#we enjoy you from the interviews and the recounts of people who have been lucky enough to meet you or spend time with you outside of ghost

[goore-ghoul]

..

[mrwinterr]

Over & Over

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Pornstar!Female Reader

Summary: You’re an up-and-coming adult film star secretly eager to work with the popular Bucky Barnes, and with just the right connections, your paths cross much sooner than later.

Warnings: Adult themes. Smut 18+ (unprotected sex, vaginal penetration and instructional fingering, oral [male & female receiving], size kink, spit & cum play, a smudge of male dominance), dirty talk and language.

Disclaimer: I don’t know how the porn industry works; this was just written for fun.

Title Inspiration: “Over & Over” by Smallpools

A/N: After doping up on strong painkillers wasn’t enough, I thought releasing endorphins would help ease my headache, so once again watching porn inspired another fic. Idk. I’m a mess. Enjoy!

Slipping on your oversized sunglasses, you walk along the rectangular outline of the hotel’s lavish pool, to one of the vacant lounge chairs next to the redheaded goddess, whose wings you were taken under and could gratefully call a close friend. You hadn’t known a single soul when you packed up and moved west to Los Angeles at 18, but you knew you were destined for more than what your humdrum life back at home could offer.

The porn industry wasn’t your first choice at a career in entertainment, but the starving profession wasn’t paying the bills fast enough. You weren’t going to survive in L.A. another year juggling to pay for tuition and stay enrolled in acting school from the income of working menial jobs and booking small gigs. However, one minor role as an extra in a one-night stand sex scene of a TV show, you catch the eye of the multitalented adult film actress Natasha Romanoff.

It was pure coincidence she was also casted, playing a bigger role, of the same episode, but she saw more in you in your less than 15 seconds of fame than most casting agents did before offering you a chance to shadow her. You knew she looked familiar and you were no stranger to watching porn, but when you’re as down on your luck as you were, you went all in and soon enough countless scenes now under your belt within a year, you’re porn’s best female newcomer.

“There’s this year’s Best New Starlet!” Natasha proclaims loudly for almost everyone around to hear.

Lucky for you, the shades conceal the roll of your eyes at her comment as you kick off your flip-flops and remove the thin cover up to reveal your skimpy bikini. You dare look over at her in time to catch her mocking reaction, jaw dropped from your attitude.

“After all I’ve done for you,” she says, placing a hand to her heart, feigning hurt.

The pair of you laugh at your nonsense and after she helps you with applying the appropriate amount of sun care protection, you recline in your seats and attempt to soak up some sun. It was a much-needed break with the long stressful week of the award show now behind everyone. Your hard work had paid off and after all you did learn from the best.

Your predecessor before you, Natasha was also a former Best New Starlet, and now is a household name in pornography. She didn’t welcome a lot of people into her inner circle, but she had plans to one day direct and knew she had to find the next big thing before anyone else to take her place.

“Hello, ladies,” comes from the voice of this year’s Director of the Year and other close friend Wanda Maximoff.

“Hey Wanda,” you greet her by sitting up to give her a proper hug.

You met her through her twin brother, Pietro, who happened to be your first co-star and was very welcoming and caring to you. The twins took care of you during your first few months starting out. Much like Natasha did for you, you help her administer the same amount of sunscreen on her body.

“Congrats on your achievement,” she says wholeheartedly, looking over her shoulder at you as you finish up on her back, and even under the heat of the sun, she could still see the blush creep up on your face.

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” Natasha comments casually, to which Wanda nods enthusiastically, only speeding up the process of the rose tints on your cheeks to spread all over your face. They were your biggest fans and supporters; you were so happy you could make them proud.

“I owe it all to the queen herself,” you say, downplaying your achievement and turning the attention to your mentor in Natasha. She scoffs at that and teases you about just taking the damn compliment. You put in the work; it was all you.

“Seriously, you deserved it,” Wanda says honestly, and you finally accept the praise.

“So, what’s next for miss Director of the Year?” Natasha asks leaning on a propped elbow, body facing towards you and Wanda.

“Well, I managed to finally book Bucky Barnes in an upcoming project…” she starts out, but the moment you heard his name slip from her lips, the rest almost didn’t matter.

Bucky Barnes was somewhat of a legend. There wasn’t a model or director that didn’t want to work with him. The man was downright gifted in every aspect and his work speaks for itself. Before you broke onto the scene, you’d gotten off to his videos, and only dreamed of one day starring in a scene with him, but you were still new to this world.

As a promising star, you had a long way to go and tons of plots, positions and people to still experience, so landing a role with someone like Bucky Barnes wasn’t entirely written in your plans any time soon. Then again, your first girl-on-girl scene was with your mentor herself, so anything could happen, right?

“I just haven’t found my girl yet,” was the next thing you pick up Wanda say the moment your head comes back from the clouds, “...I have all this momentum now that I want this to blow everyone away, especially Stark.”

Tony Stark was her rival. It was a friendly competition amongst friends. You hadn’t gotten the chance to work for him yet. He was a playful character and had directed some of the best adult films out there, Wanda just happened to be the better of the two this year…

“Sorry, I’m retired,” Natasha reminds her and repositions herself on her back.

“Fuck you,” Wanda says playfully to which Natasha responds with a finger in the air before she clarifies, “I was hinting at this year’s Best New Starlet…” and slyly looking in your directly.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. Your head can’t even start processing that you’re finally getting the opportunity to work with Bucky.

Wanda rolls her eyes at your obliviousness, “no, last year’s Best New Starlet. Hell no! Of course, you!” You respond in the same manner as your mentor, who is more than amused at you also following her lead, and flip Wanda off. Wanda snatches your hand to bring it away from her face, “I’m serious!”

“I-I don’t know, Wan,” a part of you is a little scared that you’re not going to be able to keep up with someone as established and with the star power as Bucky, “...like you said, you have all this momentum behind you. I don’t want to fuck this scene up because I don’t have a lot of experience.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” Natasha pipes up on the other side of you. “This is the perfect role for you!” She sees the questionable look on your face and sighs before explaining. “You’re a fresh face and rising star! People are lining up to book you, Stark included.”

“Nat is right. You’re a hot commodity now! I need someone who is a little inexperienced to mix with someone that is,” Wanda further explains her premise, “let him take the lead, but at your pace. I need it to be raw and passionate. People love that shit!” They were right, he had all the experience, and you were a fresh loveable face. It was the perfect combination.

You remain quiet for several seconds before Natasha rats you out, “and don’t even try to act like you don’t want to work with Barnes. This is your fantasy come to life.” Way to throw you under the bus like that…

There’s no denying your goal to work with him. He’d been in this business much longer than you had, you didn’t think your paths would ever cross on a set, but the opportunity couldn’t have presented itself in a more perfect point in your career.

The room is very pristine. White walls with a king size bed, also adorned in white sheets, fluffy pillows scattered at the top, minimal furniture around to make it look realistic, and the lighting was just right. Wanda had received a hefty budget after her recognition that’s for sure.

“Alright, girly, let’s get you on the bed!” Wanda happily directs.

You nod silently, remove your footwear and plop down on the center of the large mattress. You decide to leave your legs sprawled on one side of your body, settling on a bashful position. It’s not hard for you because although you agreed to do this and have done several scenes, internally, you’re freaking the fuck out. Unbeknownst to you, it’s all part of your charm; the innocence you somehow still radiated was an all too endearing quality and actually sexy.

Even your attire was pretty modest, opting for a more casual look with black leggings and a tight long sleeve that accentuates your figure and shows off the right amount of cleavage. It was something that you could easily wear out in public, which again was a part of your brand in being as natural as possible, but come the right circumstances, when it was time to roll you could turn on the right switch.

“We’ll start off like a typical casting interview before we bring Bucky in and then we’ll go from there. Sounds good?” She runs down the plan with you, fixing a few strands of flyaway hairs on your head before back away from the bed. With a thumbs up and a smile from you, she starts recording.

“Welcome, Best New Starlet of the Year!” Wanda greets from behind the camera.

“Hi,” you politely reply with your signature sweet smile and a wave to the screen.

These scenes start off with a small interview recounting your tale into the porn industry leading up to your recent achievement and even delving a bit into your personal life before the topic changes to your co-star.

“So, how excited are you to work with Bucky today?”

No matter how hard you practiced at keeping a straight poker face, that was something you were unable to master from Natasha, and the blush couldn’t be contained.

Fidgeting at the hem of your top, you open and close your mouth, trying to find the right words. You’re overly flustered at the thought of Bucky and he wasn’t even in front of you yet. You don’t want to sound like a fool and ruin the atmosphere. Wanda mouths words of advice from where she sat in the director’s chair, “be honest.”

“Um, I’m...nervous,” you say truthfully.

“Nervous?” She questions, urging you to elaborate.

“Yeah, he’s Bucky Barnes! He’s hot and he’s got so much experience. I’m kind of scared I’ll be boring,” you finish explaining and hope to God that Natasha doesn’t kill you afterwards, or with that answer let Wanda down, but the smile on her face sends you a wave of assurance.

Maybe you could do this...

Earlier that day, Bucky had already recorded his little opening scene. Wanda had called him to report on set before you were scheduled to arrive.

On the contrary, Bucky was also a tab bit anxious to work with you. He’d seen some of your work and more so heard about your talent from his own best friend, Steve Rogers.

He didn’t deny it, he was very much attracted to you and he wanted a chance to work with you too. Bucky wasn’t a jealous person, which made working in the porn industry easy for him, but when he had to hear Steve recount his scenes with you, he couldn’t help but want to sock his own childhood friend. He didn’t of course, but the rage was evident and his other friend, Sam Wilson, took some sick pleasure in teasing him over it. In fact, the eccentric personality of the trio of friends, decided to tag along with Bucky to introduce himself to you and get under his skin a little more.

“What’s going on in that nasty head of yours?” Sam poked at Bucky as they made their way over to Wanda, who was by the camera setup going over a script with another stagehand. When Bucky doesn’t respond, it provokes Sam even more, “no way, you’re nervous!”

Bucky sighs fed up with dealing with the anxiety brewing ever since he found out he was going to star in this film with you. “Shut the fuck up, will you? Of course, I’m nervous,” he says, trying to remain calm.

“Dude, you’ve slept with some of the hottest people in the world and millions of people have seen you naked. Why is one girl any different?” Sam wonders.

“I don’t know, ok. She just seems so down-to-earth and normal?” Bucky attempts to explain. You were real. His work was just that, it was a work, and he was afraid that it would be different with you. He could say he was almost intimidated by you.

“Yeah, as if I don’t have to hear that enough from Rogers…” Sam chimed in. Steve had nothing but high praise for your performance. In fact, his testimony helped expose you a little further. He was an honorable performer and a respected one, so they took his word on you. “Maybe, I’ll be her next co-star,” and just like that Sam ruined a moment.

“God, I hate you,” was the last thing exchanged between the two friends as they finally reached Wanda. She warned Sam to behave and gave Bucky a quick rundown before instructing him to hop on the bed.

Bucky’s interview starts a little differently than yours. Having already been a more established performer than yourself, no one needed his background story. The only thing Wanda wanted out of him was his plans and opinion on you.

“Well, I don’t know too much about her, personally speaking...but everyone seems to love her,” Bucky’s answer was a bit bland for Wanda.

“She’s a great person to work with,” she comments and that’s a tactic most directors used to get talent to keep talking.

“That’s what Steve keeps saying,” he says with somewhat of an awkward light laugh. He could see Sam facepalming next to Wanda at that lame answer.

“Yeah, you don’t win best female newcomer for nothing,” Wanda points out. If anyone was the lucky one here, it was Bucky. He was climbing up in age and you were the next big thing. You were the real star of this film not Bucky. She was counting more on you to deliver than him.

“That’s right. She’s a very talented performer,” Bucky says, and this small comment opens up a can of worms for Wanda to build up on.

“Oh, so you’ve seen some of her work?” Bam! He was caught.

Bucky’s mouth starts twitching slightly and Wanda and Sam are smirking from their spots as they watch the gears in Bucky’s mind start turning faster trying to think of something. The only piece of advice Wanda gives is “be honest.”

He sighs, the jig was up. Smooth Bucky Barnes was caught red-handed, “yeah, I’ve watched some scenes. I’ve seen her in person a few times too…”

“Wait,” Wanda interrupts him abruptly. She knew you were attracted to Bucky, but never knew of any encounters between you two, “when did you meet her?”

“I haven’t,” Bucky starts, which causes a look of mass confusion on Wanda’s face before he follows up, “formally. I haven’t met her formally, but I’ve seen her at a few parties and at the award show...I was just nervous to walk up to her,” the words just kept flowing out of his mouth and he inwardly cringed at how awkward he might’ve sounded.

Sam was amused by his embarrassment, but Wanda was pleased with this result. Bucky was good at what he did and that included him trying to play it cool, which he did well on screen, sometimes.

“You know she was actually thrilled to find out she would be working with you,” Wanda said, stretching the truth. The truth was, you hadn’t verbally confessed that, at least not yet.

“Really?” Bucky asks all too hopeful, his mood noticeably perking up.

“Yup! Ever since she won Best New Starlet of the Year, people have been lining up to book her, but she chose this project. You were the deal breaker, Barnes,” she fabricated and hoped this all worked out for you two in the end.

“Wow, who would’ve thought this has-been still had it in him?” He jokes at himself. His humility would get the best of him in every situation.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself! You didn’t win Best Male Performer of the Year again for nothing!” Wanda says and then steers the interview to a close.

After wrapping up Bucky’s scene, he’s allowed to stay in another room with a monitor. At first, he thinks it’s to help him prep for the scene, but to his surprise it’s a live feed of your interview and he starts clinging onto your every word. Enthralled by your journey, work ethic and he gets flustered all over again hearing you talk about your equal eagerness to work with him.

“You know, if anyone is the lucky one in this situation, it’s Barnes,” Wanda reminds as your interview comes to an end.

“Right,” you sarcastically remark.

“Are you ready for us to bring Bucky in?” She asks.

“It’s now or never,” you reply. 

You watch the doorknob twist and the door open to slowly reveal Bucky. Where do you even start with him? He just looked like the total package. His gaze immediately on yours. As he makes his way towards the bed you’re still sitting on, when his knee comes in contact to the edge, you maneuver your body in his direction, sit up on your knees to meet him halfway and welcome him in a hug.

“Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he says when you pull apart. The both of you don’t break away completely. Your arms are still wrapped around his neck, his hands placed just above your waist, you can feel his fingers that slipped under the fabric rub your skin.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you respond, giving him a genuine smile and can’t help but stare at his pretty face. You had to remind yourself he’s just another guy, except he wasn’t. You didn’t know how he felt, but you wanted this, wanted him. You also don’t know if you’ll ever work him again after today, so he was going to get the real you.

A small, subtle clearing of someone’s throat shatters the staring contest between you and Bucky causing you both to sheepishly break away from the other, not realizing you’d both allowed dreaded dead airtime to pass by. You scoot over to make room for him next to you on the bed. After he pulls his footwear off, he sits cross legged in front of you, you have one leg tucked in and the other extended in front.

Bucky’s not entirely oblivious. He not only witnessed you backstage reveal you were actually nervous to work with him, he could feel it, so at an attempt to help ease both your nerves, he places a hand on your shin and absentmindedly run his hand up and down the fabric, fingers sometimes stopping to mess with the cuff of your leggings and at the skin of your ankle, while he listened to you speak.

He congratulated you on your achievement as you did with him, both a blushing mess before diving into different topics like traveling and other interests.

Wanda stood proudly behind the camera watching the scene unfold. Everything was so candid and real between you and Bucky, the chemistry was clearly evident, she didn’t foresee there would be much directing on her part today, which was going to make her job easy.

“Wanda said you were excited to work with me,” Bucky teases, wanting to see if what you said was just for the cameras or if it was really true, but also, he found out he liked to see you get all hot and bothered in more than one way.

Your jaw drops and you look directly into the camera, breaking the fourth wall, calling out to Wanda. You playfully chastise and curse at her for revealing your secret. She tells you it was going to come out anyways, and while that was true, you’d hoped it was later and much after you’ve slept with him, hoping it doesn’t ruin the shoot, but Bucky assures you that it’s actually a flattering to hear or in his words, “assuring” for someone like him.

“Are you kidding?” You say, lightly shoving him back, “you’re like a legend! Of course, I was excited! I’m surprised you agreed to work with a rookie like me!” Now that the cat was out of the bag, you might as well own up to your secret.

“Everyone wants to work with you,” he makes clear, leaning in closer. Fuck, he didn’t even need to initiate foreplay because with the way he was looking at you right now, you could come swear you’d come undone for him in an instant.

“Oh really?” You challenge, your body gravitating like a magnet towards his.

“Yup, Steve wouldn’t shut up about you and even Sam said he can’t wait to someday work with you,” he said, voice slowly dropping in decibels and his hands sliding up your thighs.

“Did he?” You ask, but you don’t really care about Sam as your eyes look dead into Bucky’s blue ones, swirling into a darker shade full of deep want and desire.

“Yeah, but let’s see if he still wants to try to outdo me after I’m done with you,” he whispers, finally closing the gap between your lips in a sweet kiss. It was about as sweet as it could last because after just one taste of your lips, he was a starved man, hungry for more. You tried your best to match his pace and the kiss turned sloppy very quick.

You moaned at the pressure of his lips pressed roughly against yours, and you do your best to keep up, but you’re already finding yourself short of breath. However, the more you try to pull back to regain some oxygen, the more he’s unwilling to part as he grasps your face in both hands to keep you still, so you lightly squeeze at his biceps as a warning in hope he gets the message.

Lucky for you, he does and lets up. He’s also noticeably breathless, his warm breath fanning against your kiss-swollen lips, his forehead resting against yours. Bucky’s hands are still on your face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and you let out a small chuckle at the sincerity. He was cute.

You take his hands in yours and bring them back down to begin undressing him starting by helping him slip his shirt over his head, the fashionable dog tags around his neck clank as it slaps against his toned chest, you let him keep them on though.

Bucky sits up on his knees as he watches you settle on your stomach, propped up by your elbows, hands getting ready to work on his lower half. He patiently watches as you unbuckle his belt, pop the button of his jeans off, and drag the zipper down.

With his pants hanging loose off his hips, you begin to plant soft kisses along his navel down the defined lines that lead to his cock. Each contact of your lips sends a ghostly tingle and the blood to rush even quicker down his lower region. The imprint of his endowed member doesn’t leave much to your imagination, you can already see the stain where the tip is through his tight boxer briefs. It gives you a little boost of confidence knowing you’d caused this and would get to take care of it.

You hook your fingers into the undergarment and tug them down his muscular thighs. His cock springs out, almost hitting you in the face causing you to jolt back a little and a smile to spread across Bucky’s.

Your clumsiness was also a part of your charm. It wasn’t on purpose, you were still learning after all, and that’s what made it so unique and fun to work with you. Your partners just felt a real, genuine connection, citing it felt less choreographed and of a porno with you.

A little embarrassed about that move, you’d watched what he can do with that cock, but nothing could’ve prepared you for it face-to-face. You don’t waste any time on getting your hands on him and wrap your fingers around his half-hard cock and start pumping him sensually.

He’s hot and soft in your hands before getting gradually heavy. The look in your eyes grows more predatory as you watch him grow and feel him getting harder with each pump causing more and more pre-cum to ooze out. You spread it all over the head of his cock with your thumb then daring to look up at him, hoping he was indeed enjoying your work, before you pucker your lips and kiss at the crown. Bucky curses when he sees your lips shining, coated in his pre-cum, with a string connecting you to his cock.

You gather the fluid up in your hand before spreading it all over his length, when it’s not enough you start not only pumping him faster, but also licking up and down, from the base to the tip, hoping to effectively slick him up. The way your tongue scrapes along over Bucky’s sensitive flesh stirs him up. Your other hand joins in to fondle with his neglected balls, massaging and pulling at them in the right moments, sometimes you travel a little south and take them in your mouth. It all but drives Bucky wild and it’s confirmed with each swear that leaves his mouth.

Bucky wants nothing more than to lodge himself deep in your throat, but he remembers he needs to go at your pace, and once you’re broken in a little more, you could follow his, so he’ll bide his time for now and watch you work.

When you’re ready to take him in, you regain his attention and he watches you slowly take in his inches down your mouth, stopping halfway before your wide-open mouth hollows out. Your full mouth immediately waters around him and it doesn’t take long before you’re a drooling mess all over his cock. You pull back torturously slow, looking back down watching his cock reappear and loving the way it disappears back in, and especially how it feels when it drags through your mouth, taking note of the veins and unique ridges.

“Don’t be like that, doll,” he says, wiping some of the hair away from your face, “come on and show me why they don’t stop talking about you,” he coaxes, now gathering some of your locks in his hand to completely give you both a clear view. He tries his best to not take the lead, but you don’t disappoint as your mouth works faster on him. The gagging and sucking, mixed with Bucky’s moans of pleasure soon become the soundtrack.

You’d gradually take him more and more in, close to deep throating him, and you’re just ready to let up, but he can’t help it and before your last round, he holds your head in place.

“Don’t quit now, baby,” he encourages you, placing his other hand on the back of your head, keeping you still and carefully starts to thrust his hips, urging you to take him all the way, “...that’s it, you can do it, you can take it,” he releases a big sigh feeling the tip of your nose bump his lower abdomen. The moisture builds up in the inner corner of your eyes and you do your best to mind your breathing and not choke.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but shout when he feels your throat contract around him. You just looked so divine, mouth full of his cock. He keeps you there for a few seconds, before releasing his hold, and you immediately pull back, drool dribbles down your chin, and you’re desperate for oxygen to return back into your system. He grabs your face by your chin forcing you to look up at him.

He uses his fingers to scoop up some of the mixed fluids of his arousal and your saliva at your chin before presenting it in front of you. You easily read his mind, look up at him with big, watery eyes, and take his coated digits in your abused mouth sucking the juices clean off him. 

He growls and commends you, “...such a good girl.” When he slips his fingers out of your mouth, a small pop could faintly be heard, he gently yanks at your hair, craning your head back further, it’s almost painful but you don’t care, “do it again,” he demands.

You bite your lip and reposition yourself. Bucky settles in a more comfortable position on his back, completely rid of his pants and underwear, his legs spread open for you to lie between them. Before you get back to the job, you slip your tight top off, all-natural breasts spilling out and on display for him. His cock twitches at the sight and he lets his head fall back when he’s once more fully encased in the warm, wet cavern of your mouth.

When he finally starts begging you to let up, you pull back slowly pumping him and watch his every move, the rise of his chest as it heaves from the activity, the way he runs his hands over his face. He’s absolutely stunned by your performance so far.

“On your back,” he says, and you do as he commands, and forget who is supposed to really be in charge. He yanks your leggings and panties all the way down, chucking them behind him somewhere in the corner of the room.

“You’re so sexy,” he compliments, eyes taking in every inch of your naked body, hands getting their fill. His body dips, lips latching onto your breasts, kissing at the skin and sucking on each nipple before they make their way up the juncture of your neck and claim your lips again.

You feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, and they part to grant him full access. You barely notice how he takes a hold of one of your hands, he pulls his face away to bring the hand in his grasp up to your face, using your fingers to trace the outline of your lips. You see him inaudibly instruct you to open your mouth, you do as you’re told.

“That’s right get those fingers nice and wet,” he coaxes you to suck on your own digits until he deems you ready for the next move. When he finally does pull your fingers out from your mouth, he extends your arm, ghosting them just over your pussy.

“Play with that clit,” he tells you and you don’t need to be told twice. Your pussy was begging for any kind of attention. You let your wet fingers roll over the bundle of nerves, puffs of breath escape your body as you’re finally attending to your own needs.

Bucky sits back and watches you intently, fascinated by your every move. He instructs you to close your eyes and listen to his voice, instructing you to go slow at first, “does that feel good?” the only reply he gets is a fast nod, “yeah? Make yourself feel good...that’s it,” his words only encourage your fingers to soon work faster, “let me hear how good it feels,” he demands, and you moan and whine like the true pornstar you are, your circular motions speed up, the lewd noises egg him on and soon enough he wants a taste.

