'm twenty, getting pretty close to twenty-one. I started working at the store after I graduated in '83, and quickly worked my way up. Music is my passion. Well, listening to it, at least." You explain, ending on an amused giggle.

"That's really impressive, Y/N. I'll consider myself lucky if I can move up one rung of the Scoops Ahoy corporate ladder." He jokes.

"Oh, I'm sure there's something else you wanna do with you life besides scooping ice cream. Isn't there?" You ask, noting the tinge of sadness in his voice.

"I honestly have no idea. Everyone else seems to have it all figured out. But, me? I couldn't even get into a goddamn community college." Steve says bitterly, making your heart sink.

"Trust me, Steve. No one has it all figured out. People make it look like they do, because they're thinking the same thing you are. That's all." You try to comfort him, though you aren't sure the words from almost a complete stranger are going to help much. "What do you like to do? What's something that sounds like fun?" You question, thinking maybe turning the subject more positive will be useful to him.

"I dunno, Y/N." He says quietly.

"It can be anything. Doesn't matter how unrealistic you think it is. Just blurt it out." You insist, and he thinks on it for a moment.

"I guess, I like kids. Or, more like kids like me. So...maybe a teacher, or something?" Steve answers with uncertainty.

"That sounds great. What kind of teacher?" You press on, thinking you're getting somewhere.

"Oh, gym, for sure. I'm very athletic." He replies cockily, which makes you smile.

"Yeah, I can tell. That cute little sailor outfit of yours doesn't leave much to the imagination." You tease, recalling the blue shorts he was wearing that showed off his thick thighs and perfect ass. Your mouth waters at the thought, and your thighs rub together on the couch.

"You like that, huh?" Steve asks lowly, his tone sending a shiver up your spine.

"Normally, I'd think it's pretty dorky. But it looks really good on you." You reply, trying your best to keep things playful and light. For now.

"Thanks." He brightens at your compliment. He himself hates that uniform. But to know that you like it, that it shows off his assets, it makes him dislike it a little less. "Did you wanna talk about your ex?" Steve says abruptly, immediately wondering if he's just blown this whole thing.

"Sure. I'll show you mine, you show me yours." You say casually, and he hums in agreement. This is technically part of your little arrangement, painful as it is. He'll heal your broken heart, and then you'll do the same for him. "His name was Scott...Clark." You start slowly, hating to say that name out loud again.

"The science teacher?" Steve asks in shock. He has no idea what a beautiful young woman like you would see in an old dork like that. He also finds it hard to believe that such a non-threatening man would dare break your heart.

"Yes. He really was sweet, and kind, and smart." You say softly, tears pricking your eyes at the memories you made together.

"But he's old." Steve interjects, crinkling his nose.

"I don't care about stuff like that, Steve." You sigh, rolling your eyes at his rather rude comment. "And mid-thirties is not that old. But that's beside the point. We really cared about each other. I loved him, and he loved me too. But then his aunt got sick, and he had to leave town to take care of her until she died. I would've gone with him, if he would've let me." You finish, sitting in uncomfortable silence afterwards. You're a bit worried Steve hung up on you, until he pipes up again.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I shouldn't have said that. It sounds like you two had a good thing going, and I'm sorry he left you behind." Steve says sincerely, feeling extremely bad for his comment. You're clearly more mature than him, he could probably learn a thing or two from you.

"It's alright. You're still a kid, you don't get it yet. But you will." You sniffle lightly, wiping your eyes. You hope Steve doesn't hear the sounds of your gentle crying, it would be rather embarrassing. "Alright. Your turn." You exhale shakily, trying to ignore the pain you still hold inside your chest.

"You got it." He says kindly, preparing to pour his own hurt out on top of yours. "Her name was Nancy Wheeler. We dated in high school for a couple years, I was a year ahead of her. God, she was perfect. Smart, beautiful, everything a guy could want. I thought we were happy. Maybe we were, for a while. But then she said our relationship was bullshit, essentially. She didn't love me. I think I was just the first guy to give her any real attention. I sure as shit loved her, though." He ends on an unsteady breath, putting himself in the exact same position as you are. Still so deep within the pit of yearning and despair. It appears you need one another more than ever now.

"Oh, Steve. That's terrible. I'm so sorry." You tut, unsure what else to say. You're definitely familiar with Nancy, you've seen her around town with Jonathan Byers. You never got the impression that she was such a heartbreaker, though.

"Yeah, well, thanks." He scoffs, running his hand through his mane of hair. "Guess we both kinda suck at love, huh?" He asks with a laugh, pulling one from you as well.

"You can say that again." You giggle, the sorrow in the air beginning to dissipate. It feels good to talk to someone about all of this, especially someone that understands your situation so well. You haven't really kept any friends from high school. Everyone either moved away, or left you behind to pursue more lucrative social circles. So, you end up spending most of your time alone. "So, I'm guessing you didn't give me your number just to talk. Right?" You ask cautiously, not wanting to mess up the nice thing you seem to have going here.

"Uh, no. I was thinking that we could, ya know..." Steve trails off, attempting to put this delicately. But there's really no need for that.

"Hook up?" You finish his sentence for him.

"Yeah." He agrees, swallowing thickly. "Is that alright?"

"That's fine. Not a date, though. I'm not looking for anything serious." You make it very clear to him that you're only interested in keeping this casual.

"Me either." Steve replies shortly. "So, when should I come over?" He asks, becoming very eager to spend a night with you.

"How about tomorrow night?" You suggest, hoping that works for him

"Sounds good. It'll be a little late, though. I've got another closing shift."

"That's fine, Steve. I'll be up. And could you..." You start to ask him another question, but you're unsure you should.

"Could I what?" Steve asks, your apprehension piquing his interest.

"Could you...wear the uniform?" You get the sentence out, wincing once the words leave your lips. He probably thinks your a total freak now.

"Sure thing." He chuckles darkly.

You finish the phone call, giving him your address and setting a time. And once you both hang up, you're overcome with a intense feeling of excitement. This is exactly what you need after such a long period of solitude. You can tell, you're finally ready to get back out there. To continue one of the few life missions you've set up for yourself: to enjoy as much mind-blowing sex as you possibly can.

June 11th, 1985

Dear diary,

Oh my god, last night was just what I've been needing! Every single moment was perfect. Steve was so sweet, and careful, it was everything. I think I'm finally over this slump, and I can move on with my life...

Knock. Knock. Knock. You hear rapping on the door just as you've finished getting ready for tonight. You're not wearing anything all that special. Just a matching bra and panty set under some casual clothes, jet black lace that compliments your body perfectly. You leave your bedroom and go to open the door. You turn the knob and pull it open, finding Steve standing in the doorway.

"Ahoy." He says with a wink and a smile as he leans on the doorframe. He's dressed in his Scoops uniform, sans the apron. His hat is tipped to the side cheekily, and his eyes give you a once-over as he waits for you to let him inside.

"Ahoy there, sailor. Come in." You step back to let Steve inside, watching his ass as he walks past you. You bite your lip at the sight of it, so perfectly round in those little blue shorts. "Did you want a beer or soda, or something?" You ask once you close the door. You yourself have been indulging in a couple glasses of wine this evening, trying to calm your nerves for what you plan to do with your guest.

"Beer's fine." He replies casually, taking a seat on your couch and kicking off his shoes. He removes his little sailor hat, tossing it on the coffee table. A large hand runs through his hair to fluff it back up. You can't help staring at him for a moment as he does so, seeing the full volume of his chocolate locks only adds to his attractiveness. "Everything okay?" He asks with a grin, very amused with the needy look on your face. You've got it bad, and although Steve hides it better, so does he.

"Y-yeah. Sorry." You snap out of your trance, and quickly retrieve Steve's beverage from the fridge. "Here." You hand the can over to him, and he pops the top open to take a large sip. You take a seat beside him, leaning your elbow on the top of the sofa and sitting sideways to gaze at him some more. He's just so pretty, prettier than any man you've ever seen. You can't help sighing dreamily as you take in his beauty, admiring the way his lips hug the rim of the can, his eyes falling closed to reveal long lashes as he swallows. The bob of his Adam's apple as the beer washes down to his stomach, the satisfied sound he lets out as it cools him down on this rather hot night.