“Let me help you out,” and you feel the bed shift a bit, “spread those wet lips for me,” he requests. You use both hands to invite him into your wet, glistening hole. You pick your head up to see his face buried between your thighs, you watch just long enough until each broad lick up and down your pussy sends you close to the edge.

He no longer needs the support of your hands, and they find purchase in his dark, fluffy hair as he starts sucking on your clit and tonguing your folds. At first, you’re doing a good job keeping your legs apart to accommodate him, but it gets harder and harder for them to not clamp around his head, with every nudge the tip of his nose makes at your clit and it doesn’t help your case when he inserts a finger inside you. With a good curl, his finger scratches dangerously close to your sweet spot, causing your legs to start quivering.

The sudden hitch in your breathing catches his attention, and Bucky tests the waters more by digging in deeper and curling in further. He notices the increasing agitation and knows he’s found the trigger.

“Bucky,” you whine, hoping he doesn’t push you over just yet. You want to last longer, and so you reluctantly attempt to scoot back further away, but the sudden strong grip  he has around your leg locks you in place. You pick your head back up and find Bucky’s eyes trained on you. You see the stoic look in his eyes laced with determination. Oh no, he wanted you to come now. You feel a hum from his full mouth, only pushing you further.  

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your pussy, “let go,” and the gruff in his voice, vibrating against you, his thick digits still curled deep inside you, you can’t hold back the floodgates from bursting any longer.

He laps up your arousal as you desperately try to regain composure. He really pulled one out of you, proving he was as every bit good as he put out and you’re not even close to the end of this scene.  

“Come here,” he says, getting back on his knees and pulling you up by your arms so you’re in an up-right sitting position once again, but with Bucky still towering over you, “open up.”

You comply and open your mouth wide, tongue out, not understanding his motive, and you’re met with full surprise when he spits in your mouth, a firm grip on your face, he holds you still.

“Don’t swallow,” he gravely warns. You feel and probably look stupid not knowing what he wants you to do with your mouth open wide and full of his spit mingling with your arousal, just trying to keep it all contained. Bucky was testing your patience and obedience and you passed every test so far. You were just the right amount of submissive, absolutely perfect.

You can feel his hard cock pressing up against your sensitive pussy, it slides up between your folds and the base rests on top of your mound. “Drool it out...on my cock,” he instructs. Oh. He guides your gaze down between your bodies, you purse your lips, and both watch as the liquid cascades down onto his erect member. He uses it to lube himself up before he pushes you down to lie flat on your back.

Bucky slowly but easily slips inside your wet channel but notices your slight struggle. He was big, and he gets it. The way your eyes are tightly shut, hands pulling at the sheets, you struggle to breath and your walls cruelly grip him tight. Normally, he’d just pound away until his partner got used to him, but he didn’t want to do that with you. He wanted you to enjoy feeling him.

He tries to help you relax by rubbing your thighs a little with soothing motions, when they fall limp on either side, he leans down, you feel the cool metal of his dog tags against your heated skin, his weight sort of comforting on yours, and arms entrapping your head. He lovingly calls out your name, and your eyes flutter open, your attention refocusing on him.

“We’ll go at your pace, alright?” he assures you. You curse yourself for allowing your heart to swell at his concern, but you nod giving him permission to move slowly. Your whimpers soon transition into pleasurable moans, the more your body begins to adjust to his.

“Damn, you’re so tight. You’ve never been stretched out like this by anyone before have you?” he dares ask, once he sees it’s a safe playing field once more, his hips moving slow, his cock sliding in and out of you. You attempt at a laugh between your ragged breathing and the intense sensation coursing through you.

“No,” you respond and kiss at his chin, the light stubble pricking your soft lips, “you’re so big.” You feel his cock twitch inside and you want to curse yourself again at the comment that unintentionally riles him up because he was nestled close to your spot again. Fuck, he could reach just the right depth in you.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you don’t want to go slow anymore. Fuck Wanda and this movie, you wanted all of Bucky now, “please fuck me,” you resort to begging. He inwardly growls and his hips start snapping forward, thrusts growing hard and uncalculated. You just lie there and allow him to use your pussy for his pleasure.

Bucky’s movements falter a bit in this position, so he steers both your bodies on their sides, still facing each other, he slings your leg high up over his hips, and resumes his task. His cock glides right back in your pussy and the new angle causes you to yelp and walls to clench around him.

“You feel so good,” his voice riddled with so much lust as he brings your body closer to his with a hand behind, full of your plushest asset. Your head rests on the bicep of his other arm that was underneath it.

Bucky’s expressive eyes ask you if you're close, and the more your walls continue to grip him, he starts begging for you to come with him. “I’m gonna cum,” he warns, giving up and letting you take the rest of the lead.

“Yeah?” you huff out, your fingers digging into the side of his hips, “you want to cum inside me?” You know he does; you can feel and see it written all over him, but you want to just poke at him like he had with you, “I want you to...I want all your cum inside me, Bucky,” and you wanted him to cum hard, deep inside, “fill my tight pussy up, please,” you plead.

With one more jab of his hips, your back arches and head is thrown back, you can’t help but let out a scream as your orgasm rips right through you like it’s never before. Bucky’s body on the other hand caves into yours, feeling almost paralyzed as your tight walls hold him in place and all he can do is bury his face into the sweaty skin of your neck.

His mouth hangs open, a plethora of profanities coming out of him, and he waits for his cock to finish spewing ropes of his hot, thick cum into you. Your walls can’t help but to involuntarily contract in small aftershocks, especially when he’s still coming.

Bucky continues to moan as he does as you hoped, he came hard and deep inside you. When you’ve both finally come down from the high, it’s silent, and even though you’d both long forgotten you were on a set with multiple people watching you two, they were also quiet, completely taken back by the performance.

Incoherent cries come out of each of you, when Bucky agonizingly pulls his cock out. For the most part you’re able to keep him inside, but he’d proven to come so much some of it seeps out and runs down in streak fashion along your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

In your last act, as your gazes meet each other again, your fingers dip inside your soaked cunt and coat them. Hypnotized by you, Bucky watches as you greedily suck off his essence from your digits, and you evoke a small hum in his favor at the taste bursting in your mouth.  

Bucky bites at his bottom lip, trying to not lose it again. When your hand disappears, he tenderly wipes the matted hair away from your face, smoothing your hair back before pulling your body close again, swooping your lips for a deep kiss.

“Shit, you’re good,” he admits, when he pulls away, effectively breaking the blissful silence. You bust out in a fit of giggles beside him and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but it’s not something you’re supposed to feel towards your co-star, especially in the porn industry.    

He smiles at you, basking in your afterglow and all he knows is that he wants to feel this high with you over and over, so he decides to risk it all, “I hope this doesn’t ruin the moment, but can I take you out some time?”

You try your best to read him, wondering if he was just still in the heat of the moment. Either he’s really good or he’s being sincere, you can’t tell and you’re hoping you’re not overthinking it, but his eyes, this whole time, were what gave him away. He performed with them and he definitely spoke through them.

Before you could accept and give him a definite answer, you’re both brought back to reality, “we’re still rolling here!” Wanda reminds.

A/N: Thank the pain meds for this. I think I effectively used up my vacation days the right way, won’t you agree? Likes, reblogs and comments/emojis are appreciated! 

[teawaffles]

It Happened One Night: Chapter 3

Two days later. This was the evening the wedding celebration would be held.

After seeing John off, Sherlock stayed in his room on the first floor, reading a newspaper he’d ordered.

Before he had left, John tried to invite Sherlock along, saying they may as well go together; but Sherlock excused himself by pointing out how it’d be troubling to leave Miss Hudson all alone in the house at night, and so he should stay behind. John couldn’t very well object after Sherlock brought her into this, so after a bit of grumbling, he reluctantly headed down to the village.

It was currently approaching midnight. The party would probably be ending right about now, and John should be on his way back.

Outside, the rain was falling in torrents. It had been sunny all day, but further into the night, the weather had taken a turn for the worse. There didn’t seem to be any strong winds, but occasionally, the raindrops lashed against the window. John would probably be covered in mud when he returned — a pitiful sight, Sherlock reflected to himself.

Resolving to treat him to something when they returned to London, Sherlock turned his attention back to the paper. As he remembered the motley and ever-changing nature of London, he bemoaned the ennui of these countryside days once again.

“More art thefts occur in London. From multiple eyewitness accounts, the Yard has surmised that the culprit fled to the west.”

An article suddenly caught his eye.

“Fled to the west”. The Cotswolds were also to the west of London.

“……No way.”

He shook his head, banishing the thought that had formed in his mind.

——However, it was times like these when the strangest premonitions came true.

As dawn approached, and the rain had begun to ease up, John returned in a panic.

“There’s trouble, Sherlock!”

As soon as he arrived at the mansion, John ran to Sherlock’s room and shook awake the man who’d fallen asleep in his chair. Sherlock rubbed his bleary eyes.

“What happened? Did you forget some of your tales?”

“That’s not it! A theft has occurred at the party! Look, there was a small shed near the inn, right? A painting was in there, and it got stolen!”

Right as John said that, Sherlock bolted upright and prepared to leave.

Those quick movements elicited a gasp of admiration from John.

“Did you have a feeling something would happen? I’d expected no less.”

“That’s not too far from the truth. Well then, let’s go. Tell me the details along the way.”

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

The rain had stopped when they left the house, and the dark clouds that blanketed the heavens had already drifted far away.

The sky was tinged with the glow of dawn, and the hills were but black shadows in the distance. Amidst the contrast of the two, the two men hurried towards the village.

Meanwhile, John summarised the events that had transpired.

The innkeeper — it seemed his name was Roy — had organised the wedding party for his daughter Patti and her fiancé Daldry. [1] Around twenty of his acquaintances had been invited, and perhaps he’d been forcibly invited like John, but for some reason, the artist Rheos was also there.

During the party, John recounted to the crowd some of the more difficult cases Sherlock had solved. It wasn’t a fantastic attempt, but it hadn’t been dreadful either; once he’d finished, his role for the night was complete. Everyone had been in a welcoming mood, and he enjoyed the food and conversation after that. Rheos had also been unexpectedly open with the guests.

“Isn’t that great? I was sure you’d tell some needless jokes that would fall flat.”

“I’m the storyteller you personally endorsed, after all. I managed to reach the end without spoiling the mood.”

Sherlock spoke as if it had been someone else’s problem, and John responded with a touch of sarcasm.

The incident occurred around one hour after that.

As night fell, the rain had turned into a downpour. Some guests had to leave regardless, but more than half of them chose to wait until the storm ended. In the heat of the excitement, some of them had gotten carried away and frolicked in the rain, and somehow Rheos had joined in as well. He’d seemed like a shy person: John distinctly remembered his surprise when he saw that happy-go-lucky side of Rheos.

Amidst all that, Patti’s fiancé Daldry had heard that the nearby shed housed some famous artists’ paintings. It seemed that this piqued his interest, and he headed to the shed alone. There, he discovered that one of the paintings had gone missing.

“……Well, it’s a bit rough, but that’s the gist of what happened.”

Sherlock hummed as he nodded.

“By the way, what were you doing before the incident occurred?”

“While everyone else was partying away, I was just sitting in the corner.”

“I see. And what did everyone do after that?”

Sherlock stared ahead as he spoke, and John also fixed his gaze on the road as he replied.

“For the time being, I’ve asked the guests to remain at the inn. The innkeeper’s contacting the police, and those who left early.”

“Good work. You acted fast; it’s a big help.”

“You’re welcome.”

Finally, the two men arrived at the village inn. Inside, the guests had been on edge as they awaited the detective and his assistant’s arrival.

“Mr Holmes!”

Suddenly, a scrawny young man — Rheos — dashed over to Sherlock.

“Please, you must find my painting quickly! You’re a famous detective, aren’t you?”

Perhaps it was because he was the victim of this case, but Rheos looked even paler than before: his pasty complexion was almost like that of a corpse. He was as timid as he’d looked, and it showed from his panic. In addition, for some reason, his clothes had been horribly stained with mud.

“Hey, please calm down. Worrying isn’t going to bring back your painting any faster.”

Rheos had worked himself into a panic, but in response, Sherlock took on an exceedingly calm attitude. His gaze then landed on the innkeeper at the back of the pub.

“Excuse me. How long until the police arrive?”

“They’re coming from the next village over, so it’ll take a while.”

“Got it. Well then, let’s do some simple interviews. Who was the the first to discover the crime?”

Sherlock promptly began his detective work. Perhaps he wanted to complete the investigation before the police trampled all over the crime scene.

A tall man raised his hand.

“It was me. I’m Daldry, Patti’s fiancé.”

“So you’re Daldry. How did you discover that the painting was missing?”

Sherlock posed his question upfront, and Daldry responded with clarity.

“Last night…… Or today, to be precise, I heard that there was an expensive painting in that shed, and it drew my interest. Art appreciation is a hobby of mine, and I think I was also a little too drunk at the time: I normally wouldn’t do such a thing, but I left the inn, and walked through the storm to the shed.”

Daldry looked around the room, as if to judge the reactions of the people around him, and then continued.

“The shed door wasn’t locked, which I thought it was a little unsafe. Then when I looked inside, I saw two easels. One held a painting that seemed to be unfinished, and I understood it to be Rheos’ work. But the easel in front of that one had nothing on it, which I thought was strange: if he was referencing another piece, then there should be a painting there. So I went back to the inn to look for Rheos, since he’s the one who borrowed the shed.”

Rheos cut in. “When I saw Mr Daldry enter the shed, I wondered what was going on, so I went after him.”

But Daldry seemed not to mind as he continued.

“I think I must’ve crossed paths with him on my way back to the inn. About a minute after I returned here, I heard a scream. We all went to the shed to find out what happened, and I saw Rheos fallen on the floor in front of the easel. That’s pretty much how I discovered the incident.”

Sherlock placed a hand under his chin as he summarised the events.

“So you’re saying that the painting was already stolen when you first entered the shed.”

“Yes; and by the way, since the party began, no one else but me went into the shed.”

Then Sherlock threw a question to Rheos.

“When did you last see the painting?”

Rheos calmed down a little.

“Um…… Right before the party began.”

“So, it was probably stolen in the middle of the party.”

Sherlock turned back to Daldry.

“John told me that there were others who went out into the rain, yes?”

“Yeah, since it was a celebration: everyone was excited beyond their years, myself included, and there were quite a few people going in and out of the building.”

Perhaps it’d been like how children get excited when a storm comes. At Daldry’s words, among the crowd, they could see people hiding their faces in embarrassment — Rheos included.

It seemed the young man was feeling awkward after remembering how he’d let himself go when he’d been tipsy. At that, John broke into a little smile, but Sherlock gazed at them with indifference.

“In that case, back then, who didn’t go outside?”

Around ten people raised their hands this time, including the innkeeper Roy.

“I was chatting with Patti and some friends,” Roy said, and a woman beside him spoke up as well.

“That’s right. I was talking with my friend Amy throughout. My father was also speaking with his friends in the vicinity. Then, we heard a loud commotion outside. Even though the atmosphere was so lively, and we were having a great time…… this just had to happen.”

“I see. So you’re Patti. I’ve got it, thank you.”

Sherlock seemed to have picked up something from her account. He looked out the window of the pub, towards the shed. Even from this distance, he could see that the bare earth had turned to mud from the rain, and the footprints of many people coming and going were clearly visible.

He turned back to Daldry.

“When you went to the shed, did you see anyone’s footprints on the ground?”

Daldry clasped his hands together, and made a troubled expression.

“About that…… I’m not really sure. It was pretty dim, and the ground was dark, so I didn’t get a good look.”

“Fair enough.”

Sherlock didn’t seem particularly disappointed, and fell silent.

An uncomfortable hush descended upon the room.

The theft could’ve been the work of an outsider. But equally, the criminal could also be hiding among the party guests. In fact, since the criminal had known there was a valuable painting in the shed, the latter was more likely. From Sherlock’s questions, at least, one could tell he was pursuing that line of thought.

It seemed the guests had caught on to that as well: they looked at one another, and no one said a word. Perhaps some of them were close friends who wanted to stick up for each other, yet no one stood up to proclaim their innocence — in all likelihood, nobody could dismiss the suspicion that the culprit was among them.

This party had been meant as a celebration of joy, yet everyone could sense the urgency permeating the room. Sherlock beckoned to his partner.

“John, let’s take a look at the crime scene. Everyone else, please wait here for now.”

He directed the guests in his usual tone of voice. Then, he and John headed to the shed.

The little hut stood alone, surrounded on all sides by bare earth. As they walked across the muddy ground, John spoke up.

“Sherlock, have you deduced anything so far?”

“Sorry to say but, I don’t have any leads yet.”

Sherlock groaned as he studied the feel of the mud beneath his feet.

“If just about everyone had stayed inside the building, then it would’ve been obvious when anyone ventured outside. But a good number of them were carousing in the rain, so it’s become harder to narrow down just who went to the shed.”

“True, and there were others who already went home — the list of potential suspects is pretty long. However, can’t we cross off those who stayed inside throughout, like Mr Roy and Miss Patti?”

“Certainly, if we can confirm that they didn’t just agree on the same story beforehand, then we can clear them of suspicion at this point. Still, they must have left the scene at least once or twice.”

“But if they went out into the rain, wouldn’t their clothes and shoes be dirty?”

“They could say that they went outside after the incident occurred to see what was going on, and got them dirty that way — it doesn’t prove anything.”

“I-I see…… In other words, just as you said, there’s a fair chance that any of them could’ve stolen the painting.”

“Exactly. But it’s pretty difficult to see the entrance to the shed from the pub, so I was hoping that someone had noticed a suspicious person somewhere……”

“Only Rheos said that he had seen Mr Daldry heading to the shed.”

“Did anything catch your eye back then?”

At Sherlock’s question, John scratched his head in anguish.

“Sorry. I was tired from all that storytelling, so I wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. To be honest, I can’t be sure that Mr Roy and the others had definitely stayed inside throughout.”

“Then, did you see Rheos join the crowd outside?”

“That, too — I did glance at the entrance of the inn at some point, and I saw him partying outside for a split second, but that’s it.”

“Alright, I got it. But you don’t have to worry about remembering all the details, y’know. It’s not like anyone could’ve predicted that something like this was going to happen.”

“Thanks.”

John gave him a small smile in return.

However, in the end, they had no proper eyewitness accounts. All they knew for certain was that they had made no progress in their inquiry thus far, and it was like this that the two men arrived in front of the shed.

Footnotes:

[1] Daldry is a rare surname (in the book it’s written as ダルドリー), but it is a real one!

[365days365movies]

February 24, 2021: Annie Hall (1977) (Part 1)

Well...Woody Allen.

I, uh...OK, look, I could get into the whole Woody Allen thing, but INSTEAD of me doing that, I’ll just say this: look into it. Because there is a LOT on this subject, and it’s controversial as HELL. At the end of the day, I’ll recommend this upcoming series on HBO, and just recommend that you look into it.

Because, uh...yeah, it’s not great. That’s all I’m gonna say, because I need to educate myself on it more as well. Instead, let’s talk for a few seconds about divorcing the art from the artist. But ONLY for a few seconds.

I understand why some of you might be surprised I’m doing this one. Because, again...Woody Allen. But, yeah, I always try to do my best to divorce the art from the artist. Because some people suck, but they still make nice things, or at the very least, things that should be open to interpretation and appreciation.

“Superfreak” is a classic song of 1981, and everybody’s heard at least some of it, but Rick James fuckin’ kidnapped two women and kept them in his basement, WHERE HE TORTURED THEM. Edgar Degas made beautiful paintings of ballet dancers, and was also A MASSIVE ANTI-SEMITE. And before he was (RIGHTFULLY AND JUSTIFIABLY) outed as a roofie-ing piece-o-shit...I grew up with - and genuinely enjoyed - this guy’s comedy.

And you can judge me for this, but...I still think his stand-up was and is genuinely funny, and I still appreciate the cultural impact that The Cosby Show had on society’s perception of African-American families, divorced from the stereotype of the ghetto. Fact of the matter is, works themselves deserve to be separated from the artist who made them. That’s my philosophy, and I’m sticking with it Entirely fine to disagree with me, by the way, I get it.

But in that spirit, I’m watching Annie Hall, despite its creators likely transgressions. After all, this is technically his magnum opus, and it’s a good look into the man himself. And so, with that in mind: Annie Hall! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) is talking directly to us about his outlook on life, and his view on the potential future. He tells half of a joke, then an amusing anecdote, and a bit more until telling us that he’s broke up with Annie, and he’s still thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. He goes back to the beginning, which is punctuated with flashbacks.

He grew up in Brooklyn in World War II, and a young Alvy (Jonathan Munk) is with his mother (Joan Newman) at the doctor’s. He’s depressed after learning that the universe will one day end after a period of expansion, and is having his first real existential crisis. I had mine around the same age, actually, went I learned that the Earth will one day get swallowed by the sun. And THEN came the realization that I’d be dead by that point. AND THEN came the realization that I’d die one day, and that was a WHOLE NEW crisis to...anyway.

He grew up under the Coney Island rollercoaster according to him (although his analyst says that he exaggerates), and that’s what he blames for his “nervous personality. He’s also got an active imagination, often blurring fantasy and reality. His Dad ran the bumper cars on Coney Island (a place that I’ve never been, but desperately want to go).

He continues on talking about his former schoolmates, and not really that well. While in class, young Alvy kisses a...little girl...ahem. And then, when reprimanded by the teacher, current Alvy notes that he was always...like that...and he also says this to the little girl, and they talk about Freud’s latency period, and Alvy said he never...had...one...that’s uh...that’s fuckin’ SOMETHING, now isn’t it?

OK, well, shoving that forcefully aside as hard as I can, Alvy wonders aloud on where his classmates now, and one of them says this:

This also involves a little girl saying she’s “into leather,” which is...awkward as FUCK, but WE’RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON. Alvy recounts his paranoia, and was so even after he became a famous comedian (which we say after a VERY good joke about qualifying for the army as a hostage). He speaks to a friend, Rob (Tony Roberts) about potential anti-Semitism from a person in a passersby meeting, then heads to meet Annie.

Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) arrives at a movie theater, late and in a bad mood. The two are late to their intended film, argue briefly, then head to another film that they’ve already seen, The Sorrow and the Pity. In line, they’re in front of a man loudly soliloquizing on film, much to Alvy’s annoyance.

Annie and Alvy continue to argue a bit, while Alvy openly berates the casual film critic. In the middle, he talks to the audience about it, only to be followed by the crtiic himself, who also acknowledges the audience! Huh! Anyway, he’s a professor at Columbia, and starts continuing his line speech, this time on the work of Marshall McLuhan, one of the most important early media theorists ever. And then, Alvy brings out Marshall McLuhan (Marshall McLuhan) to debate him on it, only for Alvy to turn to the audience and wish aloud that life could really be like this!

I’m beginning to understand why people like this film. It’s metacontextual before metacontextuality was really a thing in film. It’s a fourth-wall breaking movie in some fantastic ways. But will it still hold its muster after breaking the fourth wall’s become so commonplace? we’ll see, I guess.

After a showing of the film, the two return home, and Alvy tries to initiate sex. But Annie’s not really into it at the moment, and Alvy complains that they used to have sex all the time, and it’s been a while since. So, I guess that retroactively awkward scene at the school was meant to foreshadow Alvy’s high libido, that will probably cause some conflict in the film. Anyway, Annie notes that Alvy once went through something similar with Allison, his first wife. Who’s Allison? Flashback!

Allison Portchnik (Carol Kane) is a graduate student in political science, working for a campaign that Alvy’s about to perform for. He’s nervous, as he’s going on after another comedian. She comforts him by saying that she thought he was cute, and he does well. But we flash-forward to a night after they’re married, shortly after the death of JFK, which Alvy’s obsessing over, entertaining various conspiracy theories.

However, Allison rightly points out that his obsession is simply a way for him to avoid having sex with her, which mirrors the present-day situation him him and Annie. Flash forward TO Alvy and Annie, and there are just lobsters...everywhere, on the floor in their kitchen. After that commotion, they talk about Annie’s past romances.

And by talk about, I mean they LITERALLY WALK THROUGH her memories. And I gotta say...I fuckin’ love this method of storytelling. One of her previous boyfriends is an actor (John Glover), and his over-dramatic prose sickens Alvy. We see a second marriage of Alvy’s to New Yorker writer Robin (Janet Margolin), who’s dragged him to a stuffy high society party of intellectuals that he has no interest in going to. Same her, Alvy. I bet the caviar’s canned.

He tries to initiate sex with her - in the middle of the party, mind you - and she turns him down. later, when they get to it in their apartment, she’s unable to, uh...reach satisfaction. From there, we flash-forward after that marriage ends to a tennis match with Rob, where he meets one of his mutual friends: Annie Hall.

And for the record, Annie’s pretty obviously got a crush on him, and she’s adorable as fuck. Also, that outfit, real talk...that outfit rules. She offers to give Alvy a list, during which he’s quite worried about her driving, but the two still get along well enough. Annie’s an amateur photographer, during a time period where photography is considered a relatively new art form. The two go to her apartment, and share familial anecdotes and personal stories about themselves. And as they talk, we also see a set of subtitles on top of each of them that betray their inner feelings and thoughts.

I do genuinely like the stylings of the movie, goddamn. This conversation leads to Alvy asking her out on a date, although they end up scheduling it after Annie auditions at a nightclub as a singer. And while it doesn’t go great, Alvy tells her she was fantastic, and they share a kiss before they head to dinner. They head to her place afterwards, and we cut to later that night, post-coitus.

And then, we get a flash-forward back to the next day, where the two are at a bookstore, and Alvy speaks on his personal philosophy of life.

I'm obsessed with uh, with death, I think. Big - big subject with me, yeah. I have a very pessimistic view of life. You should know this about me if we're gonna go out. You know, I - I feel that life is - is divided up into the horrible and the miserable. Those are the two categories, you know. The - the horrible would be like, um, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. You know, and the miserable is everyone else. That's - that's - so - so - when you go through life - you should be thankful that you're miserable because you're very lucky to be miserable.

Iiiiinteresting.

Shortly into their relationship, they admit they’re in love (or “lurve”, as Alvy says). She moves in with Alvy, which he initially isn’t the biggest fan of, having been burned in two previous marriages And already, their relationship is showing a few bumps. Alvy’s also always trying to push her to take college classes, while she uses mariuana whenever they have sex, which Alvy doesn’t agree with.

But as they have sex one night, without the marijuana at Alvy’s urging, Annie’s mind wanders - LITERALLY.

This film...this film has a VERY unique style of visual storytelling, and I am HERE for it! Seriously, I genuinely love this method of storytelling and comedy, it’s extremely engaging to me.

Soon enough, Alvy gets an interview to write for a talk show host, which he ABSOLUTELY despises. But in doing so, he decides to go into stand-up for himself, and is actually quite successful at it! But before we get to that, we’re at the halfway point! See you in Part 2!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What we lost in the ashes

Warnings: noncon sex (oral, m&f, intercourse)

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: At her weekly grief counseling groups, the reader finds herself seeking support in strangers. Even the famous Steve Rogers. But is there more to his compassion than meets the eye?

Note: Okay so this is a one shot but it’s hella long (8800+ words). To anyone who has the energy, thank you for reading. I was gonna split it up but it just wasn’t making sense and I like it altogether. But without further ado...

Please let me know what you think in a reblog/reply! <3 please and thank you.

You walked out of the interview and cringed into your hands. Fuck. You were so worked up you fumbled over nearly every word. Even as you breathed and fought to steady yourself, it all tumbled out like water over the falls. 

Two months and only three interviews. More than a dozen rejection emails, too. All of it piled up and left you senseless as you sat across from the interviewer. You already knew you didn't get the job. Another fuck up.

You checked your phone as you dragged your feet across the pavement. Well, the one positive was you might actually make it to your group meeting. You'd have to go straight there but you didn't relish the thought of being alone for the rest of the night.

Most days were spent alone since the snap. Since half of New York and the world disappeared. That was a year ago but the city still felt so empty. 

Still, even an apocalyptic event could not lower the cost of living in New York. And without a job for two months, your rent looked even higher.

It was just past the hour when you got off the subway. You took the stairs two at a time and stumbled out onto the street. You held your purse to your hip and your thin folder of resumes to your chest. You jogged past fellow pedestrians and stopped out of breath before the centre.

Every Wednesday and Saturday. Most didn't make both meetings. They found other ways to cope. Other than listening; talking. The bars and strip clubs were the most successful businesses since the snap. Perhaps you should look into those.

You ducked through and your heels clicked on the floor. You rushed up to the second floor and did your best to tiptoe to the door. It was still open for latecomers. At the twenty minute mark, it would close.

As you came up, the stopper was kicked and you barely caught the door before it shut. A single voice filled the large space. Marnie was telling her story again. She was of the few who enjoyed talking.

"Wait," You whispered and dashed through the door. Steve looked down at you as you slipped through and you could see the surprise and disappointment in his eyes. He hated tardiness.

"Nice of you to show up," He kept his voice low.

*Sorry," You said and he waved you ahead of him. 

"Grab a seat," He pointed to the folding chairs against the far wall and parted to retake his own among the circle.

You took a chair and carried it to the group. You set your stuff down on the floor and unfolded it over it. You sat and crossed your legs as you ignored the eyes of others and listened to Marni recounting the meal she made for her husband the day he turned to ash.

When she finished, Steve asked a few questions and tried to open the floor up to a discussion. That never really worked. He did most of the talking. The great Captain America was the spearhead of these meetings. 

Dozens of these meetings were funded everyday by the Stark corporation as part of the Avengers recovery program. Yours had been the first: informal and arranged via Craigslist. A group of confused mourners left behind. 

Then Steve expanded, reached out to others, and as time passed, more were willing to meet. There was a circle almost every night but you kept to your usual group. You knew each other, tolerated each other.

"Well, you guys are a talkative bunch tonight," Steve chided as he crossed his arms. "Dennis?" The man shook his head and Steve sighed. "How about you?" He looked to you, "What had you running behind?"

You pushed your shoulders back and looked around the circle. You were the only one who had never told their story. You tried once. Half a sentence before you walked out. But you liked listening and talking about others' experiences, not your own.

"I had an interview," You answered curtly. "Don't think it went very well though."

Steve nodded and dropped his arms. "How long has it been? A month?"

"Two," You corrected him. "And barely as many prospects."

"It's tough these days. Every day another business closes its door but we have to remember that just as many have a dozen desks empty and waiting. It just takes patience." He smiled. "There might be less of us now but it means that there's more for us too. In a way, the world's gotten so much bigger. Those of us left behind, we gotta make the most of what was left to us."

You swallowed your resent. You didn't need his empty encouragements. The man lived on Stark dollar and even in such a sad state, the corporation was profiting. And this Avenger, this hero, was still playing at saving the world one broken New Yorker at a time.

"So, any other interviews?" He asked.

You shook your head. You were done talking. He pressed his lips together as you dropped your eyes to your lap. 

"Alright, then, Sal?" He cleared his throat.

"I went to the pound the other day," Sal began. He lost his dog in the snap. His husband too. "There was this dog there. Name was Lucky. Shepherd mix with floppy ears... I took him home."

"Wow, Sal, that's great." Steve said. "You know, that's real progress. What made you take Lucky home?"

"I'm not sure, I just looked at him and I knew." Sal sniffed and his chair creaked. "I'm tired of being lonely."

You kept your chin down as you listened. You played with the cuff of your brown tweed jacket. Perhaps the night would've been better alone. You looked up as you sensed movement. 

Steve watched as you picked at the thick thread hanging from your sleeve. You stopped and uncrossed your legs and straightened in your chair. He smiled as you met his gaze and you turned to focus on Sal as he spoke. You could distract yourself from the negative in your bank account with the woes of others. It was always easier to dwell on problems not your own.

-

At the end of the meeting, everyone gathered around the table for the usual stale coffee and medley of snacks. You munched on the veggies and dip and took a bottle of water. You didn’t have much to eat at home and these meetings became a chance to fill up. You tossed your plate and waited for the others to filter out.

You decided to help clean up since you were late. You started to fold the chairs and replace them against the wall. The last was scooped up before you could grab it and Steve swiftly folded it and held it at his side. 

“So…”

“Sorry I was late. Didn’t think I’d make it after the interview but...figured I’d try.” You shrugged.

“I’m glad you came, at least. That’s better than not.” He smiled. He carried the chair past you and put it with the rest. “Thanks. You don’t have to stay and help.”

“I know, but I should. I know you hate it when we’re late.”

“Oh?” The lines along his forehead deepened.

“That’s how,” You pointed to him. “The look.”

He chuckled and followed you to the table and began to clear the used paper plates and cups. You closed up the uneaten food and stacked the containers. You worked in silence.

“What was the interview for?” He asked suddenly.

“Um, oh, just data entry. But I kinda fucked that up.” You grumbled as he placed the containers on a cart.

“How so?” 

“I just...couldn’t think. Or speak. I got three rejections this morning. Three. You think with all these people gone, the employment rate would sky rocket.” You helped him fold the table and set it with the chairs.

“And there’s no one to help? No one left?” He asked carefully.

“All the friends that didn’t disappear left the city.”

“And family?” He ventured.

You shook your head and looked away. You cleared your throat and retrieved your purse and folder from where you’d left them. 

“Two months, eh? How are you...managing?” He redirected and you were thankful.

“Barely.” You shook your head and hooked your purse over your shoulder. “But I’ll have to figure it out. You...don’t have to worry about me.”

“I do.” He assured you. “This is a support group, right? We support each other here.”

You gripped the folder and stayed silent. He turned and grabbed a container from the cart. The last of the veggie tray. He opened it and added a few sandwiches from the one beneath.

“Here. Take em. Better than them going to the bin.” He held out the tupperware.

“I...can’t.” You shook your head.

“You can and you will.” He asserted and stepped closer. He nudged the folder with the container. 

“I--”

“It’s not charity. It’s human decency. Take it.” He insisted. “Just bring the container back on Saturday, okay?”

“Alright,” You relented and accepted the food. “Th-thank you.”

“Not at all,” He reached into his back pocket and opened his wallet. You watched him, confused and mortified. He pulled out a small rectangle and offered the card between two fingers. “You need anything, to talk, or some help, you should give me a call.”

“Steve, I don’t think--”

“Look, you’re the only one who didn’t take a card. Sal’s been sending me pictures of his dog since he got him and Marnie shares recipes twice a day. You wouldn’t guess it but Dennis loves memes and Clara needs a designated driver more often than not. I’m here to help. It’s the least I can do.” He set the card on top of the container. 

“Why?” You asked. “Why do you do this?”

“Because I’m selfish.” He said. “I don’t like being alone.”

You stared at the card and sighed. “Fair enough...I should go, I guess.”

“Yeah, uh, you need a ride?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You assured him. “Besides, you’ve done enough.”

-

You kept the card in your purse but never took it out. You brought the empty container to Saturday’s meeting. Steve filled it again at the end and forced it into your hands. You protested but he was a hard man to deny. He asked about your job hunt and if you needed anything else. You assured him you were fine.

You left with your tupperware of pity food and returned to your walk-up. It was too big for just you anyway. You should just give notice and downgrade to one of the bachelor’s downtown. That felt wrong though. Like forgetting. Like running away.

You shoved the leftovers in the fridge and slept on the couch. You hadn’t slept upstairs in months. You couldn’t. Your bed was so cold; so unwelcoming. The top floor was empty and full of ghosts. Memories whispering in your ear.

Another meeting on Wednesday. The third of the month and only half the rent paid from the last of your savings. You didn’t listen and as usual, you didn’t talk. You were the first to leave as you resigned to say goodbye to your home. 

A notice greeted you. Pay your rent in full by the tenth of the month or eviction proceedings would go forward. You ripped it off the door and retreated inside. It was the first time you were close to crying. The last year had been a numb blur. 

You didn’t though. You wouldn’t. Not over a townhouse. That was nothing. You checked your phone and scrolled through your contacts. None of them still in the city, most of them not even on the planet. You stared at your wallpaper and hugged the phone to your chest.

You pulled your purse across the sofa and dug inside. It was just past nine. He’d still be packing up. You should’ve stayed to help. You took the card out from the zippered pocket and tapped it against your screen. Your finger moved slowly and the dial tone scared you. You waited.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice rose from the speaker. You gulped. “Hello?”

“Hey Steve, it’s...me,” You said awkwardly. “Sorry I didn’t stay to help.”

“It’s all good,” He replied after a pause. “I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah, I…” You sniffed and swallowed your words.

“You okay?” He filled the silence.

“Yeah...I just...wanted to apologize.” You lied.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asked again.

“...No. I’m getting evicted. I didn’t...I don’t have anyone else to call so...I called you.”

“I’m almost done here. I can stop by if you need company or…?” He offered.

You considered. You chewed your nail. You only wanted to talk but you weren’t so good at that anymore. It wouldn’t hurt to have company...as long as he stayed downstairs. It had only been you.

“Do you like beer?” He asked suddenly. 

“Yeah, I don’t mind it. I...Steve, you really don’t have to.” You rubbed your forehead and huffed. “I’ll be okay.”

“But you’re not right now. So let me just make sure you will be, alright?”

“Fine,” You relented. “I’ll...text you the address.”

“Great,” He chimed. “I shouldn’t be long. See ya soon.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You hung up and dropped the phone. Why had you done that?

Half an hour later, there was a knock at the door. You were pacing the foyer when it filled the empty space. You stopped short and marched to the door. You took a breath and opened it. Steve smiled as he held up a six pack of cans.

“Hey, kinda worried you might fall asleep on me,” He greeted.

“No, I don’t really--Come in.” You stepped back to let him through. “Just in there.” You pointed to the living room. “Sorry, I don’t have much to offer.”

“That’s fine. There’s leftovers in the car if you’re peckish.” He offered as he stepped through. He shed his jacket and folded it over the arm of the sofa.

“Not very hungry.” You watched him sit on the sofa. The pillow and blanket were neatly stacked on the chair. “Didn’t take you as a beer person. Figured it wouldn’t really...appeal to your sensitivities.”

“Yeah, doesn’t really give me a buzz but it’s more a nostalgic thing, you know?” His eyes glided across the eviction notice on your coffee table and he slipped a can from the six pack. “Here.”

“Uh, thanks,” You took it tentatively and cracked it as he grabbed one of his own. “I...you didn’t have to come. I feel bad.”

“Don’t. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.” He assured you. “Well, you gonna sit or hover around me like a bird all night?”

“Sorry,” You neared and sat on the cushion next to him. You took a gulp and winced at the grainy alcohol. You preferred wine.

“You seemed...off at the meeting. I was worried.” He said. “So, how bad is it?”

You stared at him. You set down your beer and swiped the notice off the table. You crumpled it up and tossed it. “Well, I can’t afford my rent which means I can’t afford first and last for even a one-room shithole, so...a couple weeks from homelessness.”

He took a drink and thought. He leaned an elbow on his knee and looked around. “Pity. It’s a nice place.”

“Yeah. A lot of room for one person though.” You grumbled. “Figure I’ll go to the shelter till I can get a job and--”

“How much?” He asked abruptly. You tilted your head and flinched. “What?”

“How much is the rent?”

“Steve, no. I don’t need this place. I should’ve gotten rid of it months ago--”

“The support program offers financial support. I can put your name in. A few of the others have already taken advantage of it. Sal’s getting his first vet visit for Lucky covered and Marnie...Well, if you ever looked at any of the literature I put out, you’d know all this.” 

“Really, I...didn’t even think of that. I…” You sat back gripped your head. “Shit. Okay, yeah, put my name in. I...Steve, thank you.”

“No problem. It’s what the group is for. I just need your rent statement and I can fill out all the rest. Real easy process.” He assured.

“Oh yeah,” You stood. “Let me just hunt it down.”

You went to the kitchen and stirred around in your drawer of bills. You looked over as Steve stood and sipped from his beer. He looked around at the empty shelves and vacant walls. He paced the room and sat back down as you found the right statement. You approached as he dug around in the couch and placed the paper on the table in front of him.

“There’s something…” He grunted and pulled out his hand. He gripped a small doll with messy blonde hair. Long lost in the depths of your sofa. He looked at it curiously. It was the type you got in Happy Meals. “Uh, here.” 

He handed you the Barbie and you took it shakily. “Statement’s there,” You said quietly and turned away. 

You shoved the doll under the counter and sat back down. You took a deep swig from the beer. Your phone vibrated on the table as Steve took the bill and folded it into his jacket pocket. He looked over as your phone buzzed and you scooped it up. You swiped away the notification and locked it quickly. It was too late; he’d seen it.

He nodded and clasped his hands together as he thought. You emptied the can and clinked it back on the table.

“You had a daughter?” He asked. You nodded and took another beer from the pack. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” You opened the beer and drank again. “Not your problem.”

He was quiet for a moment. He finished his beer and sighed. “Why do you come to group if you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Because it makes it easier. It’s a distraction. A reassurance that I’m not the only one.” You shrugged. “I told you, this place is too big for just me.”

His blue eyes clung to you as you avoided looking at him. You sipped from the metal rim and held in a belch. “Thanks for the beer but...you don’t have to stay.” You stood and gathered the empty cans. “Let me know about the financial program. I have till the tenth to figure it out.”

“Will do,” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I’m good.” You assured him. “Really. You’ve done too much already.”

“Right. Have a good one.” He pulled on his jacket and backed away.

“Don’t forget the beer.” You made to grab it and he shook his head. 

“Keep it.” He waved you off. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Yeah, sure.” You followed him to the door. “Thanks again.”

-

Steve called you on Monday to tell you the good news. You were approved for two months rent. The payment was completed directly and as always your receipt arrived in your inbox. It was a relief. And two interviews in one week! Things were starting to look up.

And then you got another call. You got a job and your training started on Wednesday. You messaged Steve the good news and thanked him for his help. You also broke the news that you wouldn’t me MIA at the meeting that night. 

It was a simple job; proofreading. Enough to pay the bills. Training would be for a week and then you’d be in the swing of things. Soon enough, Saturday’s meeting swung by and Steve was all too happy to congratulate you. That night, you talked about your new job. You still didn’t mention her though.

As had become your habit, you stayed to put everything away. Steve offered some leftovers and you assured him you were able to afford your groceries now. You took them anyway; lunch for Monday. You folded the table and looked around the empty room.

“So, you wanna celebrate?” He asked.

“Hmm?” You buttoned your coat. The fall air was growing brisker. Winter was just around the corner. Another Christmas alone.

“The job. A drink? Maybe a proper dinner?”

“Right now?” You wondered.

“Sure, why not? You don’t work tomorrow, right?”

“No,” You admitted. “You don’t have to--”

“I hate it when you say that. You ever think I want to?” He smiled.

“My treat,” You insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Alright. You don’t have to twist my arm,” He accepted. “There’s a place just down the street.”

“Sure.” You smiled. You didn’t do a lot of that.

-

It was a small place. Homey, even. There were board games on shelves along the wall and the low coffee tables were lined by cushy sofas and chairs. They served cocktails, both hot and cold, and the food was rustic but uptown.

You got a salad and an alcoholic latte. You’d regret the espresso later. Steve got a stout and corned beef sandwich with fries. You played crazy eights until he admitted ultimate defeat. You laughed and ordered a second round.

“So, how’s the job so far?” He asked.

“Training still but it’s nice. Everyone’s friendly.” You replied. 

“That’s good. Always good to work with people you like.”

“Uh, yeah. I...can I ask you something?” You ventured.

“Sure. You don’t ask much.” He sipped from his pint and waited.

“I never really thought of it but...you still do the whole Captain thing or is it just the groups now?”

“Well...if they really need me, I’ll pick the shield up again but for now, I guess I’m just trying to live.” He rubbed his temple. “Didn’t do a lot of that before all this.”

You nodded. You rubbed your palm with your thumb as you thought. “How do you start over? Can you? I don’t think...I can.”

“You don’t. You carry on.” He said solemnly. “Not really a choice there.”

“Yeah,” You took a drink and wiped the foam from your lips. “I guess you’re right.”

“Can I ask you something now?” He leaned forward as his fingers tapped along the edge of the coffee table.

“I suppose,” You cupped your mug between your palms.

“Do you think you’ll ever talk about her?” His voice was quiet, gentle. “Cause I think you should.”

“Jesus, Steve, this isn’t a support group.” You hissed. Your hair stood on end and you set your mug down. 

“Just a question.” He raised his hand defensively. “That’s all.”

“I’m sorry, I...For once, I wasn’t thinking about her and...I don’t know.” You sat back and folded your hands together on your lap.

“It’s okay. I get it.” He said. “So...if this isn’t a support group, what is it?”

You looked at him. You felt as if you’d been slapped. That was a good question and you had no answer.

“Maybe...it was a mistake,” You stood and grabbed your purse. 

“What? Wait.” He rose as you took your jacket from the back of the couch. “No, don’t. It was only a question.”

“Look, Steve, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. You’re great for the group and all but...that’s all this is.” You pulled on the faded tweed and buttoned it clumsily. “This isn’t the world to get attached in. This was a thank you, that’s it. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.”

You spun and headed to the counter. You paid the bill as Steve hovered behind you. You turned back and he neared. 

“I wasn’t trying to push you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, okay? This was just...a mistake.” You gripped your purse and swayed nervously. “Have a good night, Steve. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“Will you?” He countered.

“Yeah, I will.” You assured him as you stepped around him. “See ya.”

“See ya,” He said quietly and you felt him watching you as the door rang to signal your exit. Maybe you could switch for Wednesday night and avoid the inevitable awkwardness.

-

Sunday morning. You woke tired from a restless night. You stretched and made your way to the kitchen. Every day you drank your coffee at the counter and scrolled through the news. As you sipped, your phone buzzed. You picked up as your work number flashed in your face.

“Hello?” You greeted in confusion.

“Hey, it’s Mark.” The cheery manager sang from the other end.

“Oh, um hi?” You gripped your mug in your other hand.

“Yeah, I was just calling because...I have some bad news. We uh, had our quarterly this morning and well, our new hires are unfortunately...no longer hires.”

“What?” Your heart dropped. “Are you--Am I fired?”

“I’m sorry,” He said. “I’d really love to keep you on but it’s just not fiscal for the company.”

“Well, thank you? I guess.” You hit end and slammed the phone down. How in the fuck did you get fired mid-training? Only you.

Back to the job boards. The endless applications and pointless competency quizzes. Not even a whole week. Not one. You were fucking useless. In another month, you wouldn’t even be able to answer the emails or calls for interviews. All your eggs had been in one basket and they’d just been dumped all over the floor.

-

Wednesday came around and you didn’t bother getting off the couch. Saturday too. You waited for any response from potential employers and sank further into self-pity. Steve called both nights. You deleted his messages without listening to them.

On Monday, you were having your post-nap nap as a knock came at the door. It couldn’t be the landlord, it wasn’t the first and you hadn’t betrayed your lack of funds just yet. It sounded again and you dragged yourself from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

You opened the door a crack and sighed at Steve. He had a large paper bag in his arms and his usual smile on his face. You should’ve known you couldn’t run.

“Hey,” You muttered.

“You’ve been hiding.” He said. “Figured I’d come find you.”

“You really can’t take a hint, can you?” 

“Never been good at subtlety. So…?” He tilted his head. “Kinda chilly out here.”

“Fine,” You let the door fall open and backed away as he entered. You closed the door behind him and he set the bag down on the table beneath the line of hooks. “So...you too good for us now that you’ve got a job?”

“Hah,” You scoffed. “I got fired. So no. Not good enough.”

“Shit,” He frowned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“What’s all this? Why are you here?” You pointed to the bag. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you?” He retorted. “It’s an apology, okay? A nice gesture. I know those are foreign to you but hey, we missed you at the meetings. Even Dennis asked about you.”

“Dennis?” You rolled your eyes.

“You’re not invisible. You didn’t disappear that day.” He slipped out of his jacket and hung it on a hook as he kicked off his boots. “You’re still here.”

“Unfortunately.” You mumbled.

“Look, it’s my job to support you. And if you won’t come to the meeting, then I’ll just bring it to you.” He grabbed the bag and walked through to your kitchen. You followed with a sneer. “So, take a seat because we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

-

After that night, you went to the meetings again. Anything to keep Steve off your back. You were not one to spurn kindness but you didn’t need his pity. Plus he insisted on driving you once you protested that the subway was not worth the change. He had a counter to everything you said.