"You know, it's a bit rude to stare, Y/N." Steve teases, turning his head to look at you. He sets his drink down on the table, scooting closer to put himself right next to you.

"I know. But I can't help it. Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're gorgeous." You almost whine as you speak, acknowledging how much you're devouring him with your eyes, while also needing him to know just how handsome he truly is.

"Thanks. You're really beautiful too, ya know." He replies softly, the apples of his cheeks tinging pink.

"You really think so?" You ask playfully, reaching a hand forward to toy with the ends of the red neck tie on Steve's uniform.

"Oh, please. You know how attractive you are." Steve scoffs, lifting a hand to cup your face. He gives you a meaningful look, speaking again. "Everything about you is perfect. Your eyes, your smile, and that body...you're essentially sex on legs." He says honestly, feeding your confidence everything it needs to pull him towards you and press your lips to his.

"Mmm." You immediately melt into Steve, his own mouth quickly taking the lead. He brings an arm around you to pull your body towards his, and you crawl over to straddle his lap. His hands meet your ass, squeezing the cheeks roughly in his hands. You moan against his lips, rolling your hips to grind against him. He grunts at the friction, slipping his tongue inside your mouth to tangle with yours. He tastes like beer, and mint, and the slightest hint of...cherry lip gloss. You'd wondered what made his lips look so damn plump and kissable, and now it appears you've figured it out. "You taste really good, Steve." You pant between passionate kisses.

"Thanks, so do you." Steve replies hastily, unable to get enough of you. You're so fucking beautiful, he can't believe he's got you grinding in his lap and making out with him like your life depends on it. You're completely ravenous, all previous jitters having been thrown out the window. It becomes clear to him that this is your true self, a confident young woman that takes what she wants. And he finds it absolutely intoxicating.

You continue to moan and grind on the sofa for what feels like hours. Steve gently bucks his own hips up into yours to give you both even more friction. His hands keep a firm grip on your ass, not wanting to let go for a single second. Your own hands have weaved into his beautiful hair, which is so unbelievably soft to the touch. Steve's swollen lips break away from yours, rushed breaths escaping your mouths as oxygen fills your lungs again. His head lowers to kiss your neck, nipping ever so slightly to give you teeny tiny love bites. "Steve." You moan, so very wet inside your shorts. The fabric of your panties slips all around your pussy in the constant rocking of your hips. You imagine you've already made a wet spot on Steve's uniform by now, wondering if he can feel how much you want him.

"Can I take this off, baby?" Steve asks, ceasing his searing kisses on your throat and lifting his hand to tug at the hem of your shirt.

"Yeah." You swallow hard, your mouth has run dry from panting like a dog. You let him remove your shirt, tossing it away to the floor to reveal your bra.

"Damn." He chuckles at the sight of your tits in the luxe fabric, his large palms raising to cup and press them together in curiosity. You sigh lightly at his touch on you again, carefully reaching your arm behind you to pick up your wine glass. You bring it up to your lips, finishing the rest of it to rehydrate your mouth. You set the glass back down, and watch Steve play around with your boobs for a little while.

His hands move slowly and gently, his eyes glued to your chest as he melds your supple flesh in his grasp. He's completely mesmerized by you, admiring every slight wrinkle his movements make, the jiggle that occurs once he lets you go again. He's always loved tits more than anything else, though he's unsure why. There's just something...special about them. No two sets look the same, they come in all manner of shapes and sizes. He loves every single pair he's had the pleasure to see and touch. Big or small, squishy or firm, light and pink, dark and brown, everything in between. He adores them all in their uniqueness, along with the pretty noises that come out of whichever girl he's appreciating in this way.

You reach around your back to undo your bra, assuming Steve will be even more enamored if he can fully see the swells of your chest. The straps go slack on your shoulders, and his hands move out of the way for a moment so you can discard it altogether. It joins your shirt on the carpet, and his eyes widen as he lets out an appreciative groan.

"God, you're gorgeous." He says softly, his eyes flicking to meet yours for a moment. You give him a kind smile, reading the neediness in his pupils to fully feel you. His hands wrap around your back, pulling you closer to him. His head meets your chest, plush lips sucking on the bottom of your left breast.

"Fuck." You whimper, grinding against him a little harder now. His large fingers spread along your back, holding you tenderly as his mouth and teeth and tongue do their very best to worship every inch of you they can reach. He suckles dark hickeys on your sensitive skin, drawing moans from you and groans from him with every one. He eventually closes in on your nipple after making quite the mess of gloss and saliva all over you, nibbling the hardened bud between his teeth. "Feels so good, Steve." You praise breathlessly. You've never had anyone be so entertained by your boobs, let alone take the time to show every bit of them so much care and attention.

"Mmm." Steve grunts as the friction you're still creating against him is becoming unbearable. He wants to take his time with you, to enjoy every single second of this night. "Slow down, honey." He gently requests, bringing his lips to yours again for a moment. The kiss is so tender, making your heart burn inside your chest. It sends the message that he'll give you everything you want, that he won't leave until you're fully satisfied. But he needs you to stop rushing, because he wants this to last as long as possible.

"Okay." You reply once he pulls away. You still yourself over him, fully allowing him to take control of the situation. He knows what he's doing, he won't leave you disappointed. All you have to do is trust him.

"Lay down, baby." Steve says in that same kind tone, gazing deeply in your eyes. You nod, sliding off his lap and lying down onto the couch cushion. He carefully puts himself over you, cupping your face and stroking your skin with his thumb. He gives you another heart-melting kiss, though he doesn't stay there long. He gradually makes his way down your body, blazing a trail along your neck, chest, and stomach. He sits back on his knees for a moment, lifting his shirt over his head. Steve reveals his toned chest, and you can't help gasping at the sight of his pronounced pectorals and thick, dark body hair. He's left in just his shorts now, a very noticeable erection forming an imprint in the fabric. "Eyes up here, honey." He teases as he's caught you staring again.

"Sorry. You're just...fuck, you're so hot!" You babble breathlessly, giggling as you're unable to think straight. You just cling to the only idea that's able to stay coherent inside your mind: You want him.

"So are you, Y/N." He repays the compliment, chuckling at your giddiness. You're already so fucked for him, and he can't wait to make you a total mumbling mess. Steve leans over your lower half, reaching a hand down to your belly to undo the button of your jean shorts. He slides the zipper down its track, your breathing picking up in anticipation. You lift your hips up to help him as he pulls them down your legs, leaving you in your matching panties when you lay back down. "So beautiful, baby." He coos, smiling at how soaked the fabric is. He kneels before you, bringing his head down to kiss your hips through the lace. You watch as he slowly trails downwards, inching closer to your clothed heat. His lips press against your pussy, trying their best to feel you through this thin barrier.

"Fuck." You whine at the contact, which feels so good, while also not being nearly enough. Steve presses on, locating your swollen clit and sucking it and your panties past his lips. "Steve." You whimper, bucking your hips towards him. He presses a hand down on your stomach to hold you still, keeping up his suction. He moans at the taste of your arousal leeching out of your underwear, his eyes meeting yours as he teases you. "Please, baby. I need you." You beg for him to move things along a little bit, to fully put his mouth on your throbbing pussy.

"Mm-mm." He hums, shaking his head in disagreement. He continues his exploration along your soaked slit. He drags the flat of his tongue along your covered folds, driving you insane when he goes so far as to push inside of you.

"Jesus...fuck." Your hands fly into his hair, hips rolling into the sensation. He pumps his tongue into your soaked hole as best he can, though your panties prove it to be a bit of a challenge. Despite this, you're still coming undone under his touch. Moaning and squealing, completely drunk with lust. He pulls back after a little while, much to your dismay, fingers looping in the waistband of your underwear. He yanks them off in one fluid motion, spreading your legs wide to get a real good look.