The job hunt ran dry a month after flopping at the proofreading gig. Your phone was ready to go off grid and your internet would be shut down soon enough. You still had a half month left until rent was due, the last being covered by Stark Industries. You’d have to ask Steve if you could apply again.

It was embarrassing. Especially at the meetings. Everyone else was doing just fine. Dennis seemed more content now that he had stopped drinking, Marnie started teaching foods classes down at the youth centre, and Sal and Lucky were as happy as any owner and pet could be. And there you were, hopeless.

It was a Saturday. You helped Steve tidy up. You were as quiet as you were in the meeting. You cleared the table, folded chair, and he packed up the usual tupperware for you. You were at a blockade. You felt stuck. Helpless.

“What’s up?” Steve asked as he zipped up his coat. The city was bracing for its first snowfall as the air turned bitter.

“Nothing,” You tucked the container under your arm. “Tired.”

“I think I know a good cure for that.” He joked.

You grumbled and headed for the door. He followed. He locked the door behind him and pushed the cart to the small office at the end of the hall. He’d leave the rest of the food in the fridge their for the centre’s employees to pick at. You weren’t the only one living off of grief crackers.

“I can’t afford to sleep,” You huffed. 

“You know, I’m always here to help. Offer stands regardless of how many times you ignore me.” He chided.

“You’ve done too much already.” He really had. It was starting to irritate you how much he was around. How helpful he was. Even through the bullshit of this world, he was the golden saviour.

The tension rose between you. You were quiet throughout the ride. You just wanted to lay on your couch and ignore the world. You were so close to done.

Steve pulled up and you lazily grabbed your purse. You grabbed the door and he shifted the car into park.

“Hey, before you go…” He reached into his jacket. “I want you to have this.”

He pulled out the envelope and handed it over. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“Early? Like a month early?” You eyed it suspiciously.

“Tis the season,” He slapped it against your hand. “Go on.”

You sniffed and took the envelope. You opened it slowly and pulled out the card with a snowman on the front. Inside was a cheque. Enough to cover you for another month. Rent and bills.

“No,” You closed the card and shoved it back in the envelope. “I can’t. This isn’t a gift. It’s too much.”

“Come on. I’m just tryna help you out,” He said. “You can’t just run from everyone.”

“I can, I can.” You snapped. “Because everyone left me. Do you understand? This...I don’t have anything for you, Steve. And I’ll never be able to pay you back, so stop.”

“It’s a present.” He insisted.

“You’ve given me enough. Really.”

“Then it’s a loan. I’m a patient lender, but I won’t just watch you give up. I know you wouldn’t be at group if I didn’t drag you there. You’d already be in a shelter. Don’t let go of what you have left just because it isn’t everything you wanted.” 

You sighed. You bent the envelope and stared at it. You looked up at your townhouse and shook your head. “A loan. I will find a way to pay you back. I promise.”

“Alright. A loan.” He agreed. “Low interest, yeah?”

You raised a brow.

“A smile?” He chanced. You rolled your eyes and leaned back in the seat. You cracked a cheesy smile and he laughed. “Alright. You’re free for the night.” You opened the door and stepped out. “Wednesday. It’s our Thanksgiving meeting. Marnie’s making the turkey.”

“Wednesday,” You assured him. “I’ll bring a pie.”

-

Wednesday came quickly. There was a warmth to the meeting that harkened the season. Last year, none of your group celebrated Thanksgiving. This year, you all had a hand in the modest dinner held at the rec centre. Your pumpkin pie would make a good dessert after Marnie’s main course. Dennis brought the sprouts, Sal potatoes, Clara a casserole, and the rest added several other dishes to the spread.

Steve was beaming. You all sat around the table for your meeting. Your usual tense discussion dissipated to casual chatter. Almost as if nothing had changed. As if nothing was gone. You listened, content to enjoy the food, and caught yourself smiling at the scene. She would’ve like this. 

You frowned and chewed slowly. You’d have to clear out her room soon. The walk-up was too much. You had held onto it for far too long. You took another bite and caught Steve peeking over at you. You tried to smile and looked away.

“Lucky would love to be here but I won’t have him flipping his stomach again. We had chicken last week and well, he’s a sneaky bugger.” Sal boomed to Marnie. “He’s doing well. The incision’s healing up nicely but this Christmas is gonna be a bit...cheap.”

“Oh yes, vet’s are not easy on the wallet,” Marnie added. “I remember when I said goodbye to Rosie. Such a sweet cat. Even got her cremated.”

“So, Sal,” Steve leaned around Marnie and you thought. You considered Sal’s harmless story but something caught in the back of your mind. It was nothing. You were paranoid. “Christmas, you said? You’re celebrating this year?”

“Well...I thought maybe. My sister and I, we’re the only ones, a cousin too. My sister...she had a baby. She was pregnant when it happened. I’ve been too afraid to see the baby but...I’m tired of thinking about death.” Sal said. His eyes sparkled. “Yeah, it’ll be nice.”

“You know, the last time I made a meal for someone else was that day.” Marnie began. “For my husband. I only cook for me now so...thank you all for letting me cook for you.”

A hubbub of thanks went up from the table. Marnie dabbed her eyes and so did Clara. Dennis sniffed into his cuff. You leaned back and looked along the table. Despite taking so much, the snap had brought you all together. Your little clan of strangers.

You wiped your face and stood. “Excuse me.” The others gave you a short glance but Steve didn’t look away as you retreated. You slipped down the hall and into the bathrooms. You locked the door and leaned against the sink.

You took out your phone and swiped through your contacts. You hit your mother’s number and waited for it to dial. After a dozen rings, it went to her voicemail. You listened to her pre-recorded greeting. She never answered. She couldn’t. It was all you had left of her. You looked in the mirror and hung up.

You tucked away your phone and pushed yourself from the counter. Your eyes burned but you sniffed back the tears. You hoped wherever they were, they were together. You took one last look in the mirror and braced yourself for your return.

You weren’t surprised to find Steve in the hall. 

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You shrugged. “Nature calls, you know.”

“Mmm,” He grumbled, “Just making sure.”

“Yeah, fine.” You said. “Better get back before they eat all the pie.”

-

Christmas Eve. Instead of wrapped boxes, there were moving boxes. Your holiday was spent packing. You couldn’t put it off any longer. The only bite you had got was a three-week pop up shop in the mall selling candles. That ended a couple days ago, right after you’d given notice. There was a smaller place, just downtown. Louder, grimier, lonelier.

The only room left was hers. You avoided it as you enjoyed your discount bottle of wine on the couch. A single lamp lit up the space as you listened to the empty street and the soft fall of snow. She would’ve loved that. A white Christmas.

At the last meeting, Steve arranged a secret Santa and another feast. You kept up your attendance only for the fact that he was your ride. He insisted on it. The few days you had tried to deny him, he threatened to sit on your stoop and miss is as well. 

Despite his good intentions, his presence was turning to a nuisance. He was the ghost of Christmas past, haunting you, reminding you of what was lost.

But how could you deny him. You owed him everything you had. His cheque had kept you off the street and fed. And you had nothing in return. That was what the wine was for. To forget. To erase the ledger in your head.

You were on your second glass and halfway into your book when the knock came. It was already dark out. Just after seven. It could only be one person. You weren’t prepared for him. You thought he’d be nestled in the compound with his little family of heroes. At least, that’s what he told you.

You dragged yourself to the door. You could see his outline through the frosted slats of glass. You sighed and unlocked it. He smiled as you greeted him with a mutter. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, a beanie over his golden hair, and a fleece lined collar as his chin. He held a large black bag and a bottle of wine. 

“Steve, I told you, I wanted to be alone.” You huffed.

“Not on Christmas Eve,” He asserted, “Have you eaten?”

You squinted. He knew you hadn’t. He knew you too well.

“Liquid dinner,” You assured him. 

“Oh, so you started without me,” He smirked. “I kinda smuggled this out of Tony’s stash.”

“You really shouldn’t be here,” You said and leaned on the door. “Go back to your friends and enjoy your holiday.”

“You know, they’re not a very festive group,” He remarked. “It’s just dinner.”

He knew you couldn’t say no. Not after all he had done. You stepped back and waved him inside wordlessly.

“Just dinner. Then you go.” You closed the door.

“Well, I brought dessert, too.” He countered.

“Steve,” You warned.

“Alright, alright,” He chuckled as he set the bag down and untied his boots. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”

-

You ate in silence and finished off the bottle of wine. Without your dining table, you sat on the couch and used the coffee table instead. It was a lousy excuse for a dinner.

Steve opened the second and you rubbed your temples as your head turned fuzzy. Your tongue was thick and sour from the alcohol. You were tired. Annoyed. You wanted to be alone.

“So, you’re moving?” He asked as he poured you a fourth glass. “You didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask.” You crossed your arms. “I can’t afford this place.”

“But you will be able to. The fund--”

“The fund.” You spat. “Steve, come on. I’m not an idiot.”

“What do you--”

“I can connect the dots, you know? Sal didn’t get any help to pay for Lucky’s shots or his surgery. He said as much at Thanksgiving.” You shook your head. “I thought I could pretend to but I don’t want any more of your help.”

He was silent. He nodded to himself and drank from his glass. “How long have you known?”

“Long enough.” You hung your head. “I guess I didn’t want to accept that I was that pathetic, but I still took the money, didn’t I?”

“I just wanted to help. To do the right thing,” He set his wine down and turned to you.

“Yeah, well I can’t pay you back. I got nothing. I spent my last ten dollars on the wine.” You hissed. “I don’t want anymore charity...and I want you to go.”

You stood, unsteadily. You clung to the arm of the sofa as you tried to shrug off the head rush.

“You’ll find something. It’s fine. I’m patient.” He assured you. He didn’t move as he watched you round the coffee table. “And…”

His voice trailed off and he leaned back. His blue eyes sparked as he thought. You stopped and faced him across the coffee table. “What?”

“You don’t have to pay me back in kind. There are...other options.” He leaned forward with his arms on his knees. “I have enough money.” 

You stared at him. Your mind was tainted from the wine. You weren’t understanding him. 

“The candle shop might get a permanent space in the mall, I could re-apply. I’ll figure it out.” You said. 

“No, I don’t want your money,” He insisted. He slid forward on the couch as he looked up at you.

“What do you want?” You whispered.

“You know what I want,” His voice was low, chilling.

“Get out.” You snarled. “Now.”

He laughed but didn’t move. “Funny. Shouldn’t I be the one telling you to get out? Seeing as I paid the rent and all.”

“Fuck you.” You snapped. “And fuck your money. Fuck you’re stupid group. I want you gone. For good.”

“It’s too late for that. And I know you don’t have my money so...I mean, I don’t really see the issue here. I’m really just doing you another favour.” He grinned. “You’re lonely, I’m lonely, it only seems natural.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? How many times can I tell you no?”

“And how many times did you say yes? Hmm? You took the money, you took the food, take, take, take, and no give.” He leaned back and rubbed his thighs. “I’m really not asking for much and I doubt your landlord or the next will settle for anything less than a dollar sign so…”

Your stomach sank and your legs trembled beneath you. You looked around at the bare walls and stacks of boxes. This place was a ghost of what it once was, like the rest of the world. Like you. Like this man in front of you. Captain America no more. Just another man.

“Did you know this place already has a new tenant?” He asked. “Quite a steal in this market. Nice place, nice location…” Your mouth fell open as you gaped at him. “And that little shit hole you got above the pizza joint...it’ll be a pity if they have a grease fire and it spreads. Shit, it might even get that little bookshop next door.”

“I--you’re fucking crazy.” You slurred.

“I’m a nice fucking guy.” He countered. “You don’t even have to sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t…” You were dizzy. The wine blurred your vision and your gripped your head. “No, you can’t.”

“It’s done. Place is mine, I’ve got eyes on the pizza joint, and most of all,” He inhaled as he puffed himself up, “You’re mine.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re the ones left behind.” He said. “So...you need more wine or can we get started?”

You were numb. Tingling with doom. The walls slanted around you and flames licked along your flesh. You wiped your sweaty palms on your flannel pajama pants and shivered. Your vision narrowed to a tunnel and all you could see was Steve. His victorious smirk. His blatant arrogance.

You found your strength at last. Rather, weakness. Fear. You edge around the coffee table as he watched. When you neared, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you between his knees. He gripped your hips and played with the hem of your loose tee.

He drew you closer until you were forced onto his lap, legs bent around him as he leaned back. His hands ran along your sides and he pulled you to him. His hand snaked up around your neck and urged you against him. He tilted his head up to press his lips to yours. You closed your eyes and bided his touch.

He held you to him, his other hand slipped beneath your shirt. His fingers tickled as they brushed against your stomach. He covered your breast with his hand and purred into your lips. He shoved his hand beneath your bra and played with you. He rolled your nipple between his finger and opened his mouth, his tongue begging for entrance.

You parted your lips and his hand fell from the back of head. He gripped your hip and guided you. He moved your pelvis against his until you carried the motion. You felt his excitement as it was restrained against his jeans. You hated the thrill it inspired in you. The glimmer you had not felt in so long. The base and carnal need.

He pulled away and gasped. He untangled his hand from your bra and pushed your shirt up your torso. You looked to the ceiling and lifted your arms. The bitter taste of surrender mixed with his spit. Just as quickly, he unclasped your bra and it joined your tee on the floor. You dared to look at him as his eyes drank in the sight of your nudity. 

You held back the shudder and he touched you again. He pushed your tits up and together. He leaned forward and took your nipple between his lips. Nibbled softly with his teeth as you felt the pluck deepen. He groaned and hummed as he buried his face in your chest.

“God,” He fell back. He was flush and his eyes were dark. He reached between your legs and unbuttoned his fly. His fingers grazed along your pajamas and tickled your vee as he did. “On your knees.”

He nudged your leg and you slowly backed off of him. Your hands shook as you watched him unzip his jeans and he lifted his pelvis as he rolled both denim and briefs down his ass. His cock sprang out and he sat back with a sigh. You blinked and lowered yourself to your knees. 

You got closer and gripped his leg as you tried not to tip. You were suddenly very sober but still unsteady. Your body moved clumsily of its own accord. Your hand slid along his thigh, past the top of his jeans and shyly touched his cock. You pressed your palm to the soft skin and wrapped your fingers around him. He groaned and shivered.

You stroked him and he spread his arms across the back of the couch. He sank into it. Your couch. As easily as he embedded himself into your life. This man had taken hold of everything you had. Of you. And here you were, paying him your keep.

You kept your hand moving as you gathered the saliva in your dry mouth. You leaned in and opened your lips along the head of his cock. You closed your eyes. His breathing hitched as you took him in your mouth. You pushed your tongue against his shaft as you let him deeper, still holding his shaft tightly.

As you lips met your hand, you began to bob your head. The task was easier as your spit dribbled down his shaft and you worked his length. His thick fingers ensnared your wrist and tugged it away. He slipped deeper and prodded at your throat. You struggled to breath as you let him further and you took as much as you could before pulling back. You kept your motion steady. You wanted it over.

He held your hand to his thigh. His purred as you sucked him, the sounds of slick flesh against flesh filled your ears. You gulped and gagged on him as he urged you on with whispered words. You sped up as you sensed his peak rising. 

His hand left yours and he grasped the back of your head. He held you down as he twitched and you struggled to breath as he emptied himself down your throat. His cum was warm and salty. You swallowed it and he let go.

You sat back and wiped your mouth. You couldn’t look at him. He reached out to move your hand and dragged his thumb along your bottom lip, still wet with his cum. You flinched away and he grabbed your wrist. He pulled you up as he stood. He was strong. 

He released you and shoved your pajamas down your waist. You were almost bowled over by the force of it. Your panties followed and freed them from your ankles as you wobbled around him. He ran his hands along your legs as he stood and snaked around to squeeze your ass.

“Turn around,” He leaned down as he spoke and nuzzled your hair. He pinched and backed away.

You did as he said and his hands settled on your shoulders. He turned you and guided you to the couch. You lifted your knees onto the cushions as your legs hit the edge and he led you til you were against the back of it. He traced the lines of your back and his fingers left you tingling.

You heard him move behind you. You peeked over your shoulder as he pulled his shirt over his head. You turned back and braced yourself. You pushed your thighs together and cringed at the wetness you felt between them. You waited, the rustle of his clothing the only noise aside from his heady breaths. Eager. Excited. Enthralled.

He touched you again. His hands warm along your shoulders and back. He explored the curve of your waist and hips. Edge along your ass and thighs before pressing closer. His cock prodded you and you tried to inch away from him. You were trapped. 

He brought his knees up beside yours on the couch and you felt the heat radiating from him. His hand moved between you as he guided his cock along your ass. You gripped the back of the couch and tensed as the tip of his dick glided along your folds and back to your entrance.  He dipped his head down next to yours. He kissed your neck as his other hand fondled your chest.

You gasped as he pushed inside. Just a little and you were stunned. He was thick and enough to make you wince. Yet, it felt good to be touched. Even by him. He went deeper and you groaned. He pulled out and thrust back in. Just a little. He took it a little at a time. Another inch and he thrust. Testing you. Your body. Your limits.

When he bottomed out, you whined. He nibbled at your neck and his hand stretched across your throat. He ran his nose up along your jaw and cheek and his hot breath singed your skin. He thrust slowly, your entire body rocked by his motion. His little moans filled your ears you bit down to keep your own from escaping.

His pace mounted steadily. His breaths were ragged as the sound of your pussy clinging to him mingled with the clap of flesh. His other hand covered your vee and he dipped two fingers between your legs. He swirled along your clit and you flinched. You squeaked and he repeated the motion. He kept on til you were mewling and your thighs shook around him.

“It’s okay to enjoy it,” He rasped. “You should. You don’t have to be alone.”

You shook your head and squeezed your neck tighter. Your back arched deeper as he slammed into you over and over. Your ass stung and you felt the spring winding tighter. You grunted as you tried to fight the sudden whirlwind. 

Your drunkenness loosened your tongue and you cried out as you came. You quivered and dug your nails into the couch.

Steve’s hand slid from your neck and around your waist. He lifted you and turned in a single motion. He sat on the couch as he kept you atop him. His hands went to your hips and he guided you up and down his cock. Your back ached as he used your body easily.

His voice grew louder and louder as he kept you moving. Faster and faster. You were dizzy and out of breath. He roared and pulled you down on him completely. A warmth bloomed inside you as he came and he rocked into you from below; small, spasmic thrusts. 

He stopped you as he panted and wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you back to rest against him. Still inside you.

“You can start again,” He said as his fingers crawled along your stomach. “We can start again. Here. A new life…” He stretched his hand over your skin as your blood ran cold. “A new family.”

[therucrap]

RPDR 13 Episode 1 RuCrap

Hello dear internet! I just started a new page for my first ever RPDR RuCrap so please share and follow and I’ll continue if they catch on! Hope you enjoy!

The lucky 13th season of RuPaul’s Trauma Spectacular launches with the promise of “all new surprises” and a brand new twist that will leave you wondering how you ever sat through a boring old premiere with a coherent intro, climax, and conclusion when you could be enduring a dizzying hour and a half of WOW presents Happy Death Day 3: Covid Edition!

We open up on the trusty trauma center - I mean Werk Room - and the first to enter is NYC’s “Dominican Doll” and human drag lingo See ‘N Say Kandy Muse in an elaborate bejeweled patchwork jean mini dress and MATCHING DENIM BOOMBOX and she immediately informs us that we may know her from the now former Haus of Aja which was recently deconstructed like the pair of Wranglers that Kandy is wearing as fingerless gloves. Kandy is no longer alone in VIP because the befeathered Joey Jay arrives and half-heartedly delivers her intro line. “Filler queen!” We discover that Kandy is likely going to provide our Greek chorus confessional this season and all in a soft smoky eye when she informs us uncultured swine that Joey is wearing the cheapest variety of feather - chicken. Kandy didn’t construct an entire outfit from the remnants section of a Joanne Fabrics and not learn a thing or two about quality, sweetie! Joey is determined to beat viewers to the punchline and immediately clucks around branding herself as “basic” and “filler.” Joey is from the city of Phoenix (and possibly the online University as well) but she’s here to rise like a chicken!

Thunder mysteriously rumbles as RuPaul appears on the digitally enhanced Werk room TV but what could this be?! For all you newbies this is one of the several instances in every season where Ru mixes things up and gives us what we really want: a twist that is equal parts confusing, fucks up the natural order of the competition, and is ultimately unfulfilling! Come on season 13, let’s put a bunch of queer people through even more turmoil in a pandemic! Ru has a surprise but they’ll have to head to the mainstage to get the full story that they’ll be recounting to a mental health professional later!

We’re merely four minutes in and here comes Ru down the runway dressed like a glitterdot jellyfish! Our tour guide on Trauma Island introduces us to the main panel of judges for the season - Disco Morticia Addams and the two human Trapper Keepers who are now separated by glass because for the first time in Drag Race herstory we’re in the middle of a international health crisis, mawma!

Now let’s get down to trauma! Ru explains that the queens will be pairing off to lipsync unexpectedly as they enter! What could possibly go wrong? Well if you’re hoping that someone comes in wearing blades on their feet well just stick around because I have quite the treat for you! Our Dungaree Diva and the Chicken Feather Filler hit the Mainstage looking as confused as Shangela researching CDC protocol on her way to Puerto Vallarta last week. The judges interview our test subjects and immediately bring up the Haus of Aja and Kandy clarifies that she’s now an esteemed member of The Doll Haus along with last season’s ever-gorgeous Dahlia Sinn. I personally prefer not to say that Dahlia was eliminated first but instead that she was season 12’s brocco-leading lady! (Writer’s note: if you’re thinking “there’s a drag show called The Doll Haus in my hometown... is it THAT Doll Haus?!” No, there’s a drag show called The Doll Haus in almost every city in America but now, like with the former Sharon Needles, Kim Chis, and Penny Trations of the world, this one’s been on TV and alas, the others must now rename themselves)! Joey also charms the judges with her plucky demeanor and it’s already time to lipsync feather they like it or not!

Gay anthem Call Me Maybe by Canadian legend Carley Rae Jepson begins and Kandy immediately pushes a fake button on her DENIM BOOMBOX to start the party. Honestly... crown her right there on the spot. We will ALWAYS give points for prop work and the Carrot Top of the Bronx does not disappoint. Both are energetic but it’s The Dutchess of Denim who wins by infusing humor and our feathered friend is given “the Porkchop” but before we can even wrap our head around what this means for the state of the competition we snap back to the Werk Room to meet our next unsuspecting victims!

Now dear reader, this is the part where I’m just going to cut the shit. The set-up they’re selling us is that the losers of these premiere lipsyncs will be eliminated from the show but they are obviously not about to Porkchop half of the cast on day one so just stick with me while we suspend disbelief and go on RuPaul’s Totally Twisted Trauma Adventure as she convinces 6 gay people who just spent upwards of $10,000 on clothing, jewelry, and hair and then meticulously packed it into regulation suitcases to travel here during a pandemic after probably not making any money for the last four months (this was filmed in July) that they are going home on day one! This herstory-making twist, like so many before it, exemplifies the show’s worst qualities: a lack of empathy for its contestants, an underestimation of viewer intelligence and ability to decode heavy-handed editing witchery, and its love for completely dismantling its own format every year for the sake of drama. Whatever keeps the Emmy’s coming, baby! When you’re on the other side of one of these twists you usually feel like you just finished your morning coffee only to find out that the barista gave you decaf. Your mind will be blown when it’s happening but the payoff is usually at the expense of the show’s own legitimacy. With that said... this is the punishment we come to gleefully endure every year and we’re not here to complain, we’re here to watch gay people break down, dammit!

It’s deja Ru all over again as we snap back to the Werk Room where Chicago’s Denali walks in on ice skates and immediately ruins any chance of a deposit return for the bumpy, rented roll-out vinyl floors and declares “Let me break the ice!” She’s wearing the expensive feathers that Joey Jay didn’t spring for. Denali might not be the first ice skater on Drag Race but she’s the one I didn’t watch shit on a dick on Twitter last week so let’s give credit where it’s due. Ugh I wish Trinity the Tuck could block THAT from my memory! Next up is Atlanta’s Lala Ri whose white blazer, body suit, and unteased hair is immediately called basic by an icy Denali in confessional. Denali is confident but we know something that she doesn’t and Lala is wearing a sensible dancing ankle boot not two blades on her feet so let’s see how this turns out!

The lipsync song is “When I Grow Up” by Nicole Scherzinger and her assistants who were accidentally given microphones a few times! Denali struggles to conceal her wayward nipples during some ambitious dance moves and all while in skates but Lala gives us a good old fashioned drag performance and a big finale split unbothered by an elaborate costume and ultimately ices Denali who signs off with “Feeling icy, feeling spicy!” Asking these queens to lipsync upon entering is one thing but asking them to improvise their exit lines 10 minutes in is just cruel!

Denali heads backstage devastated where SURPRISE... Joey Jay is sitting alone in a sad room made of plywood walls featuring a bunch of pictures of first eliminated queens, an ominous “Porkchop Loading Dock” sign, and some cocktail tables with no cocktails (how dreadful).

Before we get the full picture and God for bid our bearings on Mr Charles’ Wild Ride let’s leave this plywood hellscape and jump back into the familiar comfort of the Werk Room’s pixelated neon pink faux brick walls where LA’s modelesque Symone stomps in wearing a dress made of tiny Polaroids of herself. She’s stylish, her energy is fresh, and she’s clearly one to watch. Then dear reader life as we know it changes. A breeze comes through the room and God herself blesses us when living legend and matriarch of the Iman dynasty Tamisha Iman from Atlanta arrives in a pointy-shouldered red power suit and proclaims to us simple townsfolk “Holler at me, I know you know me. Holler at me, I know you know me. Tamisha is here!” The sea parts, the crops are replenished, and all war stops on Earth. On stage Tamisha reveals that she’s been doing drag for 30 years (which seems like a long time to us mere mortals) and that she was originally cast last season but was diagnosed with colon cancer two days later and had to stay home for chemo. The lipsync gods wisely choose The Pleasure Principle by Janet Jackson and Tamisha gives us exact Janet arm choreo while Simone is sultry yet commanding as she shakes her Polaroids. The judges determine that Simone was picture perfect and American hero Tamisha Iman is sent to Porkchop’s Shipping Crate of Horrors to join the nest with the fancy feather option and the chicken feather option.

We begrudgingly crawl back onto RuPaul’s ever-circling carousel of doom and plop back into the workroom where accomplished LA celebrity makeup artist GottMik stomps in wearing a wacky toile dress and a full face of white makeup declaring that it’s “Time to crash the system!” GottMik is Drag Race’s first trans man contestant (and first knowingly cast trans contestant at all) for which we cheer excitedly and then immediately look at our watches because that took too long. Next up Minneapolis’s towering Utica wriggles in with a sneeze and declares “She’s sickening!” which is just the pandemic humor I came here for! Contaminate me, mom! This gay scarecrow is wearing a series of crazy patterns and a big strawberry on her head and the two of them appear to be from the same traveling circus. These two Big Comfy Couch characters slink over to the main stage where Utica explains that her cranial statement fruit symbolizes tackling obstacles because she used to be allergic to strawberries as a kid but she grew out of it. In RuPaul’s heavy universe of heart wrenching struggles that contain chronic illness and societal rejection, Utica’s animated world that suffers only of outgrown childhood strawberry problems is a welcome one. These two lanky rag dolls will be lipsyncing to Rumors by her majesty Lady Lohan of Mykonos and the vibe is instantly wacky. I wouldn’t say that either of them are the next Kennedy Davenport but they did complement each other well on the invisible obstacle course they were both miming through. Utica’s hair flops over her eye, there’s galloping and floor humping, GottMik does a split, there’s elbows and knees aplenty, and all that’s missing is dancing poodles. The judges are tickled by the kookiness of both of these human windsocks but Gotmikk snatches the win. Neither of these two are going to win So You Think You Can Dance but luckily this is RuPaul’s So You Think You Can Trauma so we’re in luck!

Our homosexual Groundhog Day continues back in the Werk Room where we meet NYC’s Rosé who gets the Brita treatment where she’s presented as a legendary New York queen and then the editors quickly get to work making her look delusional. She’s accomplished, confident, and Drag Race’s favorite personality type to dismantle and then trick into returning to All-Stars for a redemption only to dismantle again. Rosé’s fresh-faced foil Olivia Lux enters and lights up the place right away in a velvet pink and yellow gown. She’s a humble NYC newby who has competed in shows hosted by the established Rosé and we already know what’s about to happen here. The lipsync is Exes and Oh’s by Elle King which which was a choice. Olivia strips off her gown to reveal a bodysuit so she can really articulate and Rosé does the world’s least exciting split that looked like me trying unsuccessfully separate wooden chopsticks. Olivia triumphs and Rosé fizzles as she heads to the It Didn’t Werk Room aka Porkchop’s sparsely decorated storage closet to be with the other Have Nots.

We’re almost to the finish line and we limp, slightly disoriented, back to the Werk Room where we meet Tina Burner, another NYC theater kid with the confidence of a thousand Patti LuPones who is dressed like a Ronald McDonald firefighter. What she lacks in nuance she makes up for in nonstop fire puns. Next Chicago’s glamorous Kahmora Hall saunters in glowing and is clearly unimpressed with Tina’s constant Joan Rivers impression but maintains a full pageant smile. No choice but to stan. Our final queen is the refreshingly optimistic Elliott with 2 T’s who busts in wearing a bolero jacket, some red pants from the store, and a short pink wig that screams “Sorry I’m late! Here’s my flash drive! I can go on whenever!” Elliott dances in sing-talking her entrance line like the TGIFriday’s server she is: “I’m the queen you want to see. Elliot with two T’s. Okay! Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh uh! Okay!” Elliot is a dancer from Las Vegas and has the unhinged camp counselor energy of someone with snacks in her purse at all times.

On the Mainstage Tina cycles through the last of her introductory fire puns and tells the judges she was in a boy band which honestly tracks. Tina and Rosé share a similar NYC gotta-get-a-gimmick energy but for some reason production has decided to give Rosé the womp womp edit and Tina the superstar edit. The song is Lady Marmalade because we haven’t been though enough and Kahmora serves subdued sexy glamour, Elliott does the splits, and Tina bobs and weaves between the two with full play-to-the-back-row comedy queen energy. Tina extinguishes the dreams of the other two and RuPaul sends the final two losers to the chokey.

The worst is over (we think) and our frazzled cast of hopefuls finally gets to know eachother in their two very different groups. The winning queens in the Werk Room are celebrating and as blissfully unaware of the doom around them as Miss Vanjie and Silky Ganache at a Puerto Vallarta circuit party during a pandemic. Over in Porkchop’s Junk Drawer the camera looms unnecessarily close to the crestfallen losers’ now disheveled wigs and sweat drenched makeup. Ru’s voice bellows over the speaker to tell this motley crew to get out and then as the last bit of light leaves their weary eyes she checks back in to tell them that she wasn’t serious! Oh good! Finally a moment of mercy for these once hopeful queens on their first day of RuPaul’s Wipeout! She then reveals that the full twist is that she is only going to send one home but they have to vote amongst the group of losers to decide who it is! Yes, that’s correct! This group of broken queens who just met and mostly have never seen eachother perform will now be expected to turn on eachother and give up their last bit of dignity to either grovel or just straight up fight with eachother! This must be what the Donner Party’s last night looked like. The queens look around broken and wounded but still hungry, their eyes barely open, their lacefronts only partially attached to their heads, and start deciding which of their own is about to get consumed. Her highness Tamisha Iman reminds them "Well, I'm the only black girl so don't vote me off” and just like that we are TO BE CONTINUED!

Thus concludes our first headspinning episode that despite being reliably frustrating has once again sucked us in and against our better judgement entertained us to the fullest! As for our 13 queens- you can use code HERSTORY on Talkspace while relaying tonite’s events to a sickening liscensed therapist!

[taotrooper]

Q&A with Kusanagi-sensei at the Manga Barcelona con

Kusanagi Mizuho was a guest on the Barcelona con 2019 and she had a panel with the fans this morning where they asked her some questions. None of them are plot-related, sadly (I suspect the questions sent by fans were heavily filtered to avoid spoilers). But if you’re curious about the personal and professional stuff she’s said, and her opinion about her characters, here’s a translation of the livetweeting by the manga’s publisher, Norma Editorial, which is here. I’m also complementing with Ramen Para Dos’ liveblogging.

Kusanagi requested not to have her picture taken. Except for those lucky few Spaniards and Catalanes who attended the panel, she’ll remain a meerkat to us. (Parenthesis notes are my commentary, not part of the interview!)

Q. When did you decide to start drawing?

A. She started to draw when she was around 9-10 years old. She’d make up complete stories she’d read her younger sister --who also came to the con.

Q. What was her favorite manga back then? And now?

A. She really liked Slam Dunk, Hana Yori Dango, and Ranma 1/2 when she was little. It seems she’s into redhead protagonists, Norma jokes. Right now she likes One Piece and Attack on Titan.

Q. Did she study in any sort of academy? Has she worked as an assistant? 

A. She went to art school (she specifies not manga, art) and was an assistant after graduating for 4-5 years.

Q. What does she currently delegated to her assistants?

A. She works with 4-5 people. They take care of drawing landscapes, armor, plates of food, extra things... They also help a lot with combat scenes: she’s the one who draws the basic battle panels but they finish them.

Q. Does she find it hard to make it to deadlines?

A. She laughed. Handing in chapters is so hard because she takes a long time to design the story, so she only dedicates 3 or 4 days to draw 30 pages because she has no time left.

(Yikes, poor Kusanagi D: )

Q. Does she like to listen to something or snack while she works? 

A. When she’s working on the story she needs total silence and being alone, but while she draws she likes to put on anime or movies or music as background noise.

Q. Where does Ao keep her acorns?

A. Squirrels usually carry 7 acorns in their mouths. Ao brings 10 at least!

(Oh no, she’s too OP!!!!)

Q.  Hak or Soo-Won? 

A. She laughs and assures us she has a lot of love for both of them.

Q. How did she come up with the manga’s setting?

A. At first she thought about basing it on Rome or Japan, but it didn’t fit. So in the end she combined different Asian scenarios to give birth to AkaYona.

(So... yeah, it’s not 100% Three Kingdoms Korea, it’s a hybrid. Also lol she really likes Rome, huh?)

Q. Does she have a favorite character? 

A. NE: She doesn’t have a favorite, she loves all of them and loves to draw them so they look as good-looking as possible when they look at themselves in the mirror.

RP2: When she creates a story centered in one character, she tries to focus all details on said character. But she feels appreciation for all characters in Akatsuki no Yona. Then there’s a character’s personality or some enemy that’s not liked by the audience and that motivates her to draw them more handsome.

(Well, that sure explains Keishuk becoming more luscious lately, but THEN THERE’S GOBI’S CRAZY FACES.....................)

Q. Does she feel identified with any of her characters?

A. All of her characters reflect part of her own idols so they don’t really represent her that much.

(Damn, there she goes debunking the Kusa-relates-to-SW jokes)

Q. Which dragon would she take on a journey if she had to go on adventures like Yona?

A. She’d like to take the four of them but if she had to choose she’d pick Jae-Ha. He’s kind to women and he can jump really high!

(Jae-ha bias confirmed. We been knew, sensei, we been knew.

“HE JUMP” - Mizuho Kusanagi, 2019)

Q. The reveal of Zeno’s powers is one of the most amazing scenes in the series. How was it for her? 

A. She was looking forward to drawing it. She doesn’t like its brutality but it was necessary to express its importance. Regardless, she enjoyed it a lot.

Q. How does she feel about thinking of Yona as a strong, inspirational female character?

A. NE says that to her Yona is an ordinary girl, what makes her special is that she’s a fighter (the wording here is implied to be in a hardworking, fighting daily way, not as a warrior necessarily). Life taught her to be strong and positive and she thinks that’s very important. RP2 says that the character herself is normal but to her, Yona’s strength and courage to move forward is what stand out and inspires.

She got an ovation from the audience at this point :’)

Q. How does she feel about having so many fans overseas? 

A. She’s very happy and grateful! She’s so surprised to see so many people (women and men) around the world and outside of Japan who understand and enjoy Yona’s vision. She thanks us all so much!

(Aww~)

Q. What does she do in her free time?

A. She loves to spend time with her cat. But she ends up annoying her cat sometimes, and she (the kitty) scratches her (Kusanagi) often.

Q. This one was for her editor, called Tokushige. Wat is it like to work with Kusanagi-sensei with a manga like Yona?

A. She says she knows the author’s job is very hard with a terrible pace and schedule. Despite that she has to be tough and mean to help Kusanagi with keeping the schedule and the quality. But while it’s touch she likes working with her/looks forward to it.

In the next part, they have Kusanagi ask the audience a question, and she throws the favorite character question back at them! There’s no recount of what people in the room said (besides the fact it took a long time for someone to say Hak and she remarked on that) but NE asked Twitter as well and you can see the answers on the thread.

(Since I slept through the interview, I missed the chance to tell her mine D: Shoutout to the MVPs in the thread who mentioned Yoon and Tae-jun in a sea of Haks and Yonas and Jae-has and Zenos. And the two cosplayers who went there as Argila and Vold!)

ETA: This livetweeting mentioning some characters the fans threw in. Yona, Hak, TAE-JUN several times, Soo-won, Geun-tae, Kija, squirrel Ao, and ship-wise besides HakYona there’s a Zeno/Kaya mention.

So anyway, that was all. Kusanagi brought presents for the selected people who won her signature (a case with Aos on it) plus a few more unknown presents (probably also those cases) to raffle on the Q&A with a jankenpon game. That was sweet of her!

Extra info I’ve seen: she had to take THREE planes to get to Spain from Kyushu. They also gave her her two consecutive awards to Best Shoujo by that same con, which they do yearly with the manganime that gets published here. They also gave her a soccer shirt of the famous local team (Barça) with her name on the back (10/Mizuho).

[dailytomlinson]

In the four years since the group’s “hiatus”, Louis has faced unimaginable tragedy with the passing of both his sister Felicite aged 18, last year and his mum Johannah in 2016, before choreographing an impressive comeback with a debut solo album, Walls.

His personal journey back to full strength has been nothing short of remarkable — with the singer forced to deal with loss of his younger sibling and his mum in the full glare of publicity.

In an exclusive interview with The Sun, Louis explains: “Initially, when the news broke (about Felicite) last year, I was bitter about the fact that everybody was talking about it.

“Loads of people were speculating online about what might have happened. I was just told that it was the reality of the situation, which it is, and I had to accept it.

“So that’s the negative side to it, but a positive side to it and something I wasn’t prepared to feel was the love from my fans.

“I wasn’t ready to feel like that, but I really needed it at the time.

“What was difficult was people speculating about details straight away, discussing online what might have happened when nobody really knew, and talking about my family. But actually when I looked further almost all of it was kind, and I felt loved.”

Just over two years before Felicite’s death from an accidental drug overdose, Louis’ mum Johannah tragically passed away, aged 43, following a long battle with leukaemia. It is a loss that continues to shape his life.

But he tells how, over time, he has come to learn from the experience — and now hopes to support others through his own experiences.

He adds: “I’m still getting asked about my mum now, but I’ve grown to understand it I suppose, and I feel like I can maybe help others.

“When I wrote a song called Two Of Us, I had fans talking to me about a loss they’d had, and they listened to the song and told me I’d helped them in some way. That makes it all worthwhile.

“Despite how difficult it can be to deal with these things when people are watching, if I have the possibility to help even one person, that’s massive.”

Today, Louis is calm, reflective and down-to-earth when we meet in a low-key west London pub — despite him having sold more than 50million records globally with One Direction.

Louis talks with a broad Doncaster accent, and laughs as he reflects on his career, which began when he found fame with 1D at the age of 18.

He admits he has “f***ed things up” plenty of times in the past but hopes to have learnt from his mistakes.

His new single, Walls, recounts his experiences of love and loss. It is a clearly autobiographical reflection on his life over the last decade. 

His lyrics reflect on the ups and downs of his time in the spotlight, as he explains: “It’s about overcoming some of your problems and learning from your mistakes.

"It’s looking back at a certain time of my life and I’m sure there’s lots of people who can relate to that idea of being alone and waking up, being used to having someone there, then they’re not.

“It’s a bit of, “Oh no, I’ve f***ed it up, yeah. But I’ve understood that now and I’ve come back stronger.

“You learn from your mistakes, and the song is about owning them, putting your hands up and saying ‘I know what I did was wrong, but I understand it a bit better now’”.

While in One Direction, Louis earned himself a reputation, alongside some of his other bandmates, as a party boy.

Today he’s learnt to control himself, but jokes that he can “still put a few beers away”. He’s keen to expand his mind now after missing out university when he found fame with One Direction on The X Factor.

He says: “I’ve been very lucky but one experience that I know I would have loved is university, mobbing out and meeting new people.

“Someday it will happen. I’d study psychology. And I’ve just started reading again, I just picked up this Beatles book, so I’m trying to educate myself a bit more.

“I just thought I’d pick up a few books, because I realised that I don’t read at all — and for a songwriter that’s pretty criminal.”

With a huge bank balance and global fame, there’s appears to be little to achieve. For Louis, fame has come first — but now he’s determined to prove himself as an artist in his own right, even if he is never able to achieve the enormous record sales One Direction enjoyed.

The album has been almost four years in the making. He scrapped a huge quantity of material and started over after he realised his first efforts had failed to fulfil his own ambitions.

He adds: “I’ve never been driven by money, but I’ve got a point to prove to myself. I think I was frustrated before, because I was in a few writing sessions where no matter what I said at the start of the session, the concept at the end was always something different. But after a while I decided to scrap all of that, and own this myself.

“I struggled with it for the first couple of years. I was trying to work out exactly what my sound was.

"I didn’t have the luxury every other developing artist has of making mistakes in the background until you land on that one you get excited about and that’s why it took me a second go to get it right.”

However successful his solo efforts may prove to be, alongside those of 1D bandmates Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, the question of a prospective reunion will always loom large for Louis — who remains in contact with his former bandmates but admits they are very different people.

He adds: “I used to feel more pressure about matching up to anything any of the others do, but the reality is we have different skill sets and different fans.

“Harry’s a star, there’s no two ways about it. I’m much more reserved. If I carry myself in a slightly different way, I might be able to get a different market but it’s all about staying true to you and that’s what we’re all doing.

“I spoke to Liam a couple of days ago but haven’t spoken to Niall in a couple of months. Me and Harry don’t speak quite as much but he sent me a text about the single and I sent him one about his, and there’s a mutual respect there, definitely.”

[sergeanttpoliteness]

➹one make out session, please➹ (peter b. parker x reader)

The sad and divorced man who's become a regular for the past year is constantly spilling his emotions to you, his favorite bartender. This wasn't something new; you can't count with both of your hands the times you've heard someone recount the odyssey of their life. But these flutters in your stomach were definitely something you didn't experience with your customers, and you definitely did not end up making out with them at the end of the night. Maybe Peter B. was your only exception, though.

(PART II) 

word count: 7.1k (sorry)

a/n: i tried like 8484 times to add a gif but tumblr wouldn’t let me so ((:: hello @ whoever’s reading this tho!! love how i went from 2k to 7k words lol, i’m sorry about that i don’t know how it happened. feel free to help me out w ideas and send requests if you want (: hope u enjoy !! Tiresome was a massive understatement when it came to having to describe enduring the same routine most nights. Not that you slept peacefully like a newborn baby all the time before taking a job as a bartender at the bar; but once in a while, when you returned home and watched the bright red numbers of the clock switch to 5 o’clock in the morning since your brain was punishing you by not giving you your well deserved rest, you sure did miss those simpler times when you didn’t work at night. Yes, at first it may be amusing to watch a drunk customer go haywire as they try to understand the meaning of life, and it’s nice listening to the story of how someone ended up drinking five shots of tequila that evening. You relished listening to other people’s problems, their stories, their lives— perhaps because, as much as it ashamed you to admit it, you didn’t make much out of yours. However, two years of the same old passed, and soon enough, every conversation and dusk began to blur together; everything became a monotonous daze, like an old movie replaying endlessly every week. The obvious route would be to quit your job as a bartender before you lost your mind, but the old lady who owned the bar paid somewhat generously considering the career— both with affection and money— and, despite how cocky it might’ve sounded, you knew well that the customers would be lost without your glorious daiquiris and margaritas. You’d also grown fond of the few people there and the new friends you made once in a while; you didn’t have the exact explanation as to why, but whilst you were in that hazy trance, you were quite the charmer. 

Every night was just like that: nothing more than a few more hours to your life, until a man who you guessed was probably nearing his forties and with a really, really nice nose (what could you say? You had an appreciation for the art of beautiful noses), dropped on the stool directly in front of you with a heavy sigh.

“One whiskey served over ice, please.” He muttered, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. You didn’t think much about it as your hands got to work and moments later handed the man his drink. You later spent your time trying to distract yourself with the preparation of other beverages, yet your eyes were drawn to him momentarily once or twice. Even as you talked with a tourist— a woman from Croatia asking about the best restaurants and stores in the city— the image of the guy itched at the back of your head, and you couldn’t figure out why. He was attractive, you decided, in spite of his rugged looks; he honestly appeared as if a train had hit him. Whether it was a physical or emotional train, you wouldn’t be surprised if it had been both.

The tourist sadly ended your conversation, distracted by the game on the TV, but you took it as an opportunity to comply with your desires and approach the man. You see, you liked to believe you possessed powers— useless ones, to say the least: just by a quick scan, you knew if a person needed a good talk; it could’ve been after their third drink, maybe even when they’re still sober. Suddenly, though, your bartender-senses abandoned you along with your charm and you simply couldn’t find a way to spark up a conversation with the guy. Really? You thought to yourself. Right now, when a cute older dude is sitting right in front of you, probably in need of your comradeship? Yeah, he was most definitely older than you, perhaps by some ten years, but did you really care? 

You were stuck, unable to crawl out of the crater until, eventually, he asked for his third drink. Showtime, you breathed in, the confidence hugging your entire body. “Just saying, but I could already sense this third drink once you walked in through the door,” You tried to joke.

He huffed through his nose, a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips. “Do I look that bad?” He asked, a playful tone in his voice. A lopsided grin found itself onto your face and you slightly leaned over to wipe the surface next to where his hand rested.

“The opposite, actually. You’re quite the handsome guy.” Oh, there it was. He didn’t seem repulsed, which could’ve been a good sign, except that he didn’t look like anything— his expression was unreadable.

He raised his glass up to his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t really feel like it right now,” He said before taking a swig of his drink. You picked up a wet empty glass and dried it with your towel, like the true bartender you were.

“Well, do you feel like talking about it?” His eyes darted up to you and he lifted a brow. “There’s obviously a reason why you’re sitting here right now, no?”

You waited for an answer, but he swallowed his entire drink before he set the dry cup on the bar. “Maybe another time, kid.” Ouch. Kid? Really? You thought this was over once you turned twenty-three. “But I gotta get going now.”

That was the first conversation you two shared, and you bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him leave, disappointed that it also could’ve been the last one. You should’ve learned by now, though: this wasn’t the first time you made a “friend”, hoped that they would drop by again in the future, only to never see their faces again. You took in his appearance one last time then, cherishing the fleeting buzz in your head. But you were lucky when two weeks later he entered through the same door again. Nonetheless, not lucky enough, since he arrived the only day your shift ended early.

“One whiskey served over ice, please.”

You didn’t realize he was there until you heard that scratchy voice, the one you thought you’d never have the pleasure of hearing again. Your head jerked up and you didn’t miss a beat before gladly serving him— there was no way you were leaving without interacting with the older man, regardless of how small and brief the action was. It was a Greek tragedy in your eyes: saying goodbye to the back of the head of the attractive man in his thirties. You jokingly (but not really) warned your coworker to not make a move on the man; and, of course, you asked him to update you the next day if he mentioned you even just once. The next day (or rather, night), the first thing you obviously did was pester your friend to spill all the juicy, if any, details.

“I don’t know, he didn’t really say anything. He so checked you out when you left, though. Like— okay, maybe not check you out, but he definitely stared at you for a few seconds.”