Your silk glistens in the light with sweet, messy juices. Steve licks his lips at the sight, eager to have a true taste. "Such a pretty pussy, baby." He compliments, returning to his position. He inhales your scent, his head dizzying at how delicious it is. He starts off by sucking your clit into his mouth again, moaning at the musky flavor finally meeting his tongue for real this time. He works your bundle of nerves between his plush lips and teeth in a slow, steady rhythm. His tongue swirls around it in broad circles, making your eyes roll back into your head.

"Feels so good, Steve." You pant, holding his head between your legs as he works you over. His arms creep under your thighs, reaching around to take hold of your breasts as a way to hang on while he eats you out. He rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, dialing up the sensation.

"Your pussy tastes so good, so fuckin' sweet..." Steve mumbles against you, his cock straining inside his shorts. He loves what a mess you are for him. Your thighs twitching at his purposeful movements, the filthy noises fleeing your lips, the fucked-out look on your face. It's all so beautiful, like a vulgar work of art. He decides to up the stakes, angling his head sideways a little to basically make out with your cunt. He leaves your bud alone, kissing your second set of lips, rolling his tongue in repetitive strokes.

"Holy shit..." You've never had anyone do this to you before, but it feels fucking incredible. Every last bit of your pussy is attended to, pushing you far closer to the edge than you expect. He continues with this method, the tip of his tongue dipping inside your entrance every so often. Your nails dig into his scalp, and his hands knead your tits to bring you nearer to your orgasm.

"Mmm." Steve hums against you, drinking up what he can of your slick that's drenching his cheeks and chin. His nose nudges against your clit as he turns his head the other way, making you twitch in response.

"Keep going, baby. You feel so fucking good." You encourage him as the end draws nearer for you. You focus on the sounds of his wet kisses and slurps, and the satisfied moans escaping him as he painstakingly devours you. It all sounds so dirty, but in a most favorable way. You're soaked for him, and he's drunk on you. And neither of you would have it any other way. "Don't stop, Steve...g-gonna cum." You warn, your voice broken and unfocused.

"Mmm." He hums to assure he's heard you, keeping up his pace and intensity. He can't wait to see you cum.

"Oh, god...fuck!" You cry out as bliss finally washes over you. Your thighs tremble, scorching heat setting you ablaze. You tug roughly on Steve's hair as you cum hard on his face. He grunts at your release splashing warmly into his mouth. He swallows what he can, lapping at you until your high subsides. "Fuck." You exhale once Steve pulls away from you to sit back on his knees. You meet his gaze, finding his gorgeous face shining with your arousal. "That was amazing." You praise, sitting up to put yourself level with him. You put your hands on his broad shoulders, giving him a thankful kiss. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips, taking the lead this time and slipping your tongue in his mouth.

"Mmm." Steve hums into you, letting you lead him to lay down on the other side of the couch. You kneel above him, lowering your lips to kiss his neck. You bite down on his tender flesh, just enough to leave a faint hickey behind. "Y/N." He moans your name at the welcome sting, getting the idea of where this is going.

"You ate my pussy so well, baby. No one's done it that way before." You say lowly in his ear, nibbling on the lobe afterwards.

"You really liked that, huh?" Steve asks, grinning in self-satisfaction at the knowledge of pleasing you. As if your rather loud orgasm wasn't enough indication.

"Mmhmm, it was perfect. And I'd like to return the favor." You lower your hand between his legs, grabbing hold of his erection. You can feel how big he is through his shorts, and your pussy throbs at the needy sound you pull from him as you squeeze.

"Knock yourself out, honey. I'm dying to see what the pretty mouth of yours can do." Steve says, aching to feel you on his cock.

"Oh, believe me, it can do a lot." You giggle excitedly, giving him another brief kiss before positioning yourself between his legs. You pull off his shorts, leaving him in his boxer briefs. You bend down to lay your lips on his stomach, just above his waistband. He sighs quietly at the contact, watching your every move. You press your lips to his clothed erection, noting the damp spot in the fabric where his precum has soaked through.

"Y/N." Steve moans at your teasing, propping his head up with his arm to observe you. You continue to mouth his cock, your saliva forming wet circles in the dark material. Hushed whimpers escape him, he's getting more wound up by the second. You usually don't take so long to go down on a guy, but you figure it's only fair you repay him for giving his all just moments ago. You reach for the hem of his underwear, sliding them down his thick thighs and releasing his stiff dick. It springs free, smacking loudly against his stomach. The fat head is red and swollen, leaking precum profusely.

"Damn." You murmur at his size, unable to look away as you finish removing his boxers. You grab hold of his cock, stroking it firmly to make more pearly fluid leak out of his slit.

"Fuck, baby." Steve moans, hips bucking slightly at your touch. You lower your head to lick up the mess, slowly dragging your tongue in a wide circle around his tip. Your eyes are locked on his as you do so, unbridled lust burning in your pupils. He tastes warm, and salty, even a little sweet. You press wet kisses to his slit, gradually moving down his length as you lazily pump him. More pretty noises leave Steve's lungs, fueling your desire. You drag the flat of your tongue up and down his shaft, watching every small expression that crosses his face. His mouth falls open repeatedly, his brows scrunching in pleasure again and again.

"Havin' fun, Steve?" You ask, spitting on his length to stroke him easier.

"Yeah, feels really good." He pants in reply, eyes rolling back a little at the wet warmth of your saliva. You take him by surprise when you suck one of his balls into your mouth. "Holy shit..." He groans, his free hand gripping the cushion of the couch. You roll his lump of flesh around with your tongue, switching to the other one after a while. You want to tend to every inch of him, just like he did for you. Steve feels so close already, and you haven't even taken his cock all the way in your mouth yet. You work your way back to the main attraction, kissing a blazing trail from his inner thighs to his hips, inching closer to his throbbing length. Steve whines every time you move nearer to where he wants you most, his breath coming out quick and labored.

"You want me to suck your cock, baby?" You ask seductively as you kiss the spot right beside his shaft.

"Yes...fuck, please." He begs, growing more impatient by the second.

"So needy." You chuckle darkly, before taking his entire thick length inside your mouth in one swift motion.

"Fuck!" Steve cries out, his fingers digging harder into the sofa. He's so deep in your throat, he can feel you clenching around him as you gag and attempt to swallow. "Jesus christ..." His knuckles go white as he clings to the couch, eyes squeezed shut so tight as the pleasure is almost unbearable. He won't last much longer, his hand that's propping his head up quickly leaving to grab hold of the armrest.

"You like it when I take your huge cock deep down my throat, Stevie?" You ask, drawing off of him for a moment to breathe. You'd kind of jumped the gun there, almost choking yourself to a point where all that wine would make a reappearance. You couldn't help yourself, you were just so eager to take every last inch of him at once to blow his mind.

"Yes, please don't stop, honey. That felt so good, I almost came." Steve whimpers, forcing his eyes open to beg you to keep doing what you're doing. Just as he's taken you by surprise with his oral skills, you've brought him to once-unknown places with your own.

"You got it, baby. Can you try to hold back for me? I wanna make you feel so good." You offer him this small challenge, wondering if he'll be up for it. But you can guess just how toe-curling and amazing it could be for him if he takes it.

"I-I'll try." He nods frantically, breathing so hard as he longs to feel your hot, wet throat again. You don't say anything else, resuming your previous position. You take him in slower this time, breathing through your nose so you don't yak on him. "Fuck, baby." He moans once your nose brushes against his mound of hair. You suck harshly around his length, swirling your tongue where you can reach as you keep your head still for a moment. Steve mumbles various swears and all the sweet little names he's been calling you, utterly entranced by your seemingly bottomless throat.

"Mmm." You hum quietly as you start moving, a muffled moan as you witness his complete undoing by your own hand. Or lips, more like. He's such a fucking beautiful mess. His mouth running a million miles a minute, shimmering sweat forming on his face and chest, his large hands holding the couch for dear life. You've never seen a man so unraveled, and it's making your pussy drip all over the cushion beneath you. You raise your hands to drag your nails down his chest, bobbing your head at a steady rhythm, taking every last centimeter inside before carefully slipping back off again.