You deflated. Anyone else would’ve cheered, but all you needed to hear was the first part; your friend had the poor tendency of overanalyzing and exaggerating every small detail— you learned that when, after some customers had a lousy argument, you both recounted the event to your boss during your monthly coffee session. What had probably happened was that the man merely breathed in your direction and your coworker’s eyes jumped out of their sockets. You brushed away your discontent, though, reminding yourself of your principles: you never hooked up with customers, especially since your boss was adamant about that after an incident with another bartender, and you didn’t want to endure new job interviews for as long as you could.

But the rush made you want to have fun with this guy.

Another entire month went by; no sign of mystery guy, no whiskey served over ice. No drops of your stomach, until one evening you couldn��t believe your eyes when you saw that beautiful mess of a man, a scratch on his forehead you didn’t think much about since you’d seen much weirder things, sat in front of you. “Would you look at that! We meet once again,” He smirked. You placed your hand on your hip, biting your lip.

“Thought I’d never see you again. Tell me, do you want to try out something different tonight, or your boring, usual—”

“—whiskey served over ice. Yeah, please.”

Whiskey served over ice was quickly becoming your favorite order.

You didn’t exchange any other words— you were too engulfed into the breaking news playing on the flatscreen: a poor quality clip— something that still occurred even if it wasn’t 2005 anymore— of Spider-Man stopping a truck before it crashed into a hurt kid in the middle of the street. You grabbed the remote control and boosted the volume a bit, deciding you could perhaps multitask for a while. “So,” You started while maintaining your attention on the screen, catching his own. “You ever met Spider-Man?”

An odd question which made him snort as he turned his head to watch the screen. “No, not really. Wouldn’t want to, though, he’s kinda overrated.”

Your eyes went round, and you had to unstick your view from the TV to search for any sign of playfulness in the man’s face. He seemed dead serious. “Overrated? Full offense, but I can’t let you say that about Spidey, an actual superhero.”

He rolled his eyes, amused and defensively holding up one hand. “I’m just tired after hearing about him for the last twenty years. Can’t believe he’s not going around with a walking stick yet.”

You returned to your previous position, your forearms resting on the counter as you continued to observe a recap on a football game of the night before. “Yeah, I won’t argue against you on that. I remember watching him swing on TV back when I was seven-years-old. Big part of my childhood, the guy.”

He inclined closer to you, his brows drawn together. “What’s your age?”

“Twenty-nine.”

He let out an ‘oof’. You would’ve been insulted if it weren’t for the exaggeration in his tone. “You’re getting old. Soon you’ll be complaining about how much your back hurts and wishing for the sweet release of death.”

You chuckled, eyeing his appearance. “Ah, well, too bad because I already do that. How old are you? You’re acting like you’re sixty when in reality you’re probably just like forty, or something.”

“Eh, close,” He grinned, and then took a deep breath. “I’m thirty-seven.”

“And you’re calling me old?!” You exclaimed, earning a laugh from him. “You’re basically almost on your deathbed. Age doesn’t hold me back, though.” You winked jokingly and he bit his lip, his eyebrows raised.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, you know— more experienced, sometimes wiser, sometimes more of a gentleman…” You mused, drawing patterns on the bar. You didn’t notice him giving you a once-over. Someone called for your attention, and you let out a disappointed sigh, pouting at him. “Gotta go! Duty calls.”

“Have fun,” He raised his drink, bowing his head. As you walked away, you allowed your face to pale with terror and you began to wonder if the air-conditioning suddenly malfunctioned, for you were too heated for your comfort. You took as much time as you could with the rest of the clients, too frightened to face the man after your shameless flirts, dreading the repercussions. But you were finishing the preparation of a mojito, wishing you could down it yourself, when he lifted his empty glass and whistled at you. You nervously glared at him, motioning for him to wait before you served the finished beverage to its rightful owner and you met him once again.

“Tell me,” You began as you poured the liquid in his cup, trying to change the subject and mask your trembling hands. “I’m tired of thinking of you as the whiskey man. What’s your name?”

He let out a short laugh, thanking you before he took ahold of his drink. “Peter. Peter… B… Parker,” He moved his head along to each word and you sang out an impressed ‘ooh’.

“Peter B. Parker. Catchy. Giving me some boy band vibes.”

“Boy band vibes?”

“Yeah, like, ‘pretty boy in a band who’s a total teenage heartthrob’ type of vibes. You definitely fit the description.” Goddammit, you did it again. Just this once, you wished, just this once shutting your mouth would make everything easier for you.

Peter, his face finally having a name, licked his lips after sipping the alcohol. “So you think I’m pretty?” He inquired, a crooked smile on his face. You were good at holding back the tingling that wanted to suffocate your cheeks, the way you wished you could with your words. You hummed, surveying him quickly.

"Well, I did say you were handsome last time, didn't I?"

"Yeah— yeah, I remember that," He squinted his eyes, pointing his finger at you. "And you're...”

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N…” He took his phone out from his back pocket and frowned down at it with concern. “Can you help me? There’s something wrong with my phone— it doesn’t have your number in it.”

Oh, my God.

You glanced down at his cracked screen and then back up at his face. Snorting so loudly it hurt your nose, your hand flew up to cover your mouth. “Oh, my God. I’m sorry, I’m just—” You pinched the bridge of your nose, wheezing. “I can’t believe you just did that. That was so cheesy, oh my God.”

“Are you gonna fix it or not, though?” He smirked, offering you his device. “‘Cause it’s a real problem.”

He got your number. After you returned his cell phone, you noticed his yet again empty glass, wondering how he downed it in just the time you were adding your phone number to his contacts. You grabbed it and poured more ice, seeing as the previous had already melted. “Since you successfully made me want to walk away from you and stroll around the place to try and heal myself after that awfully cheesy pickup line, this next round is on the house.” You declared as you opened the bottle of whiskey. He declined, emphasizing his refusal with the flutter of his hand.

“That’s not necessary.”

“Whatever, I’m gonna do it anyway,” You slid the alcoholic beverage towards him, and his eyes softened along with his entire face, too.

“Thanks.”

Your conversation continued the entire night. You talked non stop— so much that you might have forgotten about the existence of other customers. But it didn’t matter. Despite their annoyed expressions, it was worth it. You heard the story you had so desperately yearned for him to tell; he reminisced about his dead aunt and uncle— the lovely angels who raised him and the ones he looked up to the most. But your heart cried out when Peter sorrowfully stared into his whiskey, and you first heard the name. MJ. His ex-wife. The owner of his love for the longest time, the woman who crushed him a year ago. The one whose heart he broke, too, though, all because he was too terrified, too much of a wimp to take the next step, ‘not enough’, he said. You remained silent, realizing your flirtatious exchanges earlier were solely a way to muffle Mary Jane’s memory in his mind. Nevertheless, your hand reassuringly rubbed his shoulder, the action alone speaking the comfort he needed.

It wasn’t the last time it happened. After that, he began to show up at the bar more frequently, once a week. And whenever he did come, he left until your shift neared its end.

“Like, what type of father would I even be? Look at me!” Peter pointed at his head, stirring the whiskey with a finger of his other hand. “I’m a mess, I can’t even take care of myself— how could I take care of a child?! I just… I don’t have the time,” He sighed, laying his head atop the bar. You frowned as you prepared a second margarita for the mother of one of your classmates from high school, which was what initiated the conversation of parenthood and such in the first place.

You shrugged, aggressively rattling the shaker with your two hands. “I don’t know, maybe you’re underestimating yourself,” He peered up at you, doubt in his expression. “And you do have the time to come here every week, though,” You pointed out, wiggling your arms from how sore they were.

“Yeah, but you’re… this is different, this is…” He slurred, waving his hand. “Whatever. Work always ruins things for me. It has ever since I was a little tot.”

“Damn, what is your work?”

Peter began to gulp down his entire drink after your question and seconds later slammed it on the table with wide eyes, attempting to digest the liquor. He cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes. “It’s… it’s, uh, I-I work at the Daily Bugle.” You opened your mouth with astonishment, stopping in the midst of rubbing a lime on the rim of the glass.

“The Daily Bugle?” You asked incredulously. “That one newspaper with the dude who’s obsessed with Spider-Man? J-something-Jameson?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s my boss.”

You grimaced, instantly comprehending his daily fatigue and he nodded, agreeing with you. “What do you do? Write?”

“Nah, I’m a photographer.”

“Ooh, so you’re a photographer? That’s hot,” Moments ago he’d been complaining about his marital issues yet there you were, calling Peter hot. You might have slipped the compliment right before you left to give the margarita to your ex-classmate’s mom in fear of his response, therefore missing the faint heat that overwhelmed his cheeks and ears. 

“Is… it’s nothing, really,” He dismissed your words, being all humble and shit. You placed your elbows on the counter, coming closer to him.

“Could I ever see any of your pictures?”

He threw a block of ice into his mouth. “Mm, thure,” He said, his mouth full. Your mouth twitched in amusement, and you decided to sit down considering the night was particularly slow. Your boss lectured all the time that there was never time to sit down and there was always something to do; keeping that in mind, you still ignored the four dirty glasses, instead choosing to spend time paying attention to the man with ice in his mouth. “I’m boring, though— tell me more about yourself. There’s gotta be more to the attractive barista who works at the bar near my apartment.”

You were taken aback, both by the fact that he considered you were good-looking and that he was pushing to hear about you. “Me?” You blinked. He nodded, looking at you expectantly. You lowered your head, picking at the skin around your nails— damn past you for cursing you with the habit and, consequently, terrible nails as well. “This is… weird. I don’t really talk to customers about my life. They even tell us to not do that specifically.” You laughed.

“What? Why?”

“Well, because you don’t want to hear about me: my childhood and the drama in my life, I guess,” You said with an obvious look. He scrunched his brows together.

“But I do.”

You despised the way your heart missed a beat. “Alright, well… I don’t know, what do you want to hear about?”

“Were you born here? In New York?”

You shook your head. “Nah, I moved here after finishing college. I thought I was gonna be a successful artist and stuff.”

Peter gasped with wonder. “Artist?! Cool! What, what type of artist?”

“I paint,” He whispered an adorable ‘whoaa’ and your shoulders shook with laughter. “It’s really not that cool. I do paintings once in a while. Pays well and can help with the bills if someone buys them.”

“I’d buy many if I had the money.” 

“Nah, I would paint you one for free,” You smirked, leaning closer to him.

“Oh, sweet— you can paint me naked. You know, like one of your french girls.” He hummed, a goofy grin breaking out on his face. You quirked a brow, giggling.

“That’d be interesting.”

“I know, I’d be a great muse. Tell me more, though, you got any friends? Family?”

You hesitantly nodded. “Yeah, except they’re all back home. The only people I’ve got here are at the bar, my boss basically adopted the few people who work here.”

“Wish my boss was like that,” He grumbled, grasping more ice. “Well, now you’re stuck with me too, though.”

You gripped your knee, your lips pressed together to retain the beam threatening to appear. “Is that so?” The ice he had shoved into his mouth was too big for him to speak without drooling all over his chin; so with his chipmunk cheeks, he moved his head up and down. “Is this us officially becoming friends?” You waggled your brows teasingly, your lips now stretching widely.

“I thought that happened the second you gave me a free round of drinks.”

Three more months passed by. You realized your nights weren’t a blur anymore. No— now they were Peter B. Parker, his weary brown eyes, and his whiskey served over ice. You couldn’t help the scrunch of your nose and your slight smile whenever someone else ordered whiskey, since, as ridiculous you knew it was, those words were Peter. You held yourself back each night you two shared from leaning over the bar and tasting the cold liquor in his tongue. You wondered if, perhaps, that’s what Peter Parker tasted like. But it didn’t matter how strongly you craved to find out; you couldn't be anything more than a friend to your customers, you constantly reminded yourself. Not that it even was a possibility with Peter, anyway— it was evident he still cared about Mary Jane. It was clear she lingered in the fog of his memory, despite how much he drank or how hard you attempted to take her place with every conversation. You tried to convince yourself that it was alright, and it wasn’t working, but you hoped someday it would.

It was a Saturday night— or more like the early hours of Sunday— when you went to joyfully take Peter’s order after he sat down, only to be met with an awful bruise on the bridge of his nose. You winced, unconsciously reaching out to touch his face, but drawing your hand back before he noticed. “Pete, what the fuck happened to your face?”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about someone.” He simply responded, evidently trying to disguise the swelling with his hand, but sighed after seeing your scowl. “Fine, it’s embarrassing. Like… really, really embarrassing—”

“I’m listening.”

He squirmed, his gaze moving to his right and his voice coming out high pitched as he searched for a way to explain himself. “I tripped.”

Something you’d learned throughout the past months of weekly meetings with Peter Parker was that the man was not subtle. Far from it. And this wasn’t the first time he arrived with a scratch or sort of bruise, which truly clutched at your stomach in the wrong way, but although he’d talk about anything— from what he ate for breakfast that day to confessing a pestering fear in his head, he never ever talked about how or why he got hurt. He always managed to steer away from the subject; the sneaky bastard, you’d think to yourself when minutes later you two were thoroughly discussing the best ways to eat an egg. You never budged, though, for you couldn’t bear to lose his trust or him getting mad at you; which hadn’t occurred yet, and you wished to keep it that way. You questioned your decision, however, as you grabbed the box of bandaids hiding under the counter (the bartenders there could frequently be quite clumsy), and grasped one with your fingers. You opened it, detaching the paper from it.

“It’s really nothing,” He continued insisting, trying to erase the creases between your eyebrows. “I just gave the ground a real nice smooch—” He stopped talking when you leaned over to touch his face, your hand cupping his cheek as you smoothed the plaster over his nose.

“I… what?”

“Sorry, it just looked really gross,” You lied, truthfully concerned about his well-being. “You couldn’t go around walking like that.”

“But I can go around walking with a…” He inspected his reflection on the cupboards, squinting to make out the pattern of the bandaid. “Spongebob bandaid on my face. And how is that supposed to heal a bruise?”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s alright. I… I like Spongebob. One whiskey served over ice, though, please.”

You scoffed, picking up a glass from the cabinet. “I’ve held myself back from asking, but…” You shut your mouth as you continued preparing his drink, doubt winning its battle again. He tilted his head.

“But?”

“But… how come you’re always getting hurt in some way? It’s kind of concerning,” You laughed nervously, not wanting to reveal how much it truly worried you. He shrugged one shoulder.

“I guess I’m just really clumsy.”

“This isn’t clumsy, though,” You argued, your forehead furrowed. “This is… getting beat up type of stuff. Is that it? Do you get into street fights or something?”

“No! No, I, uh…” He hesitated, avoiding your gaze. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

Peter searched for words, his mouth ajar. He closed it and rolled his lips. “I want to tell you, I really do, but now is not the time. I promise I will in the future.”

You prepared to question him more, until a tune filled your ears. You raised your hands up to your head, your palms squeezing your temples as you gasped. Peter raised an eyebrow, entertained. “I fucking love this song,” You explained as ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ by Whitney Houston played on the TV. Peter sat still as he paid attention to the music, confusion glinting in his eyes until he recognized the melody and his body lit up.

“Wait, so do I—”

“Clock strikes upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade…” You shouted, your head jerked back. Peter put his fist against his mouth, embarrassed by your hilariously terrible singing, but at the same time holding himself back from joining you in your performance. “Still enough time to figure out how to chase my blues away!” You sang, pointing your finger at him. He muttered an ‘ohmygod’ under his breath, his face beet red.

“I’ve done enough ‘till now, it’s the light of day that shows me how!” You dramatically laid back on the counter, true singer-like style, holding an imaginary microphone up to your mouth. “And when the night falls, loneliness calls…” You turned your head to face Peter and booped his nose, an action which you would undeniably regret once the euphoria of hearing one of your favorite songs ended.

“Ah, fuck it…” He whispered, beaming at you and grabbing your fist to sing into the invisible mic as well. “Oh! I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!” He cried out, his eyes passionately closed and his hand pressed flat against his chest. You scream-laughed at him, holding your torso. However, you quickly rolled onto your stomach, your faces now in close proximity.

“Yeah! I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!” You both sung into your clenched hand, incredibly out of tune. “Oh! I want to dance with somebody!”

“I wanna feel the heat with somebody...” A customer in the background yelled out. You two exploded with laughter, your head pressed against his cheek and Peter gripping your hand tight.

That night, you sang with somebody you loved.

The end of the year arrived too quickly, and you were disconnecting the plug of the Christmas lights adorning the windows of the bar as you wondered whether you should get Peter a present for the holidays or not. Some new sweatpants, you considered; they were his favorite piece of clothing, you had come to learn, and in the times that he wore a pair, you noticed it was always the same. But you also questioned if it would be bizarre to hand him a gift— you only saw each other at the bar, after all. There weren't any instances where he called you to meet up for lunch, or something similar; and once in a while, you hoped to hear your blaring ringtone and to answer your phone to him. That never happened, though; your relationship would never evolve from the occasional text throughout the week. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even seen him for three weeks, three days, and counting. And, my God, did it sadden you that you knew that. Every time you’d type a greeting along with a question about his whereabouts, you’d stare at the screen of your cell phone for far too long and eventually delete your words— the exact process repeating over and over again. Maybe he’s with his friends or remaining family, you concluded. Hanukkah did end yesterday, stop being so obsessive.

A knock on the door provoked a startled squeak out of you. You jerked your head, confused, because who in the world was knocking on the door at three o’clock in the morning? Your terror was fleeting, however, for behind the foggy glass existed Peter B. Parker’s guilty smile. You exhaled and headed to open the door to shelter him from the violent and raging winter wind outside. He barged in, the tip of his nose the color of raspberries, most likely a repercussion of his poor clothing coverage for the season. “Hey,” He greeted you, rubbing his hands together.

“Wow, I think you got here a little too late,” You teased, folding your arms across your chest. The bags under his eyes were particularly prominent that night, not that it surprised you in any shape or form. He leaned against the wall, resting the back of his head on the timber.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” He apologized and you shook your head. It was useless. You were aware that there was no chance you could be mad at him for finally visiting you; in fact, you were ridiculously elated to be seeing him at such late hours, in spite of your bed crying out for your company. “I guess I lost track of time.”

“What are you doing here, anyway? I haven’t seen you for three weeks and when you do show up, it’s at three A.M.”

“I don’t… know.” You quirked a brow, wondering if he’d had a few too many drinks. “I sort of just walked and my feet got me here.”

“Are you drunk? And did you get in a bar fight or something, because you’ve got a bruise forming under your jaw and it looks too animalistic to be a hickey,” You asked with a gesture of your hand toward his face, relieved the jealousy didn’t bleed through your voice if the latter turned out to be more than a mere speculation. The scarlet on his nose spread to his cheeks. “I hope not, because that would mean you cheated on me by going to another bar.”

He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his stubble. “Nah, I wouldn’t ever do that to you.” You walked up to him and patted his shoulder, congratulating him for his great response but also to move him away from the window to check if it was closed. “I’m just tired.”

“Long day?”

“Awfully long.”

You still didn’t get an answer to why he was out so late, but you didn’t have the energy to continue budging. “Yeah, same.” You whispered, lifting a chair to place it upside down on a table.

“Wanna talk about it?” You looked at him confused. “Your day?”

“I would, but, uh, I kinda have to close this place. Y'know, it’s the holidays, so we’re not open 24/7 because my boss likes spending time with her family,” You explained, hearing his understanding hums. “Everyone already left and I didn’t have anything to do, so I promised her I would do it for her.”

He moved to stand opposite to you and copied your actions of setting the chairs atop the table. “That’s not safe— you being here alone, I mean. I can help!” He offered, as if a random spike of energy flourished in him.

Your brows drew together. “Shouldn’t you go home?”

He paused in the midst of reversing a seat, the furniture cradled in his chest like a baby. “Yeah, but so should you. It won’t hurt to sacrifice one hour of sleep just to help a friend,” He smirked, shrugging.

You allowed him to give you a hand in arranging the place, not that you had much of a choice, anyway; he would’ve done it nonetheless despite your refusals. Thirty minutes later, you were standing outside, your body aching tremendously. Peter noticed your soreness and, before you could even react, he was lowering the roll-up gate. “I could’ve helped with that,” You mumbled as he wiped his hands on his sweatpants. “Don’t want you breaking your back, grandpa.”

He laughed, shoving his hands inside his jacket’s pockets. “I’m a cute grandpa, though, right?” He asked with a flirty smile. You rolled your eyes.

“Hm, yeah, a total gilf.”

“Gilf?”

“Yeah, you know, like a ‘dilf’ but instead of a dad it’s a grandpa.” You both giggled as you began to walk to who knows where, visible breaths leaving your mouths like small dragons puffing out smoke. 

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the straps of your backpack tightly. “Oh snap, I forgot!” He turned around with a questioning brow. “My car broke down, so I have to take the subway back home.” You explained, nudging your head back at the green stairs heading down to the metro station. He tilted his head, frowning.

“Y/N, it’s four in the morning. I don’t think going to the subway this late is such a smart idea.”

You rocked on your heels. “Yeah, but… how else am I gonna get home? You want me to sleep in the bar?”

His gaze shifted as he pondered, grunting. “Do you, uh… do you want to go to my place?”

Your stomach clenched, your heart starting a run when you heard his suggestion. He doesn’t mean it that way, you idiot,  you scolded yourself. Yet you wished he did. “...Your place?”

“Yeah, it’s just a few blocks away from here, like a ten-minute walk.” There was a prolonged silence as you entered deep in thought, making him panic and stutter. “T-that’s if you want to, though. Don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“No, Pete, I…” You stopped him, grinning. “I mean, you sure?”

“Yeah,” He clapped his hands and held them together up to his chest. “Why not?”

“I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Cool! Uh, cool.. just… c’mon,” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder and you began your trek to his apartment, your shoes thudding lightly against the concrete of the sidewalk, wet due to the rain two hours ago.

“Thanks…” You started, wiggling your fingers, numb from the bitter cold, but to wake yourself up as well. “I actually am sort of terrified of taking the train, so I’m glad you offered. I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t worry—”

“What? No! No, I’ll take the couch, you’re the guest.”

“No, no, no, I insist—”

“Y/N.” You looked up at him, a teasing smile on his face. “You keep the bed. Plus, the change of place will be nice.” You groaned, your eyes closed.

“You’re such a great dude: offering me to sleep at your place so I don’t get mugged and shit, and here I am, stealing your probably comfy bed.” You then moaned, your eyes going blank. “Bed. God, just thinking about sleeping really turns me on right now.”

He huffed softly, bumping into your side. “What… what’s happened, though? We haven’t seen each other for a hot minute.”

You looked heavenward, your mouth ajar as you tried to recall your previous three weeks. “Mm, well, I honestly can’t even remember if I had breakfast or not— oh!” You exclaimed rather sleepily. “Well, this pretty boy working at a Taco Bell I went to asked me out on a date.”

“Oh?” He scrunched his brows together and you hummed. “And what did you say?”

“No.”

“No?! Why not?”

“I just…” Your eyes darted up to his curious ones, your face softening after inspecting him for a while, but not long enough to embarrass yourself. “I don’t know. Wasn’t feeling him, y’know?” He nodded comprehensively. “What ‘bout you?”

His entire mood shifted. His shoulders slumped, and he nibbled on his bottom lip, his jaw tightened. “I… I saw MJ today.” Your heart broke.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Wh-what, like, you two met somewhere?”

“No, more like ‘saw her coming out of the coffee shop while crossing the street and then a pedestrian yelled at me because I was standing in the way’.” He grumbled. You didn’t know what got in you, but you grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He glanced down at your linked hands and then up at you. That’s when you instantly let go, your pinkies still connected for a bit until completely detaching. You were too busy ogling the ground to see his fingers searching for yours.

“You’ll be alright one day,” You cleared your throat, a bashful smile on your face. “You’ll figure this out.”

He prevented you from continuing with your walk with a hand on your shoulder. You hesitantly turned your body to face him, gulping. Oh, no— you worried, your heart picking up its pace again— did the hand holding make him uncomfortable? Is he now gonna question me? Why am I such a damn idiot? But then you saw his dilated pupils, and your mouth went dry. “I…” He began.