"Jesus- shit- fuck! Your mouth is so damn good, honey. Gonna make me cum so hard down that tight throat of yours." Steve spouts off in a whiney mumble, unable to control himself at this point. His brain has melted into soup, a lusty stew that his mouth frantically serves up to your starving ears. His fingers begin to slip from sweating so damn much, his grip tightening regardless. His body trembles the way he's seen so many girls do before, feeling his high fast approaching. His breath shudders, coming out hot and thick. "Best fuckin' head I've ever had, baby. Such a sweet girl for me, suckin' me so good." Steve continues on like this, every new phrase turning you on more than the last. He's got one of the dirtiest mouths you've ever heard, and that's saying something.

"Mmm." You moan in appreciation of his filthy exclamations. If you weren't so engrossed in watching him lose all semblance of control, you'd lower a hand between your thighs to touch yourself. But it's his turn right now, he needs your skilled mouth to give him the climax he's undoubtedly earned.

"I'm gonna cum, honey. Fuck, it's gonna be so much, fill up your throat with every last drop. Please, I gotta- fuck. Can I cum, honey?" He asks, eyes locking into yours for a moment as he waits for permission. It's been taking everything in him to hold back, it sounded like such a fun idea. But now, he's worried that his cock might actually burst.

"Mmhmm." You nod gently as you keep going. He holds your stare as a shaky gasp leaves him, mouth fallen agape in the prettiest 'o' shape imaginable.

"Oh my- fuckin'- ahh..." He can barely form a sentence as his orgasm takes over his entire body in a flash of blinding white. He groans loudly, hips stuttering and toes furling as his load spills down your esophagus. You swallow every last drop, some of it slicking his length as you continue to suck him through his high. You clean him off with your tongue, not wasting any of his mouth-watering release. You pull away afterwards, letting him lie there panting and struggling to catch his breath. His arm falls across his eyes, trying to block out the bright white that still hasn't left him. "Jesus." He exhales, finally coming back down to earth after a couple orbits around the sun.

"Did you like that, Steve?" You ask, carefully crawling over to lay over his still-trembling body. He senses your weight and warmth on him, wrapping his arms around you as your head meets his chest. His eyes are still closed, but he clears his throat to speak.

"Yeah. Fuckin' loved that, honey. Definitely never had anyone blow me like that before." Steve chuckles, drawing a pleased giggle from you as well.

"Glad I could blow your mind, baby. No pun intended." You both laugh a little harder, unable to help yourselves. It feels so good to do this with someone again, even if it's just for one night. The laughter dies down after a while, the both of you lying in comfortable silence. That is, until you open your mouth again. "He used to call me that, ya know." You say aloud, the thought's been swirling in your head for quite some time now.

"What?" Steve asks, knowing who you're referring to.

"'Honey'. And I called him 'baby'. It was like, our little thing. Simple, and sweet." You say softly, unsure why you're telling him this. You don't expect him to care, or understand. You're probably killing any potential second boner of his, if anything.

"I get what you mean. Me and Nance did the same. Everything else just sounded..." He trails off, looking for the word.

"Corny?" You both say at the same time.

"Yeah, that." Steve laughs lightly at your similar minds. It doesn't surprise him much, though. You're both in the same boat, sailing on the ocean of heartbreak. That's part of what this night is all about. Working through that leftover pain. Together. "It's not weird, right? That we're calling each other that, I mean?" He asks, feeling a little unsure now as you've gone a bit quiet.

"No. I don't think so. At least, it shouldn'tbe. They're pretty common words." You shrug, looking up to find his kind eyes gazing at you.

"They sure are." He smiles, and you can't resist returning it. "Wanna take this to your bed, baby?" He asks, changing the subject.

"That sounds perfect." You gently nod, standing up off the couch and leading him down the short hall to your bedroom. You both crawl under the covers, tangling your bodies together. Your leg rests over his, and your arms are wrapped firmly around one another as you start to kiss heavily again. "Mmm." You moan against Steve's lips are your tongues roll against each other. You can feel his cock poking into your inner thigh, a small streak of precum wetting your flesh. You leave it alone for now, you want to enjoy this as much as you possibly can.

Steve rolls your both over to put himself on top, your legs wrapping around his lower back to keep him close to you. "You're so beautiful, Y/N. You have no idea." He compliments, lips lowering to your throat and hands grabbing hold of your supple breasts to warm you up for him.

"Oh, Steve." You moan breathlessly at his searing touch.

"Such gorgeous tits, they feel amazing in my hands." He says lowly against your neck. "And your sweet little pussy, so wet and sticky for me. I could eat it all night if you let me." He continues, lowering a hand between your thighs to rub two fingers against your clit.

"Fuck, baby. I want you...want you so bad." You whimper, grinding yourself upwards to create friction with his fingertips.

"Yeah, honey? You wanna feel my cock inside that perfect little pussy? Have me fill you up, make youscream for me?" He questions seductively. There's no teasing in his tone, he's genuinely asking you what you want him to do. He's hell-bent on making you feel good, no matter what it takes.

"Yes, Steve. Please, fuck me, baby." You beg, rolling your hips more to get your point across.

"You got it. Just relax for me. Don't wanna hurt you." He says calmly, his hands going to your waist to still you.

"Okay." You slow yourself down, taking a deep breath.

"That's it, sweet girl. Gonna take real good care of you." He presses a final kiss to your throat, soft as silk. He raises his head to look down at you again, taking hold of his stiff cock to lead it towards your entrance. His tip meets your needy hole, making you whimper at the light contact. "I know, honey. I'll give you what you want." He coos, slowly pushing his thick length inside of you.

"Fuck, baby." You moan at the stretch, welcoming every inch of him inside your slippery walls.

"Shit, you're soaked. So tight, too..." Steve groans breathily, working himself inside your taught cunt until he eventually bottoms out. "There we go." He sighs, relieved that he's fit in you so completely.

"You're so big, Steve." You murmur as his tips rests at your cervix, filling you up just the way you like. Your insides clench around him out of reflex, drawing a quiet whimper from the both of you. "You can move now, baby." You say softly, cupping Steve's cheek as he looks down at you. His eyes are blown wide, mouth sitting open as he's stuck in this moment. It's been so long since he's been inside anyone, and he's overwhelmed by the reminder of how good it feels. "Hey, you okay?" You ask, drawing him out of his frozen state.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just...been a while." He laughs lightly, shaking his head to set himself straight.

"It's okay, I'm in the same boat. Just take your time, have fun with me." You reply kindly, bringing his head back down to give him a tender kiss. You wrap your arms around his back to keep him close. "Fuck me, baby. I want you..." You speak against his lips, pressing your heels into his back to coax him into moving. He does as you ask, keeping his bruising lips connected to yours as much as possible. Steve slowly pulls out, and glides back in with ease. He does this a few more times, allowing you to get a real feel for each other.

"God, you feel so good inside, baby. Like goddamn velvet..." Steve groans lowly, carefully sliding his hips back and forth. You're soft and wet around him, keeping his cock nice and warm. He can't get enough. He just could stay like this, thrusting so very slowly into you all night.

"And you're filling me up so well, Steve. So fuckin' deep, but I want more, go faster." You reply breathlessly, needing him to pick up speed and force.

"Sure thing, honey." He says softly, setting a steady pace now. His dick slips against your g spot, making your back arch off the bed. Steve slides his hands underneath your back, wanting to hold you close as he thrusts into you. He's still taking his time, making sure you can feel every curve and vein of him, while taking in every last ridge and squishy spot inside of you at the same time.

"Feels so good, baby. Keep fucking me just like that." You moan, desperate to tell him how well he's doing.

"Yeah? You like that, honey? Am I hittin' that perfect little spot for you?" Steve asks through his groans, kicking up the pace just a tad.

"Yes! Fuck, right there, Steve!" You cry as his cock reaches your g-spot quicker and harder than before. He's so far inside you, you swear he's in your stomach. It's so good to feel this full again, driving you towards an unbelievable high.

"That's it, sweet girl. Takin' me so good, makin' such pretty noises. Music to my ears, baby..." He chuckles against your throat, his head fallen down to focus on his thrusts. You're drenching him with every stroke, making such a mess between your thighs and his own. And the moans and gasps you let out as he fucks you are making him crazy, motivating him to keep giving you what they're so clearly begging for. He kisses your flesh wherever he can reach, your neck, your cheek, your lips when he can bring himself to lift his head. He wants to devour you, to drag you down into a pit of passion and ecstasy with him.

"So good, Stevie...so, so good...don't stop. Don't ever stop." You whimper and whine helplessly as he strategically pounds into you. He punctuates his thrusts every so often to make your muscles clench around him, dialing up the pleasure for you both. And his plush lips finding every part of you possible, marking them up with tender kisses and hickies. It's all so perfect, just what you've been missing these last few months.

"I won't, honey. I'm not goin' anywhere." Steve coos, watching you melt into a simpering puddle beneath him. Your nails are digging into his back, clawing to hold him as far down on top of you as you can. His lips find yours again, his tongue quickly slipping inside your mouth. He rolls his hips a bit now, hitting a different angle inside you.

"Oh...Steve." You whine between clumsy kisses as his new technique is truly blowing you away. You're getting very close now, and you look forward to letting it all go for the gorgeous man above you.

"Mmm, even better, baby? That feel good?" He asks, taking the hint from your moans growing in volume. He knows exactly how to drive you wild. The optimal speed, the right tempo, all of it, culminating in fluid movements that feel totally unbelievable.

"Yes, I'm getting close..." You answer him, breathing so hard your lungs are starting to burn.

"Me too, honey. You're squeezin' me so tight." He groans as your walls begin to flutter around his length. He pushes himself to go faster, overloading your senses for the big finish. Steve grunts loudly as he plunges into you, still grinding his hips as he moves to leave no crevice of flesh untouched.

"Fuck, Steve...make me cum." You beg as your orgasm rapidly approaches, the knot deep within your belly ready to snap. You dig your hands and heels into him harder, forcing him as deep inside you as he can be. He moans at the sting of your nails leaving dark scratches on his flesh, giving you his cock at full force to seal your fate. "Oh god, Steve...I-I'm cumming— FUCK!" You almost scream as your bliss finally takes hold. Your thighs tremble, and your back arches as your eyes roll back into your head. Your insides snap closed around his dick, making it difficult for him to keep thrusting. Your release spills messily on him and the bed below, hot, sweet, and sticky.

"Shit— Y/N..." Steve groans as his own high washes over him, his breath shuddering as his hips buck sloppily. You feel his cum pump into you in thick white ropes, his cock still sliding in and out to keep it all inside. He eventually comes to a stop, his body collapsing on top of yours. You both breathe heavily for a good while, lying together in your messed-up bed in the glorious afterglow. "That was so good, Y/N." Steve hums as he pulls out of you, giving your sweat-slicked shoulder a kiss before rolling over onto his back.

"It really was." You smile in satisfaction, turning your head to look at him. "Thank you." You say softly, lying still as your mixed release oozes from your cunt. You don't have the heart to ask him to grab you a towel, you're sure he's just as tired as you are.

"No, thank you." He shakes his head. He doesn't feel like he's truly done all that much, but you...you've made him whole again. He's got his game back, and now he's ready to look for someone new. Steve leans over to give you a gentle kiss on your lips, and climbs out of your bed.

"Where you goin'?" You ask, hoping he isn't leaving so soon. Although, you suppose he's served his purpose now.

"Relax, honey. I just wanna clean you up." Steve chuckles at the fear in your voice, the worry that he's just gonna fuck you and leave. That's not his style at all. He fully intends to stay over, and give you a little more fun in the morning. He likes you, you were incredible tonight. You both know this isn't going to happen again, so it would be a shame not to make the most of it. He leaves the room to retrieve a damp towel from your bathroom, and carefully crawls back into the bed and pulls the covers away to look at you. He finds a shining, pearly mess leaking from your folds, and his cock twitches at the sight. He's so tempted to lick it all up, but given how puffy and spent your pussy looks, he decides to let you be.

"You're too sweet, Stevie." You coo as he gently swipes the cloth between your legs. He goes nice and slow, carefully catching every last drop while making sure he doesn't rub you raw. You've never had this feel so...tender, like it's all part of the act. Most times it ends up pretty rushed, or you just do it yourself.

"It's the least I can do, Y/N. I made quite the mess." He chuckles, surprised that you're so enamored by his meticulous cleansing. He pulls the cloth away once you're all pretty and pink again, smiling at his handiwork. "There. All better." His eyes flick to yours, an almost heartbreaking amount of adoration in his expression. You can't help but wonder if he's like this with all the girls. You hope he is, anyway. Because if so, any woman would be lucky to have him. Steve returns the towel to the bathroom, and joins you underneath the covers again. "C'mere, baby." Steve says sleepily, holding his arms open for you to put yourself between them. You insert yourself in his hold, nuzzling into his chest to get comfortable. You can smell his cologne mixed with sex and sweat, the scent lulling you into a content state as your eyes flutter closed. You feel Steve's lips placing a kiss on the top of your head, and say something along the lines of 'goodnight, baby'. You aren't too sure, though, you're already well on your way to dreamland at this point.

...Steve held me close all night long, and this morning was just as mind-blowing as last night. He woke me up to see him chowing down between my thighs again, his hair all messy and his hands gripping my thighs for dear life. We took a shower together after that, having another round of unbelievable fucking as the hot water cascaded over us. If Ihadn't promised myself not to get attached, I might've convinced him to stay even longer.

But all good things must come to an end. Steve was a rebound, that's all. A much-needed rebound, sure. I'm sure I was the same for him, and that's perfectly fine. I feel far less lost now, able to open myself up to any and all possibilities. Love is still so far off the menu for me, it's served at a completely different restaurant. But sex, all kinds of sex, is more than welcome.

《This is the end of entries regarding Steve Harrington. This document has been recorded and retained by The Federal Bureau of Investigation of the United States of America, for the purpose of corroborating the timeline of events in The Downfall of Hawkins, Indiana. The owner of said diary is unknown. Although, given the condition said evidence was found in, the author is presumed to be deceased.》

[nightswithkookmin]

It's starting to look like the pictures were taken from a secret Instagram account, and if that's the case I don't think there's anything the agencies can do.

If she or her friend published the pictures to Instagram themselves, even under an assumed name, then I don't think they can claim that they're private or stolen. At least not in the US, where Instagram is based...

And the leaker probably avoided any legal issues with V/Jennie/BigHit/YG rights to representation by posting them to a private group on telegram instead of directly to social media...

Whew chilee.

Legal liability is tricky.

It's not enough for one to say for instance that they didn't know something was gonna harm another but rather a question of whether they ought to have known or better yet whether a reasonable third party would reasonably assume or foresee these consequences arising from their actions.

Then, if we go down that route, we will be making our way into negligence law and will have to raise the question of whether duty of care exists in those circumstances. That is whether OP owes a duty of care such that they cannot and shouldn't recklessly or negligently bring about harm to the reputation of the claimant in the matter ie Taehyung by sharing at all.

But we have to look at whether or not merely saying someone is in a relationship with another is even actually defamatory such that it lowers the standing(reputation) of the claimant in the public eye in any way, whether such a statement is injurios to the reputation of either parties etc but this is Korea. We looking through the twilight zone glass here🥴

I remember during Jungkook's tattoo artist scandal, people kept tagging this other dude to calm mijoo and whoop Jungkook ass because he was touching some other man's girl💀what in what in wattpad korea🥲

If either teahyung or Miss Jay were seriously committed to other people then news like this would heavily impact the way both are perceived especially in their culture. I mean why else was Tae so mad he threatened to shoot poison needles and shit when he was linked to some other chick.