“You… okay?” You questioned when his stare lingered on you. He blinked, his arm dropping by his side as he coughed.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, that was weird. I’m just—”

“—tired.” You finished for him and he scoffed, giving you a half-smile.

“Wow, you know me so well,” He joked, and scratched the back of his neck, pointing at the building you two stood in front of. “Uh, this is where I live.”

“Oh!” You spun around, studying the apartment complex. It appeared simple: not too big or small, modest-looking. “That was faster than I expected.”

“Yeah…” He muttered as he climbed up the stairs, holding the door open for you when he reached the top.

The man’s apartment was tiny, somewhat too messy, you decided; there was an empty pizza box on his bed, and he awkwardly dumped it in the trash can when you two walked in, apologizing for the mess. You sat on his bed and he stood at your feet, stroking his neck. "Do you want some clothes? I can give you a shirt or some—” You stopped him when he turned to go to his dresser, gently pulling his arm. “What?” You continued to wordlessly tug on his sleeve until he sat next to you, sighing deeply. Slowly, you leaned backwards until your back bounced on his mattress. Peter’s confused by your actions, but you simply patted the area behind him. He got the message and lied down on the rumpled sheets. 

You looked at each other, a few inches apart, yet for some odd reason, you felt closer to him. Perhaps you could blame the different location, or the way in which your silent gazes stayed on each other. Somehow, you were both alright with it. No discomfort took ahold of either of you as you remained like that for a while, no words or sounds other than the city outside, both later with your eyes closed. To your embarrassment, you were on the brink of dozing off, but you couldn’t help it; you drowned in tranquility, and the exhaustion of your body cooperated— it was surprising you hadn’t fallen asleep yet. You could hear Peter’s steady breathing, and his voice brought you back to consciousness when he spoke. “Y/N?” It was soft, softer than your pillows back at home. Softer than your lonesome bed. You acknowledged him with a mumble, opening one eyelid. His eyes were almost shut, but you could still see the glimmer in his dark eyes. His whiskey eyes. “You’re really nice.”

Your eyes sealed closed again. “You’re really nice too, Pete.”

“No, but…” His sentence died out and he did not continue for a long period. You believed he had fallen into a slumber until he talked again. “You’re really nice. Like that hot chocolate I had in the morning while I was freezing type of nice.”

“I… I don’t know if it’s because I’m about to pass out, but I don’t get it.” When you blinked your eyes as wide as you could, he was closer than before. Closer than ever. You took the chance to discover, note every part of his face more closely, every freckle, every lash, his growing stubble. Everything.

“What I mean is that… you really bring warmth to my life, Y/N. Not to sound too cheesy like I usually do, or anything. But everything’s a mess and you’re there, and I’m glad about that.”

“You’re just tired.”

“Yes, but a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.”

“You’re not drunk.”

“There’s really no difference.”

You could now feel his breath on your face. It was as if with every flicker of your eyelids, he had managed to inch nearer to your body. “Pete…”

“Y/N…” Your lips were roughly touching. You felt his arm slip around your waist, his fingers ghosting over your prickling back.

“We can’t do this.” You said, regardless of your hand cradling his neck. Your foreheads were now touching.

“Why not?”

“Because…” You tried to claim that he was your customer, but you truly did not care about it anymore, and you never did. “What about Mary Jane?”

He hesitated for a moment. “What about Mary Jane?”

“You still want her back.” You breathed out, your body quivering as his eyelashes tickled your cheeks.

“I can forget about her just tonight.”

You kissed. Your lips remained interlocked for a few moments, the both of you too tired to move them. It was like sixth-graders kissing for the first time— a lingering peck on the lips. But an energy sparked within you, and you moved your lips. Soon, you were on top of his body, your shirt almost completely off except for one of your arms still inside one sleeve, your fingers desperately tangled in his greying hair, his crooked nose bumping with yours. He didn’t taste like whiskey or ice, but he did taste like a year of laughing with each other in the bar, and him not noticing as you slowly fell for him.

[all-about-cr7]

Round-up of the best quotes from the interview as the Seleção all-time record goalscorer also talks about Manchester United, Lionel Messi and why he refuses to focus on specific targets despite feeling there is much more to achieve.

On maintaining his level at 34 “First of all, you must have talent. Without this it will not be possible to do much. After that, talent without work is useless. Nothing falls from the sky. I would never have gotten where I did without my work ethic. We all get old. You may be healthy for a long time, but the body naturally declines; we can do nothing about it. They say I have the body of an athlete, but it's not just the physique or the training. There is the lifestyle, the nutrition, the sleep, the choice of exercises I do. About 70 percent of my life is dedicated to football. You have to be smart to last. I work on everything, physically and mentally. Even if perfection doesn't exist, I want to be a perfect player or at least what's closest to perfection. I’ll give an example. Last night was a difficult match, we met a team (Lokomotiv Moscow) who refused to play and parked the bus in front of the goal. It was hard to score. I couldn't score and was a little frustrated at the end. It's normal if you don't do what you enjoy. Most importantly, the team won. But when I got back to the locker room, I let it go. I went to dinner with friends, got home at 4 am and soaked myself in ice water before going to bed. I woke up at 10 o'clock and prepared breakfast. At 11 o'clock I went to work at the gym. If you don't have this discipline every day, you can't stay on top for 15 years. I am what I am today because I am surrounded by intelligent people who love and inspire me. Every day I learn from them. I enjoy the best of every person I know. Four or five years ago, and even more so when I became a father, I realised that I made a big mistake when I was young: I didn't like school and I didn't learn what I should have learned. But my children have ten years to learn. Today I want to learn more than ever, I want to be more educated, I want to educate, I want to read a lot, books on medicine, yoga. I watch many documentaries about the masters of this discipline and those who teach meditation. I practice for 15 or 20 minutes and it really works. We must try everything, because everywhere there are problems, everyone suffers from stress. If we can get rid of it, it's fantastic!”

Favourite goal “Seven hundred goals is an impressive amount and I'm even more proud because so few players have achieved it. The last goal is always the most important. But if you ask me to choose, I'd say the one I scored [for Real Madrid] against Juventus, the bicycle kick. It was a goal I had been trying to score for years. It happened at a crucial moment in an important game against a great team and an exceptional goalkeeper, Buffon.”

Development in England and beyond “At 19 to 20, I became aware that football is numbers, titles, records and not just the performance on the pitch. If you want to win something, you have to score. It's the most important thing in football, after your team's victory, but both are connected, so I've evolved the way I play and think football. At first, I dribbled, showed off my tricks, but I realised that was not enough. I had to score and I was lucky in Manchester to have great players around me that taught me and helped me improve. Giggs, Scholes, Van Nistelrooy, Rio Ferdinand. Alex Ferguson also taught me a lot and I realised that I had the potential to score, not just to dribble and assist. I think I'm a complete player without a real weakness. I can score with the right foot, with the left, head. I'm strong, fast. Having all this, plus a real work ethic and a healthy lifestyle, is hard to beat even at 34 and a half. Playing in England is not the same as playing in Spain or Italy. But playing in these three countries has contributed to my evolution. I would never have become what I am if I had not been someone who loves challenges and who does not hesitate to leave my comfort zone. I have great adaptability. I can switch teams, coaches or to the National Team without this being a problem for my performance. I don't think there are many players who have been champions in England, Spain and Italy during their career. Even though I have been fortunate to play in the big clubs I have done, I won there.”

Messi “A lot of people said we were fuelling each other. Facing each other so many times, as it was in Spain, has allowed us to be better, more competitive, that is the truth. At Real Madrid I felt his presence more, and I felt more pressure as well. I think it was a healthy rivalry as two club symbols. I think he said recently that he missed me competitively, but my motivation doesn't depend on others. I always want to be on top.”

On being the 6th highest goal scorer in history “If you look at it in that way, it could be a target because I'm not so far from the top. But I don't let breaking a record become an obsession. Everything I have achieved in my life has come naturally. It was the result of my efforts, never the target. If we focus on a goal to achieve, it fills our head! It’s by enjoying that we get the best things. But of course if I can I'll beat the record.”

Legacy “If it was up to me, I would play only the important games. The national team and the Champions League. These are the games that most motivate me, those that have something at stake, a difficult environment with pressure. But then you must be professional and fit every day to honour your family and the club you represent and pays you. You have to do your best every day. It's always nice when people talk about you in a complimentary way. When they say that I was the best, a fantastic player. Today I hear everything they say about me. When it's over, by the end of my career, it won't matter to me anymore, because I will disconnect from everything. It's been 15 years since I started all these sacrifices. I appreciate what I did, but I will enjoy myself even more: being with my friends, with my family, watching my children grow up. Recount my life experience. But not now. I think I can still give a lot.”

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

hi, I'd like to read the sun interview with louis, but don't want to click or go to their website. you tagged one of your responses with "Thanks Jen for the transcript", can you please point me to the blog of this person, so that I can read it? thank you

Hi Anon, 

@jlf23tumble didn’t post it on her blog, but she did message it to me - so here it is:

AS a cheeky teenager in One Direction, Louis Tomlinson conquered the world – performing in stadiums around the globe and amassing a multimillion-pound fortune along the way.

But while he achieved pop superstardom, few 28-year-olds have suffered more trauma in their relatively short lives than the Doncaster-born singer.

In the four years since the group’s “hiatus”, Louis has faced unimaginable tragedy with the passing of both his sister Felicite aged 18, last year and his mum Johannah in 2016, before choreographing an impressive comeback with a debut solo album, Walls.

His personal journey back to full strength has been nothing short of remarkable — with the singer forced to deal with loss of his younger sibling and his mum in the full glare of publicity.

In an exclusive interview with The Sun, Louis explains: “Initially, when the news broke (about Felicite) last year, I was bitter about the fact that everybody was talking about it.

“Loads of people were speculating online about what might have happened. I was just told that it was the reality of the situation, which it is, and I had to accept it.“So that’s the negative side to it, but a positive side to it and something I wasn’t prepared to feel was the love from my fans.

“I wasn’t ready to feel like that, but I really needed it at the time.

“What was difficult was people speculating about details straight away, discussing online what might have happened when nobody really knew, and talking about my family. But actually when I looked further almost all of it was kind, and I felt loved.”

Just over two years before Felicite’s death from an accidental drug overdose, Louis’ mum Johannah tragically passed away, aged 43, following a long battle with leukaemia. It is a loss that continues to shape his life.

But he tells how, over time, he has come to learn from the experience — and now hopes to support others through his own experiences.

He adds: “I’m still getting asked about my mum now, but I’ve grown to understand it I suppose, and I feel like I can maybe help others.

“When I wrote a song called Two Of Us, I had fans talking to me about a loss they’d had, and they listened to the song and told me I’d helped them in some way. That makes it all worthwhile.“Despite how difficult it can be to deal with these things when people are watching, if I have the possibility to help even one person, that’s massive.”

Today, Louis is calm, reflective and down-to-earth when we meet in a low-key west London pub — despite him having sold more than 50million records globally with One Direction.

Louis talks with a broad Doncaster accent, and laughs as he reflects on his career, which began when he found fame with 1D at the age of 18.

He admits he has “f***ed things up” plenty of times in the past but hopes to have learnt from his mistakes.

His new single, Walls, recounts his experiences of love and loss. It is a clearly autobiographical reflection on his life over the last decade, which has seen him fall in love with his childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Calder, before splitting in 2015, and reconciling two years ago.In the years in between he fathered his first child, a son, with a US stylist but the pair soon separated and his romance with model Eleanor is now so strong marriage rumours have begun to swirl, although he’s quick to insist they are premature.

He explains: “Yeh I saw some of that. It isn’t true, but the luxury with Eleanor is I’ve known her since before our first single What Makes You Beautiful, so she’s felt the whole growth of everything.

“As I’ve got to understand it, she has too, and I have the benefit with her that we’ve seen it for what it is.”

So is marriage a possibility? He adds: “One day, yeah, I’d imagine so. If you’re asking me if I’m going to marry her? Yes, I think so! And more kids, I’d say so.”

His lyrics reflect on the ups and downs of his time in the spotlight, as he explains: “It’s about overcoming some of your problems and learning from your mistakes.

"It’s looking back at a certain time of my life and I’m sure there’s lots of people who can relate to that idea of being alone and waking up, being used to having someone there, then they’re not.“It’s a bit of, “Oh no, I’ve f***ed it up, yeah. But I’ve understood that now and I’ve come back stronger.

“You learn from your mistakes, and the song is about owning them, putting your hands up and saying ‘I know what I did was wrong, but I understand it a bit better now’”.

While in One Direction, Louis earned himself a reputation, alongside some of his other bandmates, as a party boy.

Today he’s learnt to control himself, but jokes that he can “still put a few beers away”. He’s keen to expand his mind now after missing out university when he found fame with One Direction on The X Factor.

He says: “I’ve been very lucky but one experience that I know I would have loved is university, mobbing out and meeting new people.

“Someday it will happen. I’d study psychology. And I’ve just started reading again, I just picked up this Beatles book, so I’m trying to educate myself a bit more.

“I just thought I’d pick up a few books, because I realised that I don’t read at all — and for a songwriter that’s pretty criminal.”

With a huge bank balance and global fame, there’s appears to be little to achieve. For Louis, fame has come first — but now he’s determined to prove himself as an artist in his own right, even if he is never able to achieve the enormous record sales One Direction enjoyed.

The album has been almost four years in the making. He scrapped a huge quantity of material and started over after he realised his first efforts had failed to fulfil his own ambitions.

He adds: “I’ve never been driven by money, but I’ve got a point to prove to myself. I think I was frustrated before, because I was in a few writing sessions where no matter what I said at the start of the session, the concept at the end was always something different. But after a while I decided to scrap all of that, and own this myself.

“I struggled with it for the first couple of years. I was trying to work out exactly what my sound was.

"I didn’t have the luxury every other developing artist has of making mistakes in the background until you land on that one you get excited about and that’s why it took me a second go to get it right.”

However successful his solo efforts may prove to be, alongside those of 1D bandmates Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, the question of a prospective reunion will always loom large for Louis — who remains in contact with his former bandmates but admits they are very different people.

He adds: “I used to feel more pressure about matching up to anything any of the others do, but the reality is we have different skill sets and different fans.

“Harry’s a star, there’s no two ways about it. I’m much more reserved. If I carry myself in a slightly different way, I might be able to get a different market but it’s all about staying true to you and that’s what we’re all doing.

“I spoke to Liam a couple of days ago but haven’t spoken to Niall in a couple of months. Me and Harry don’t speak quite as much but he sent me a text about the single and I sent him one about his, and there’s a mutual respect there, definitely.

Louis debut solo album, Walls, is released January 31. His single, also titled Walls, is out now.

[unreachablevoice]

Moving In Is What Started It All

Summary:

With Marinette’s parents being away with work, she is left in the care of one of their supposedly family friend; who just so happened to be someone who she has always been idolizing. And throw in the fact that she is having a hard time with friendships experiencing hardships, bridges being burned, and secrets unraveling and her parents unintentionally (plus being clueless with their daughter’s suffering) throwing their daughter in a pit of misery.

Note:

This fanfic will not contain Miraculous. Though, This does still contain the concept and some of the episodes of the show just cut out the parts of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Previous | Next | Masterlist | AO3

Extra Chapter | This is The Grown-Ups’ Talk, Kids Keep Out! (or not)|

This is the part when both Marinette and Adrien's parents went to a separate room to leave the two to “bond”.

It's just a little extra/filler chapter where you'll read what they talked about when they left them alone.

You can skip it if you want, I mean it's just an extra chapter. There won't be any ship scenes anyway. You don't have to read this to know the rest, but if you're still going to read it then....

Enjoy^^

P.S.

Sorry if this is umm posted like after Chapter 3... it’s actually supposed to be before. I kind of got confused, sorry. Just check the Masterlist to see the proper sequencing of the umm Chapters... yeah, sorry. 

Narrative POV

The adults are now in the dining room, leaving the two teens to bond with each other.

"So.... What's happened lately? Is the situation about that again?" Gabriel said, as to try and start the conversation. The Dupain-Chengs’ faces turned to each other and sighed in sync. 

"Yes, actually. Some of our clients had a problem with our workers, and some of our workers are having problems with handling interviews and auditions." Sabine replied.

A chuckle escaped from the lips of the older Agreste. "It's like the problems are both vice versa."

Sabine had shown a smile on her face by the time he chuckled. "I guess you could say that I bet both the clients and the workers are going to be another pain in the–!”

“Language!”

Sabine meekly looked at her husband and muttered an embarrassed ‘sorry’. Tom laughed at his wife, which was followed by a deep, throaty chuckle from Gabriel. A few more series of laughter was heard, and then they continued their conversation.

"So... Any news on Emilie? Is she... awake yet?" Tom asked, carefully keeping in mind how sensitive the subject can be. A hurt, lonely, and sad look replaced the expressionless look on the slight blonde's face. His eyes looked like they were about to burst into tears at any moment. Seeing his wife in a hospital bed—which could also possibly be her deathbed—wasn't really the most satisfying.

"Sh-She's still the same... Nothing really worsened nor improved.... It just hurts how I can't do anything to help her with the battle she's facing." Gabriel's voice cracked, his eyebrows trying their best not to knit together, and his lips trying their best to smile which just turned to an uncanny curve. The couple in front of him knew he was hurt, they wanted to do something to help their friend but they knew that even they can't tell what time could. They don't have powers that can magically heal his wife, nor are they skillful people that could help the woman.

"Oh Gabe, it's okay to cry.... We know it hurts, so don't hold back okay? We're your friends... We know if something's wrong so don't try to fake your act on us like that. You're stuck with us whether you like it or not." Sabine said in response to the look that he showed, placing her hand to the slight blonde's shoulder; reassuring him. While Tom hugged the man tight.

Small and quiet sobs broke from Gabriel's mouth. He was glad he had such good and supporting friends like them. Lucky for the three, every room in the Agreste Mansion was made to be sound proof (only if they want to, there are buttons that they could press to make the room soundproof or not) so they didn't have to worry about the two teens hearing them.

After calming down, it was Gabriel's turn to ask the two and switched the topic. "I heard your daughter is a big fan of mine. Is that true?" he smiles as he visualized in his head how a petite noirette would look like while holding a magazine of his and squealing adorably.

The Dupain-Cheng's nodded in agreement and in unison. Their daughter really was a big fan of him, ESPECIALLY his son. But they couldn't tell him that, they'd betray their daughter's trust, well not like she knows that they already knew she has a crush on him.

"Haha, yes it's true. She likes all of your designs, and she bought each and every magazine you've ever published.” Tom chuckles as he remembers that one time where little Marinette had filled their whole storage room with different magazines and some are even scattered on the floor and their furniture.

“You know, she’s aiming to be a fashion designer one day. She’d won each and every one of the contests that she had joined by a landslide. And she even has a lot of famous and rich people commissioning for her, adding to her growing lists of connections!" he added, proud of the accomplishments his daughter had gained.

Gabriel was touched, his friends' own daughter idolized HIM! Isn't that sweet? She even has a lot of accomplishments and connections! He thought that maybe this girl could succeed his company, and may possibly be his future daughter-in-law, AKA his son's wife.

"So... Tell me, is Miss Marinette interested in someone? Perhaps, someone a lot closer than I think?" he asked. Hoping that his friend would say it was his son, Gabriel waited with anticipation. His hands were on his knees, on the verge of ripping a hole on his black uncluttered slacks. His face kept an unreadable expression, yet inside he was sweating bullets. He wanted Adrien to marry this girl, and he wanted her to be a part of his family so bad to the point that if Tom would say no, he'd THREATEN the girl and her parents into letting her marry into the Agreste family.

"Marinette? Well, the thing is..." Tom did not continue, he hesitated, scared of his own daughter being mad at him. And boy, she was a force to be reckoned with when mad. 

Gabriel wondered what was wrong. Tom usually didn't take this long to answer, so what happened? Gabriel looked at Sabine who just shrugged, saying that she'll leave the answering to her husband.

"Tom... There's someone, isn't there? Who is it? TELL. ME." Gabriel uttered as slowly and as intimidating as possible, signaling to Tom that if he didn't tell him, he'd probably do something he wouldn't like. Tom swallowed a huge chunk in his throat that he, himself, didn't even know he was holding in.

"Dear, I think you should tell him already. Look, you're going to pee your pants in that voice of his." Sabine spoke, trying to save her husband from all the trouble. Tom sighed, finally giving in to the slight blonde's demand. He looked Gabriel straight into the eyes, begging him not to make any uncanny noises that could.

"Alright... The truth is, Marinette does have someone she likes. And that person is ---”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Adrien, she likes Adrien.”

Gabriel was surprised. Though he was right, he still didn't expect his hypothesis to be correct. His friends' daughter liked HIS son! So his dream will come true! Gabriel smirked at the thought of him being correct, and at the fact that he could ship his son with their daughter.

"Wait.... How did you know that Miss Marinette liked Adrien?" he asked, curious about how his friends could keep an eye on their daughter even though they're not around all the time. The couple giggled at his reaction. Knowing Gabriel, he's probably thinking about something that's not that important.

"Oh Gabriel, of course, we'd know.” Sabine smiled fondly at the Agreste, getting ready to reminisce about a memory of hers.

“Remember that episode of Jagged Stone where he visited our house? She had pictures of Adrien plastered on her walls right?” Tom recounted the time when Marinette was so upset he was almost certain she would’ve thrown them out of their house. “Though, she did lessen down the posters now.”

“Well... before that, there was also a time where we asked people to clean her room and those people saw it. Of course, they'd come running to us, and just by one glance of those plastered pictures, we immediately knew that our little girl liked him." Sabine chuckles as she remembers when their housekeepers had frantically ran to them and was quite scared with the number of faces that welcomed them in their daughter’s room.

The couple laughed, a full belly laugh as their daughter’s panicked and embarrassed face flashed on to their view. Gabriel was dumbfounded, he thought they'd also put a security system inside their daughter's room just to look after her like he did, but no. They didn't.

"So you didn't have to put any security system around your house?" Gabriel asked, shocked on how come they didn't have to go through what he went.

The couple in front laughed at his statement. "No... Why Gabe, did YOU put one in your house?" Tom asked, in which Gabriel returned with a low nervous chuckle. "Well.... we wouldn't be surprised if you did that. I mean, you are Gabriel Agreste, the control freak," he added, in which was pronounced as a slight mumble.

Gabriel heard the declaration that was just made, even if it was just a mumble. He couldn't help but open his mouth in shock. "Excuse me??!! What do you mean you wouldn't be surprised?! And-And what do you mean control freak??!! I am not a control freak!!" Gabriel said with a stern voice, meaning to say that he did NOT like what he just heard and will NOT want to hear it again.

A few more arguing and laughing was heard, which explains why Adrien and Marinette had to stop their little "moment" (REFERENCE TO CHAPTER TWO). Though, that wasn't the end of their little get-together. Of course, the friends missed each other so they needed to bond as much as possible. But catching up was the least of their problems, they still had to hook up their children to each other for who knows how long....

Though, they finally decided to head out to the living room to discuss the whole move-in thing to their children much further.

[soraegeeks]

Review: Thanks for Saving Me

It’s BEYOND obvious that I’m a Baku x Deku stan and I’d never entertained the Todo x Deku dynamic. That was until I read Esselle’s fic Thanks for Saving Me. I’m not sure how I was introduced to it but I’m so glad that I was.

TFSM is a 7 chapter TDDK fic with a Quirkless Izuku who’s a college sophomore and a little younger than our heroes. The official summary:

Midoriya Izuku is a university sophomore, a fanboy, quirkless. On the list of things he is not: a hero.

That's why he's more surprised than anyone when he rescues Todoroki Shouto, his favorite pro hero, from a deadly villain attack. His actions fling him into the media spotlight, grabbing the attention of the entire country, including Todoroki himself. But Todoroki actually wants to get to know him past the headlines.

Izuku finds himself living a story straight out of a fairy tale, one where the mysterious, handsome prince is played by the real-life superhero he has always admired. But Izuku is convinced he's the ugly duckling, not the swan; could he ever be remarkable enough to get his happily ever after?