As regards publishing, merely making representations to a third party besides the claimant suffices. Could be to one person in a vault or it could be a billion social media users. As long as the consequences are the same. If I told you in private that my cousin is an ass eater and he is not. If he should find out I told you this as pastor himself he would feel defamed regardless of whether any one else finds out.

If I sent you a nasty letter disparaging you from the highs of heaven to the depths of hell and your sister or partner intercepted this letter and read it, that would constitute publishing to a third party.

I think in Korea however you have to make such statements to three or more people to qualify as publishing. As long as one can reasonably foresee that someone else ( a third party) can come into contact with the defamatory information shared one can be held liable. People don't rationally post content to group chats in the hope that it will stay within the group chat. Any reasonable third party can reasonably foresee such information landing in the wrong hands. It could be screen shot and shared a million other times outside that chat or you can have a rogue agent in your group that's there to spy.

Unless if it were a groupchat filled with persons with whom Privilege is held like your doctors or legal team. These people are legally bound by confidentiality clauses. If you can prove that you had grounds to assume such confidentiality on the part of the person's in the group then fair enough. If you told your therapist your cousin is gay that becomes protected under privileged information and the therapist cannot go around telling people your cousin who is a pastor is gay without facing legal consequences themselves.

But you are right, if these two dumb mcdummies created a private account to share those images themselves on social media then they have no case at all. If they claimed they were stolen they would be committing fraud themselves and I will personally lock them up myself 😫

Right. I'm waiting for Dispatch since everyone at hybe HQ wanna act like shit aint hitting the fan.

For my legal fees stream With you. Go on YT and follow Jimin's personal YouTube account on Bangtantv channels. Follow Jungkook and the others too.

Watch his Live🔪

Save some money for Jimtober 🕯 🕯 🕯

He is so hard working 🥰🔥

[corvidcrybaby]

You reblogged smut prompts and tell me if I'm wrong but this one might fit zemicard:

"quit talking shit and put your mouth to good use instead."

it does and i'm choosing to take this as an actual smutty prompt, thanks, hee hee hee this was a fun little exercise - stream of consciousness, minimal editing, etc

(Alucard/OC, CW: hypnosis, breathplay, humiliation, the works)

"Quit talking shit before I think of a better use for your mouth."

The words whalloped Zemira over the back of the skull like a rusty crowbar. With a fierce curl of her lip, she cocked her head over her shoulders, angling her gaze towards her mission partner and current... Fling? Friend with benefits? Boyfriend? Alucard.

Zemira felt something clawing at her shin, and without even looking, leveled her SPAS-15 at the temple of the desiccated zombie grasping for her with a feeble grip missing several fingers, and blew its dome out in bloody chunks without even looking.

"Hell of a place for dirty talk, Vlad," Zemira snickered, choosing to zap him back as usual.

Alucard, for his part, was lounging in a leather armchair. Paying no mind to the bombed-out husk of what might once have been a sickeningly sappy forest cottage. Now, it was the site of a necrotic bloodbath of comical proportions. A few dozen Ghouls reduced to flesh paste later, and the resident vampire king had gotten so bored so quickly he decided to sit his smug ass down and watch Zemira finish the job.

To the surprise of no one, they got into a snark-fueled argument over who boasted the higher kill count for the evening. The petty debate grew heated with haste, and so did its participants. One thing led to another, and next thing they knew, insults were flying. They began in earnest - teasing and playful, or what passed for such things from a pair of gun-obsessed dervishes such as these two.

Zemira's jab that doomed her was telling Alucard that his Casull must have been compensating for something, despite knowing better - intimately.

Now, although Alucard was still smiling at her, legs crossed and drumming the fingers of his free hand on the arm of his chair, smoke still burbled from Casull's mouth, which he held pointing skyward beside his head. This, and the hellish gleam behind those bioluminescent eyes of his.

Zemi ought to know better than to test him fresh off the midnight kill, really, but.

Don't tell a damn soul she said this, but she thought he was wicked hot when he was mad. And when he swore? Unf. He did that so rarely, it was such a treat.

"As if you'd complain," Alucard said, a dangerous faux-naif lilt to his voice which warned Zemira in no uncertain terms that if she acted the brat any further, there would be dire consequences.

Zemira turned to face him head on, feeding a fresh magazine into her shotgun, a crazed glint to her eyes. "Shove it, Vlad. Ain't like we're done, anyway, come on now. After all," she said, grinning wider than advisable for her safety, spitting onto the ground between words, "I still see one big killcount still staring me dead in the face."

Alucard's good humor vanished without a trace. He raised a hand and curled his fingers towards himself, bared his fangs at her, and boomed out a command. "Enough. You. Here. Now."

Zemira's eyes blew out as his bored a violent hole into her skull, and her vision flickered crimson. All her limbs went slack, suddenly far too heavy, her jaw hung agape. With hooded lids, her eyes remained laser-focused on his, as though that point in space were anchoring her to reality. SPAS-15 slid from her shoulder and clattered to the floor, forgotten as his mother left him behind.

Her boots carried her of their own volition. Closer and closer to Alucard. A distant alarm in the deep recesses of her brain went unheeded. Warm fuzz blanketed her mind and swaddled her in pleasant tingles.

Before she knew it, a huge, masculine hand was fisted in her thick mane of hair, and she was kneeling before him. Delicious vertigo wracked her body from head to toe. The fog cleared enough to hear Alucard's arrogant laughter shaking through him. At her.

Defiant retorts tried to form on her tongue, but putting sentences together felt like forcing the wrong ends of magnets together. Not when she was settled between his legs like this, her hands resting atop his thighs. Not when his other hand snaked around her pretty neck and squeezed, a touch too hard, and a gasp caught in her throat. Her dog-tags jingled in the air from the jolt.

"Oh? Is something the matter, Specialist Corporal?" Alucard sneered, his lips pulling back to brandish his maw of conical fangs. "Come on, I could have sworn you were saying something. You're normally such a little spitfire."

Zemira squeezed her thighs together. Shame and anger wracked her in tandem with relief and desire. The fucking nerve. The unmitigated, accursed nerve of this man - and the fact that she came back for more, every G-ddamn time. There was something wrong with her, she swore, but fuck, the sex was too damn good. Her eyes squeezed shut to weather the onslaught.

The hand in her hair yanked her head back. "Look at me," Alucard commanded, claws scraping her scalp. The absence of open aggression in his tone was only further warning.

Zemira nodded, bleary, meeting her commander's eyes, mouth spread in an 'O.' Alucard's choking hand slid up to squish her cheeks together as his nose brushed hers. "Good girl," he cooed. Zemira bit back a truly embarrassing sound, but only just. The noises he wrenched from her never failed to mortify her.

But then a drunken trance overtook her as his lips closed around hers and his tongue, rife with that aphrodisiac in his saliva, was atop hers. There were gratuitous wet sounds as she sucked on his tongue, and he rattled with a hungry growl, sending heat to pool in her belly. With a desperate scramble from Zemira, his slacks came undone, and his cock was free in the air - twitching and huge. As if she needed any reminder what this beautiful sonofabitch knocking her down off her high horse did to him as much as her.

Her lips closed around the head without any further hesitation, and Alucard leaned back with an appreciative rumble. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear carnage got her in a frisky mood almost as much as it did for him. Albeit, a far more submissive mood. As her head began to obediently bob, the hand grasping her hair tightened. Though she could not see it, his sneer hadn't abated.

"There, you see?" Alucard jeered, not without warmth. "You always see us jump through no end of pointless hoops before we reach this point of the night."

Zemira didn't respond, just hollowed her cheeks and sucked him extra-hard. If that was her idea of payback, it was counterproductive, because it just made him rumble in appreciation. Pleasure shot straight to Zemira's clit, because fuck, the sounds this guy made, the reverberating boom of his baritone, it turned her brain to mush every G-dforsaken time.

Her tongue swirled in circles around the head of his cock, and Alucard bucked his hips, the muscles of his legs flexing as he did. That only seemed to encourage her. Alucard was not particularly broad, but the sheer height deficit between Zemira's five-foot-seven and his own six-foot-six made him large enough by comparison.

Zemira's breathing picked up, as did his own movements. Alucard bit down on his tongue and suppressed the monstrous urge to throw her against the nearest wall and either flay her into ribbons, or rut into her until she wished he'd done the latter instead. That didn't stop him from digging his nails into her skin, holding her head there, and slamming his cock down to the base. Zemira gagged and released an indignant groan that sounded akin to an attempt to scold him for his overzealous behavior.

"Quiet, you little harlot," Alucard sighed. He tapped the top of her skull with a claw, harder than usual, and she stiffened. "One more insipid quail, and I'll have to edge you for the next hour. Two, if necessary. You would be wise not to test me tonight."

Zemira felt her skin crawl at the salacious threat, a cold sweat breaking out from head to toe, and yet still she couldn't decide if she should take him up on that.

Bit of a fucking problem trying to do that with her mouth full, though.

[mccall-muffin]

Love vs. Hate - Part 8 // Joe Liebgott x OC

Previous Part

Summary: Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark knows the military. Raised in a military family, a graduate of military school and OCS herself, she is transferring from the 82nd Airborne Division to the 101st. Between new friends and what appear to be foes, she becomes a part of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th PIR.

Warnings: Language

A/N: One more Chapter, and we're going to war, guys! Just a little tension before it gets serious!

Here is my Masterlist

Tag List: @brassknucklespeirs

May 05, 1944 - Aldbourne, England The situation around Sobel gets worse and worse as time goes on, and Lip, Bill, Chuck, and I try again to persuade the other NCOs to carry out our plan, but unfortunately, they still refuse. That all changed, however, when the next incident occurred between Sobel and Winters.

"We lost Winters to Battalion Mess," Myron says, looking at all of us. All the NCOs have gathered in the barn. "You're shitting me," Talbert says, looking at us. I shake my head, confirming Myron's information. "No. Strayer did it while they try to figure out the procedures for his court-martial," Myron explains further. "Well, Nixon better find a loophole to get him out." "And if he don't? Winters scrambles eggs while the rest of us make the big jump with Sobel," I ask, looking at them. "Not me," Bill says immediately. "So, we're going through with this, right?" asks Chuck, and I nod again. "We gotta do something," Myron says. "I'm glad you realize that too, Mike." The latter rolls his eyes. "I was going to wait a little longer, Liv. But now he's gone too far. This power play Sobel wants to play with Winters puts us all at risk."

It's quiet for a moment, and we all sit in front of our papers. "All right. Good. But we'd all better be clear of the consequences," Lip asks, looking at us individually. "I don't care about the consequences," Johnny says immediately. "Neither do I." "Yeah. We could be lined up against a wall and shot. Now, I'm ready to face that. And every one of us had better be, too," Lip adds. "I will not follow that man into combat." "Me neither," Bull now speaks up.

"Very well, then, let's do it. It's been nice serving with you guys." "Nothing is decided yet, Liv." "Just kidding." Bill looks at me for a moment. "Are you sure you don't want to sit this one out, Liv? It would be a shame to lose that pretty face of yours." "Shut up, Bill! I'm doing this, just like all of you, and I'll take the consequences, just like all of you. Got it?" Bill grins, and then we begin to write. "I hereby no longer wish to serve as a non-commissioned officer in Easy Company," he recites aloud.

When we've all written the pages, we fold the letters. "All right, guys. Good luck," Lip says before we all stand up.

It's not long before we're called into Sink's office. On the way there, I exchange a glance with Lip. Now is the moment of truth. We all stand at attention in front of his desk, and the disappointment on his face is visible. "I ought to have you all shot. This is nothing less than an act of mutiny while we prepare for the goddamn invasion of Europe," Sink rages, then looks at each of us in turn. It seems as if he doesn't know exactly what to do with us. "Sergeant Harris?" "Sir." "Turn in your stripes. Collect your gear. You are hereby transferred outta my regiment," Sink demands. "Sir." "Get out." Terrence exits Sink's office. "Sergeant Ranney?" Uh-oh. Not Myron, too. "Sir." "You consider yourself lucky I'm only busting you to private. All of you NCOs have disgraced the 101st Airborne. You can consider yourself lucky that we are on the eve of the largest action in the history of warfare, which leaves me no choice but to spare your lives. Now, get out of my office and get out of my sight. Except for you, Sergeant Stark."

The others leave Sink's office, and I stay behind. For a moment, Sink says nothing. "At ease," he finally says, and I look at him. "What do you think your father would think of this, Sergeant?" I bite my lip. "I think you know that answer yourself. I took you in on his and Colonel Dunn's recommendation. You proved yourself, but I can't accept something like that." "Sir, permission to speak, sir." "Granted."

"I am well aware that this is a disappointment to you, sir, and also that we have disgraced the 101st. But, sir, if I may speak freely, we did this for a reason." "You're a platoon sergeant; you have damn responsibilities. What exactly were those reasons supposed to be, Sergeant Stark?" "It's exactly because of those responsibilities that I did what I did, sir. I don't want to speak poorly of our CO, but sir... Captain Sobel's leadership does raise its questions." Sink says nothing for a moment.

"You may go, Sergeant Stark. Based on your good performance so far, I will not mention the incident in your reports. Dismissed." "Thank you, sir," I say and salute him before leaving his office.

As I step outside and put on my cap, I see Winters looking at me in confusion. As I walk past him, I salute him, but he stops me immediately. "Liv?" "Yes, sir?" "What's going on?" he asks, and I look at him. "What do you mean, sir?" He raises his eyebrows and looks at me. "I think you know what I'm talking about, Liv. Why are all the Easy Company NCOs coming out of Sink's office?" I think for a moment before answering him. "We were just doing what needed to be done."

Winters is not a stupid man. He knows exactly what that means. "Liv... That was incredibly stupid and dangerous." "I believe, sir, that jumping out of a plane into occupied territory is also stupid and dangerous, yet we all do it." "You know what I mean. Why did you guys do that? They could have put you up against the wall." "We can't go to war with Sobel as our leader, sir, and then we're all as good as dead. I hope Sink sees that, too. We figured better just a few of us than all of us." Winters looks at me. Then I salute him again, and he does the same before I step away from him.

It looks like our mutiny did have some results after all. Two days later, we were told that Captain Sobel was being transferred and that we would get a new CO, 1st Lieutenant Thomas Meehan of Baker Company. The men cheered, and for us, it was just a celebration of joy—finally, no more Sobel.

Everything is better with Lt. Meehan. He even took a little time to get to know his soldiers better, as it's not easy for him to be thrown into a group of soldiers who have been training together for two years.

May 25, 1944 - Aldbourne, England "Lieutenant Roush? You were looking for me?" I ask my Platoon Leader, and he nods. Standing next to him is a very blond, tall man with bright blue eyes who smiles at me. "That's right. Sergeant Stark, this here is 2nd Lieutenant Lynn Compton. He has been transferred to us and will be my Assistant Leader. Buck, this here is Technical Sergeant Olivia Stark. Our platoon sergeant." Compton extends his hand to me. "Buck," he says, and I'm surprised to hear an officer introduce himself by his first name. "Liv," I return with a smile.

"Technical Sergeant? You rarely hear that" Buck says, and I press my lips together. "Well, Olivia graduated from OCS as well, but the upper echelon doesn't look at giving a woman the rank of lieutenant, which is why they gave her the next step down," Roush explains, and I shrug. "You graduated from OCS? At Fort Benning?" I nod. "Wow. I'm impressed. And also disappointed in our command, if I'm honest," Buck then says, and I nod again. "I know, but what are you going to do." "Very well, Sergeant. Get the men together. We have some announcements." "Yes, sir."

I call the boys together, who gather in front of Roush. "All right, listen up. First, this is Lieutenant Compton. He's my assistant leader as of now. Second, Lieutenant Meehan has just informed me that we are redeploying. On that note, each soldier returns to his billet and packs up his gear. Tonight, 1800, the trucks are leaving." "Where are we going, Lieutenant?" asks Bill, and I give him a quick look. "We're moving to Upottery, further south." There is silence for a moment, and I look to Buck, who smiles at me. "All right, fall out."

May 30, 1944 - Upottery, England "Hey, Liv. You playing a game too?" Don calls out to me, and I walk over to them. He's standing around a table with Buck, Skip, Penk, George, Bill, and Joe Toye. "What's it about?" I ask, and Don grins. "Craps," he says, and I give him an are-you-serious look. "Oh no, mister. You can forget about that. I always lose to you in these fucking games. And God knows I don't want to lose any more money to you, you rip-off!" "Who do you call a rip-off? I won the money fair and square," Don justifies himself. "Yeah, sure you did. I bet you're cheating. I don't know how yet, but you're cheating." Don winks at me.

Suddenly someone bumps into me and spills beer on me. "Oh fuck, I'm sor..." someone already starts apologizing, but when he looks at me, he stops. "Oh, watch out, Lieutenant, now the show starts," I hear George say, but I still glare at Liebgott. "Don't you have eyes in your head?" I ask and start wiping off the beer. Liebgott snorts. "Yes, I do, but it's not my fault you're so tiny that you're easy to miss." I narrow my eyes.

"Maybe if you paid a tiny bit of attention to your surroundings and not just yourself, you'd notice me too," I give back. "What's happening right now?" I hear Buck ask. "Oh, that... This is the normal Liebgott / Stark bickering. You can get used to it. They're like an old married couple," George explains. "Shut up, Luz!", Liebgott and I say out of one mouth. "See?" he continues to grin.

I turn back to Liebgott. "Wasn't there something else you wanted to say?" I ask, pointing at my uniform. "Your uniform is wet," Liebgott says, and I roll my eyes. "You don't say?! I actually meant something else. Like an apology or something," Liebgott pretends to think and takes a sip of his beer. "Hmm, no. Doesn't ring a bell. Or do you want me to recommend a cleanse?" I fume inwardly. "Like you'd know what that is, Liebgott! Probably your redhead girlfriend did it for you!" Now he looks at me confused and with a frown. "What the fuck are you talking about, Stark?" he asks. "You know exactly what." "No, I don't!" "Damn it, Liebgott, I swear to you, one day..." And then Don butts in. "Okay, that's enough for today, kids," he says, getting between us.

Liebgott and I are still glaring at each other. Don starts waving his hand between us. "Hey, did you hear what I said? Stop it!" I stare at him for a second before turning away. "Fucking idiot," I grumble and sit down with Bill and Joe Toye.

May 31, 1944 - Upottery, England We sit in one of the aircraft hangars and wait for Meehan to explain the plan. There are maps in front of us showing France or Normandy. "Linking Omaha and Utah into one continuous beachhead. Each trooper will learn this operation by heart and know his and every other outfit's mission to the detail," he tells us. "Lieutenant Meehan?" Dukeman stands up, and Meehan looks at him. "Yes, Dukeman." "Sir, are we dropping tonight?" Eagerly, we all look to our CO. Don is sitting next to me, lighting a smoke. I hold out my hand and gesture for him to give me one, too. He gives me his and takes another from Skip's ear. "When it's time for you to know, we'll let you know. In the meantime, study these sand tables, maps, and reconnaissance photos, until you can draw a map of the area by memory. Now, we will drop behind this Atlantic Wall five hours before the 4th Infantry lands at Utah. Between our assembly area and the Battalion's objective, there is a German garrison right here, in this area, St. Marie-du-Mont. Easy Company will destroy that garrison."

"Sounds easy," I say sarcastically, and Don crosses his arms. When Meehan finishes, I join Don, Skip, Penk, and George in walking forward to the sand tables. We study the maps and the plans. As I carefully memorize the map, I picked up the compass I got from my friends. "Are you afraid of getting lost already?" Don teases me, and I nudge him.

"The poor bastards who have to come from the sea. Why do I have a feeling this won't end well," I mutter as I study the maps of Utah and Omaha Beach. "Come on, sweetheart, it's going to be fine. I have faith in it. This operation is so well planned; nothing can go wrong." I look at Don with raised eyebrows. "If you say so..."

June 4, 1944 - Upottery England We have spent the last few days at the airfield. We studied the operation and learned it by heart. The last few days have also been about ensuring we have all our equipment together. The men are getting nervous because it could be any day now. You can tell by the fact that we're all walking around in full gear daily.

I'm walking up to Joe Toye, Frank, and George, who are packing their gear. "Three-day supply of K rations, chocolate bars, charms, candy, powdered coffee, sugar, matches, compass, bayonet, trenching tool, ammunition, gas mask, musette bag with ammo, my weapon, my 45, canteen, two cartons of smokes, Hawkins mine, two grenades, smoke grenade, Gammon grenade, TNT, this bullshit and a pair of nasty skivvies," Toye gets upset, and I smirk. "What's your point?" asks Frank, standing up. "God, this stuff weighs as much as I do. I still got my chute, my reserve chute, my Mae West, and my M1." "Oh yeah, and what can I say?" I ask, still grinning. "I'm lighter than you." "Yeah, and I don't know how you even manage to stand up straight, Liv," Toye returns. "Where are you keeping your brass knuckles?" Frank asks again, and Joe looks at him, annoyed. "I could use some brass knuckles."

Behind us, we suddenly hear Vest. "Sergeant Martin?" he asks, and I shake my head. I have no idea where Johnny is. "Hey, Vest, anything for me?" asks Joe, but Vest is already turning away. "Nope. Sergeant Martin? Talbert?" he calls on and continues walking.

From a distance, I see Roush looking at me and nodding. I understand what he's trying to tell me and stand up before walking through the men. "All right, listen up, listen up. If you did not sign your GI life insurance policy, you go on over and see Sergeant Evans at the Headquarters Company tent. You boys, don't let your families miss out on $10,000," I shout through the crowd and spot Don. "Have you done it yet?" I ask, looking at him. He nods and then picks up the musette bag we just received. "Why are they springing these things on us now?" "It's just an extra eighty pounds strapped to your leg," George replies and then picks it up. "Does anybody have any idea how the hell this thing works?" I shake my head in amusement and then go to show him.

When we are all more or less ready and have done everything, they hand out ice cream to everyone. I sit on the floor next to Bill. "Well, what do you think, kiddo? Guess it'll be time soon," he says, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth. "Looks like it," I say with a sigh. "Why do you think they spoil us otherwise."

Suddenly Vest comes back toward us, handing out leaves that must have come from Sink.

George, being the man he is, reads it right out in his Sink voice. "Soldiers of the regiment: tonight is the night of nights." Toward the end of the sentence, however, his voice changes back to his own, becoming serious. "Today, as you read this, you are en route to the great adventure for which you have trained for over two years."

I lower my plate of ice cream and put my spoon in it. "That's why they gave us ice cream," Bill says from beside me, looking at me. "Told ya," I mumble and stand up. "Where are you going, sweetheart?" Bill asks me, but I don't give him an answer.

I walk through the men and finally spot the one I was looking for. "Harry!" I call out, and he looks up. "Hey, Liv," he says with a smile. "Well, are you ready?" "Can you be ready for this?" I ask, and he shakes his head. "What plane are you assigned to?" he then asks. "Bucks... They think it makes more sense than being on Roush's." Harry nods, then looks to the ground. "Don't die on me, will you?" he says quietly, forcing a smile. "I'll definitely try." I then hug him. "I'll see you over there, yeah?" Harry nods, and then we break away from each other.

When I return to Don and the others, I see Meehan get on a Jeep. "Easy Company, listen up. Gather up around me. Move it up; come on, gentlemen. Let's go. Now, the Channel coast is socked in with rain and fog, high winds on the drop zone. No jump tonight. The invasion has been postponed. We're on a 24-hour stand down." "God damn it," I curse, and it's no different for the others. "Son of a bitch," Bill curses behind me, and I look at him. "Drill sergeants take charge," Meehan is still shouting, and I sit down with my men to discuss the next steps.