This story is SO GOOD! There’s a villain attack at Izuku’s school and he meets Todoroki, Pro Hero Shouto, while helping a tour of high school kids escape the chemistry building. I was GEEKED when I read that one of Izuku’s majors was chemistry. I have a degree in chemistry and got all kinds of feels and started imagining my old stomping grounds as the setting. LOL So, by the power of CHEMISTRY Izuku stops Todoroki from making a misstep that would have blown up the whole building and finds the right chemical to knock the villain unconscious. Izuku saved his hero and his hero THANKED HIM!!!!! I would have died on the spot if I was Izuku. LOL I’m sure that he left a part of himself behind in the ambulance when Todoroki cleaned and bandaged a cut on his cheek. And gave him his phone number??!!! YUP. Dead. There lies Izuku Midoriya cause of death Pro Hero Shouto’s overwhelming cuteness.

The next morning Izuku is resurrected and dies again because he is awakened by Todoroki CALLING HIM ON THE PHONE!!! Evidently, the news got out about who he was (Todoroki told them in order to not take all of the credit for the rescue) and Todoroki called to warn him that the media knew and were on the way to his apartment. These goofballs didn’t get to that part of the conversation before Izuku answered the door to a mob of reporters while wearing PRO HERO SHOUTO PAJAMAS!!! Total fanboy. LOL

Todoroki uses his pull and gets them an interview so the media will stop hounding Izuku. Bless Izuku’s heart and I love Esselle for keeping him a canonically horrible dresser. LOL A pinstriped maroon suit with his sneakers. Thank goodness for Todoroki trying to help this poor walking disaster. So, the interview…..I suffer from issues with second hand embarrassment. Even though I’ve read this chapter multiple times I can’t say that I’ve read the whole interview scene. I think I threw my phone a few times and scrolled quickly by. In fact I’m quickly scrolling by now as I reread to write this review. HA! Embarrassment, you won’t catch me!!! ANYWAY, from what I did see, Izuku was his usual adorkable self and charmed everyone. Todoroki arranged a car ride for Izuku back to campus and I swear these lines were perfect to describe their interaction in the car “Izuku slowly raises his head to look at him again. Todoroki is watching him out of the corner of his eye, like he's afraid if he looks at Izuku full on, Izuku will fling himself out of the moving vehicle. Honestly, the assumption might not be that far off.” If Izuku could he would have tucked and rolled out of that car in embarrassment. LMAO Oh and Todoroki is a jerk. A jerk hiding behind that stoic demeanor. I love when he’s written like that. LOL

So, fanboy Izuku is a member of his school’s Pro Hero Fan Association. Any surprises? No? No, ok. LOL And I hate the smarmy chick who is vice president of the club. Just gonna put it out there. DO NOT LIKE! NYET! And OMG Izuku’s clubmate showing him a Twitter feed of Todoroki watching him during the interview??!! Yo! Looking back, Todoroki was sprung from day one. LOL HE EVEN RETWEETED THE TWITTER THREAD. Yup, sprung. LOL Moving on to the end of the week and Izuku takes Shouto up on his offer of a tour of his agency. Again with Jerky Shouto teasing Izuku about that god awful maroon suit. LOL To Izuku’s surprise, Shouto personally escorts him around on the tour. HIs assistant Aiko alluding to the fact that Shouto had been looking forward to it all week. Oh. Everything is going well, Izuku gets to see a lot and fanboy and then Shouto gets a call from his assistant. Enemy number one is in the building. Shouto’s dad, Endeavor. DUN DUN DUUUUNN!!! These two fools take off running and HIDE in a damn broom closet. WHAT?! LMAO All is still semi-good until the unthinkable happens. All of the excitement leads to Izuku getting a hard on. NOOOOO!!!!!!!! And he’s squished up against Shouto in the small hiding place. “his leg juts out a bit more, and his thigh slots between Izuku's, and Izuku's soul abandons his earthly body.” RIP Izuku Midoriya. AGAIN! At the end of their adventure Izuku ends up with an invite to the Hero’s Gala. An invite from Shouto to attend WITH HIM! Izuku has left this planet again. How many lives does this kid have? LOL

Poor awkward Izuku. His phone calls with Shouto are a mess. It helps that Shouto is awkward as well. As for the gala, Izuku pictures himself going as “Todoroki's friend-guest.” *snort* FRIEND-GUEST?! A guest that is a friend? LOL The things that go through this kid’s head. And what will this walking fashion disaster wear?! Now to worry when Shouto offers to get his outfitted in a suit. Oh! And Shouto wasn’t slick wanting to keep Izuku on the phone after they finished talking about the gala. “How was your day” indeed. LOL

It’s suit fitting day and this whole section is my favorite part of this chapter!! Izuku’s running late at his hero fan association meeting and his fellow club members overhear him talking on the phone with Shouto. Of course that annoying vice president immediately jumps in to say that he’s lying. BLEH! And just as Izuku’s deciding that that he’ll quit the club, who comes to his rescue? None other than Shouto showing up AT the club room to personally retrieve him. You go Shouto! Go save your wannabe bae!!! Their car ride over was adorable with Izuku admitting to liking to see Shouto for who he really is. And NOT wanting Shouto to follow his embarrassing fanboy Twitter account. HA! All of the things that Izuku knows about Shouto’s public persona never ceases to amaze Shouto. Even amazes the tailor. The tailor who’s noticed that Shouto has taken a liking to Izuku. And yeah, Shouto is practically damn drooling when Izuku shows off his tailored tux. Alright people, the TodoDeku train has left the station!! LOL

Momma Inko is a treasure. Even she thinks that Shouto likes him. Recounting all of their “dates.” Gotta pay attention to a mother’s instinct. They KNOW things. LOL When the news showed that Shouto got hurt in an overseas mission poor Izuku got so worried. When he finally talked to Shouto, he jokingly played it off that Izuku was just worried about not being able to go to the gala. JERK! LOL I thought we were about to lose Izuku again when he accidentally called Shouto by his first name and when he heard Shouto call him by his first name. How many more lives does this kid have? Is there a 1-Up mushroom anywhere nearby? LOL And it’s absolutely adorable that they stayed on the phone and Izuku fell asleep with the phone next to him. Like some high school romance when you’re not supposed to be on the phone late at night. LOL

Ooooooo, Todoroki showed up at Izuku’s apartment as soon as he flew back into town. *sings* He wanted to spend time with Izuuukkuuuu! And poor oblivious Izuku still doesn’t realize that it means that he’s interested in him. LOL An impromptu date, cause it is a date. Shouto even brought takeout to eat together. They ate, and talked, and enjoyed each other’s company.

And then IT’S GALA DAY!!!! They’re taking Shouto’s private jet to the location of the gala and the jerk that is Shouto “forgets” to tell Izuku that Ururaka, pro hero Uravity, and Hanta, pro hero Cellophane, will be flying with them. Izuku called him out though. He knows those jerkish ways. LOL Looking back on this segment and this was all a setup for his friends to get to know Izuku. To know him and see all of the wonderful things that Shouto sees in him. ANDDD Izuku’s soul left the building when the plane hit turbulence and Shouto stopped him from falling by pulling him onto his lap. “ Izuku is mentally filing away every detail regarding the entire experience of Todoroki Shouto's Warm Lap.” BWAAAAAAA. Shouto was so protective of him afterward wanting him to feel comfortable with the turbulence. Touching Izuku’s hair and shifting over so their legs almost touched. Such tiny intimate actions. I love how Shouto’s style team pampered Izuku getting him ready for the gala. Izuku deserves a nice night like this. WOOOOOO when those two saw each other in their suits it’s like electricity in the air. They are both so far gone. LOL

Shouto was amazing helping Izuku navigate the red carpet of the event. Even pointing out two girls who were fans of Izuku’s hero actions. The interview with Kaminari made me laugh. The whole time I was thinking, being friends that I know those two have talked about everything already that Kaminari was going to ask. But they had to do it on camera for sure. And when Kaminari asked who Izuku was and Shouto hesitated with “my…” I wondered if he stopped himself from saying “boyfriend” and later on thought maybe he was going to say “date.” “"I feel pretty damn lucky that you're here tonight, too."” Shouto is a goner. LOL

Inside the venue Shouto AGAIN surprised Izuku and introduced him to All Might himself!! Shouto really does enjoy seeing Izuku freak out. The jerk. LOL LIke how do you not tell him he’s going to meet his favorite hero and like Shouto’s surrogate dad??!! LOL All Might’s words of wisdom were just what Izuku needed to finally get it through his head that he had performed heroic acts and it didn’t matter if he was quirkless. All Might in his fatherly way ALSO alluded to Shouto being fond of Izuku. Does EVERYONE know how Shouto feels about Izuku? LOL The hand holding at the table SQUUEEEEEE!!!! They are so adorable. And Todorki’s acceptance speech where he purposely took time out to thank Izuku...yeah, if anyone didn’t know before, they knew then. LOL 

At Shouto’s class’ after party EVERYONE pokes fun at them. His class knows and they’ve been itching to get to meet Izuku. LOL Poor Izuku, consistent minor heart attacks. LOL And then a moment that I had been waiting for (and forgot that I was waiting for) was the introduction of Bakugo! First off, thank you Esselle for making him married to Kirishima. YES! The rival-friendship between him and Shouto. Staring each other down before smiling. Yes, YES!! But I was looking forward to how the interaction between Bakugo and Izuku would play out. Immediately like an older brother/younger brother thing. LOL And Oooooooo is Shouto a little bit jealous???!!!! Tee hee! Well, I think he got over that pretty quickly when Izuku slipped again and ended up on his lap AGAIN! Not that Shouto minded at all. LOL 

And THEN the walk back to Izuku’s hotel room and  both of their insecurities popped up. Shouto’s fault, though. While Izuku thought there were no way that a pro hero would be interested in him, Shouto was thinking that he had nothing to offer Izuku other than being a pro hero. These two disasters. LOL But Izuku acted on his feelings and shared his first kiss with Shouto. Who proceeded to then beat down his door to tongue Izuku down something filthy. LOL WOO BOY!!! These two have been dancing around each other for months and now they’re in Izuku’s hotel room losing their minds. I think that Izuku dies again, more than once. LOL And OMG!!!! Todoroki is so turned on that he can’t control his fire side. YOOO!!!! His mouth is so hot that he’s blowing steam and his jacket caught on fire. LOL Shouto blindfolded listening to Izuku jerk himself off and then watching. HOT!!! On the bed rutting together, in the shower washing each other, Izuku got his man!!!! It tickled me that Shouto was very comfortable walking around naked, not like Izuku would complain about seeing him. And he finally convinced Izuku to be mutual follows on Twitter. LOL Welp, can’t say no now.

Well, that’s it. I really enjoyed this one. And enjoyed the reread I did tonight to work on this review.

[elceeu2morrow]

Simon Boyle, Bizarre Editor 24 Jan 2020, 21:35 | Updated: 24 Jan 2020, 22:29

AS a cheeky teenager in One Direction, Louis Tomlinson conquered the world – performing in stadiums around the globe and amassing a multimillion-pound fortune along the way.

But while he achieved pop superstardom, few 28-year-olds have suffered more trauma in their relatively short lives than the Doncaster-born singer.

In the four years since the group’s “hiatus”, Louis has faced unimaginable tragedy with the passing of both his sister Felicite aged 18, last year and his mum Johannah in 2016, before choreographing an impressive comeback with a debut solo album, Walls.

His personal journey back to full strength has been nothing short of remarkable — with the singer forced to deal with loss of his younger sibling and his mum in the full glare of publicity.

In an exclusive interview with The Sun, Louis explains: “Initially, when the news broke (about Felicite) last year, I was bitter about the fact that everybody was talking about it.

“Loads of people were speculating online about what might have happened. I was just told that it was the reality of the situation, which it is, and I had to accept it.

“So that’s the negative side to it, but a positive side to it and something I wasn’t prepared to feel was the love from my fans.

“I wasn’t ready to feel like that, but I really needed it at the time.

“What was difficult was people speculating about details straight away, discussing online what might have happened when nobody really knew, and talking about my family. But actually when I looked further almost all of it was kind, and I felt loved.”

Just over two years before Felicite’s death from an accidental drug overdose, Louis’ mum Johannah tragically passed away, aged 43, following a long battle with leukaemia. It is a loss that continues to shape his life.

But he tells how, over time, he has come to learn from the experience — and now hopes to support others through his own experiences.

He adds: “I’m still getting asked about my mum now, but I’ve grown to understand it I suppose, and I feel like I can maybe help others.

“When I wrote a song called Two Of Us, I had fans talking to me about a loss they’d had, and they listened to the song and told me I’d helped them in some way. That makes it all worthwhile.

“Despite how difficult it can be to deal with these things when people are watching, if I have the possibility to help even one person, that’s massive.”

Today, Louis is calm, reflective and down-to-earth when we meet in a low-key west London pub — despite him having sold more than 50million records globally with One Direction.

Louis talks with a broad Doncaster accent, and laughs as he reflects on his career, which began when he found fame with 1D at the age of 18.

He admits he has “f***ed things up” plenty of times in the past but hopes to have learnt from his mistakes.

His new single, Walls, recounts his experiences of love and loss. It is a clearly autobiographical reflection on his life over the last decade, which has seen him fall in love with his childhood sweetheart, Eleanor Calder, before splitting in 2015, and reconciling two years ago.

In the years in between he fathered his first child, a son, with a US stylist but the pair soon separated and his romance with model Eleanor is now so strong marriage rumours have begun to swirl, although he’s quick to insist they are premature.

He explains: “Yeh I saw some of that. It isn’t true, but the luxury with Eleanor is I’ve known her since before our first single What Makes You Beautiful, so she’s felt the whole growth of everything.

“As I’ve got to understand it, she has too, and I have the benefit with her that we’ve seen it for what it is.”

So is marriage a possibility? He adds: “One day, yeah, I’d imagine so. If you’re asking me if I’m going to marry her? Yes, I think so! And more kids, I’d say so.”

His lyrics reflect on the ups and downs of his time in the spotlight, as he explains: “It’s about overcoming some of your problems and learning from your mistakes.

"It’s looking back at a certain time of my life and I’m sure there’s lots of people who can relate to that idea of being alone and waking up, being used to having someone there, then they’re not.

“It’s a bit of, “Oh no, I’ve f***ed it up, yeah. But I’ve understood that now and I’ve come back stronger.

“You learn from your mistakes, and the song is about owning them, putting your hands up and saying ‘I know what I did was wrong, but I understand it a bit better now’”.

While in One Direction, Louis earned himself a reputation, alongside some of his other bandmates, as a party boy.

Today he’s learnt to control himself, but jokes that he can “still put a few beers away”. He’s keen to expand his mind now after missing out university when he found fame with One Direction on The X Factor.

He says: “I’ve been very lucky but one experience that I know I would have loved is university, mobbing out and meeting new people.

“Someday it will happen. I’d study psychology. And I’ve just started reading again, I just picked up this Beatles book, so I’m trying to educate myself a bit more.

I just thought I’d pick up a few books, because I realised that I don’t read at all — and for a songwriter that’s pretty criminal.”

With a huge bank balance and global fame, there’s appears to be little to achieve. For Louis, fame has come first — but now he’s determined to prove himself as an artist in his own right, even if he is never able to achieve the enormous record sales One Direction enjoyed.

The album has been almost four years in the making. He scrapped a huge quantity of material and started over after he realised his first efforts had failed to fulfil his own ambitions.

He adds: “I’ve never been driven by money, but I’ve got a point to prove to myself. I think I was frustrated before, because I was in a few writing sessions where no matter what I said at the start of the session, the concept at the end was always something different. But after a while I decided to scrap all of that, and own this myself.

“I struggled with it for the first couple of years. I was trying to work out exactly what my sound was.

"I didn’t have the luxury every other developing artist has of making mistakes in the background until you land on that one you get excited about and that’s why it took me a second go to get it right.”

However successful his solo efforts may prove to be, alongside those of 1D bandmates Harry Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, the question of a prospective reunion will always loom large for Louis — who remains in contact with his former bandmates but admits they are very different people.

He adds: “I used to feel more pressure about matching up to anything any of the others do, but the reality is we have different skill sets and different fans.

“Harry’s a star, there’s no two ways about it. I’m much more reserved. If I carry myself in a slightly different way, I might be able to get a different market but it’s all about staying true to you and that’s what we’re all doing.

“I spoke to Liam a couple of days ago but haven’t spoken to Niall in a couple of months. Me and Harry don’t speak quite as much but he sent me a text about the single and I sent him one about his, and there’s a mutual respect there, definitely.”

Louis debut solo album, Walls, is released January 31. His single, also titled Walls, is out now.

[raindrenchedstories]

Forever home 17

It wasn’t as though Richter was ungrateful. In fact, he was more than delighted to have what he did. But being stuck like he was, he couldn’t deny it would be good to freely enjoy the sun again. Drink a proper cup of coffee. Hell. He could even go for a second romance if he were given the chance.

Instead, he enjoyed his small semblance of normal among the expanse of Bears house. Mostly keeping to his original habitat while his housemate traversed each room with ease. He took long breaths, watching as the lights flickered out for the night. They exchanged their nightly parting and soon, Richter shut his eyes.

Sleep was far from available, however. He wanted so badly to just drift off for the night. Leave these concerns for his breakfast and discuss them with Bear. Alas, sometimes those wants just would not come to fruition. It was exactly that fact that was concerning him.

He wanted so badly to do right by his people. Cut them out of the responsibility act. He might have been content with the way his life was going. So many others, however, weren’t. If he could just give them the chance to break free...

Richters thoughts drifted back to Avery. The tired expression he wore during their last conversation. He could call. Bear had given him a small orb with all the spells in place. However it was late. Avery probably was asleep by now. Or at very least he was trying to sleep. Richters eyes fell on the clear wall.

Nothing was normal any more. There was always that tense weight in the air, reminding him that anything he worked for seamed to go AWOL not long after. With a huff, Richter shot up. Stormed down the stairs, and poured himself a glass of water. Trying to clear his mind.

No use. He was on the train of thought now. Never mind the fact that they were down a single person to actually start the process. No. The rest would lie on his fellow humans themselves. People he didn’t even know. Either raised in an apocalyptic situation, or forced into one while rearing their own kids.

Some were just born into it. Those were probably the lucky ones. They didn’t know there was better. Richters eyes landed on the half full glass in his hands. Hypnotized by the clear fluid, the way he could see right through it. A stark contrast to his thoughts.

Somewhere along the lines, a muffled voice called from his living room. Startling him. Richter strode, water in hand to the sounds of another persons voice. The orb sat atop his table, Avery’s face reflected in it. He gave a small grin to the image, sitting across from it. “God. It’s like you know when I want to talk.”

“Yeah, well. I just needed to chat.” The image shrugged. “You’re usually up for it. Least I didn’t have to send an orb this time. Spoiled lil’ shit.”

Richter burst into soft laughter. Leaning into the sofa with his water in hand. He motioned for Avery to continue. This was a welcome distraction. They spoke for a long while. Mostly about their giants. Avery had plenty to say about Leva. As it turned out, she adored the moody elf. Even if he attempted to convince her otherwise.

“Anyways. What’s up with you? Ain’t it past your bedtime?” Avery concluded. Richter fidgeted with his glass. Long since emptied of it’s contents. He set it beside the orb and huffed. Finally, he spoke up. Emptying his mind of all the worries that kept him up that night.

“Honestly? I’m pretty nervous about this whole thing with the papers. Like. We only need one more talking human to prove our point. But we don’t know any one else. Even after that, well... There’s no guaranteeing my own people won’t fuck it up.” He ran a hand through his hair with a groan.

Avery sat away from the orb, crossing his arms in thought. “So you’re worried about your freedom?” He tilted his head slightly. A lopsided grin on his sharp features.

“Kinda’. I mean. We’re going through all the right channels sure, but would you trust complete strangers who’re in a panic situation?” They both let out a shudder. Avery finally pancaked a hand in the air with a shrug.

“Don’t worry too much about it. If you don’t win it, come see me. Alright? I can stand Williams presence for an hour at least.” The elf waved his concerns away with a smile. “I mean, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Oof. Bad joke man. Bad joke.”  At Avery’s confusion Richter sighed. Leaning his head back into the cushions of the sofa, he explained. “I literally survived an apocalypse.”

That seamed to be enough. The emerald eyed being nodded slowly. His left ear perked up, twisted, then returned to place. Shutting his eyes, Avery massaged the bridge of his nose. “At least now you can make a damn call. Lev’s a sweet heart but gods. I can’t even turn around without her ogling at me.  No privacy.”

It was getting late now, the two men continued their conversation for a long while as it turned out. Richter ended up passing out part way through their chatter. Blissfully unaware Avery was still sitting there. Laying his head on his arms, the elf watched him sleep.

It wasn’t until early morning that Richter even knew he was out. The call long since ended. Bear was tapping lightly against his door. “Come on lil’ guy. Up ya get.” Richters eyes found the massive puff sporting from Bears chin. He stuck out his tongue, and rolled over.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had such an exchange. The access hatch dropped open, and Richter ended up flailing in a loose grasp. “Bear! I swear to god I will bite you again!”

“So bite. I don’t feel it any how.” The man huffed, folding his arms as he was toted around the house.

Breakfast was... Okay. Richter kept sipping his tea with small thoughts here and there travelling to Avery. Why did he want to see the human if things went poorly? He sighed. Leaning his head back against Bears teacup. It shifted away from him a moment, leaving the minuscule man to lay face up on the saucer.

“Mh. Sorry... You about ready to get dressed? I wanted to take you to the store today.” At that, Richter scarfed the last of his meal and stood. Dusting off what crumbs fell onto him. He was easily transported back to the plastic hut, and had time to choose something close to his liking.

“Why do you want me with you?” He inquired, struggling into a mint green polo.

Bear hummed. Leaning on the enclosure wall with his back turned to Richter. “Figured you’d want to pick something to wear for the interview.”

“Yeah alright. But if I start talking in public, won’t that cause a ton of questions to come up? Ready to go.” Richter stood fully dressed beside the wall.

“You forget, the translation spells only work if you want to be heard.” With that, it was final. The two made their way out the door with little time to spare. The store would be far too busy within the hour. And neither Richter nor Bear were particularly social people if given a choice.

Richter was seated comfortably in Bears pocket while they made their way to the daunting warp gate. He eyed the crackling structure with pure, unadulterated hatred. Falling back into the giants pocket with a growl. “Tell me when it’s over.”A quaking shudder told him Bear was laughing.

*

Poor Richter had never been the best with the travel gates. Neil seamed to love them enthusing about how marvellous the magic behind them actually was. But Richter cursed the things out with a passion. Bear wondered if it was a bad experience or the general feel of them that upset the human so.

Aside from that, the trip seamed to be going well. Richter picked out a few small items and a well fitting suit for the meetings ahead. He was making a show of turning this way and that to test the suits flexibility when another voice piped up. “Well look at that.”

Both men stared directly at a familiar giantess, daughter in tow a tiny grumbling red head peeking from the little girls front pocket. The mother smiled towards them. “He looks practically domesticated! We’ve only just recently got Skippy relaxed about handling.”

“It’s MARY dammit!” The tiny woman shrieked from her position. Bear didn’t understand the words, but he heard the fury. Richter, however, had no such filter. He openly winced at the womans harsh tones. Waving a calming hand in her direction.

“Hey... It’s nice to see you again. Mary.” Three faces turned to him. With the fourth member turning her head away arrogantly.

“W- Sir.... Did that come from HIM?” Richter clapped a hand over his mouth, face shifting from tense, to mortified. “Oh gods! It did.”

Bear shushed her sharply. “Listen, we’re working on it. Ricky’s only recently translated. But... Well it looks like there’s another intelligent race out there.” He grimaced. Gesturing to the man to his left. Richter just cleared his throat and waved.

The small child was on him in a second. Hands slamming down on either side of the human and a gap toothed smile blooming in his direction. “Hi mister! I’m Janette. And this is Skippy! Or... We called her that. What’s her real name? Can you tell me?”

“Oh uh... She says her name is Mary.” He answered, probably thankful for the sound proofing on his translation spells.

“You mean you can understand these bastards? Good fucking luck getting them to listen.” Mary folded her arms.

“There’s such thing as a translation spell you know?” Richter snapped in her direction.

“Don’t yell at Mary!” The girl piped up.

“Can we... Please take this discussion somewhere more discrete?” Bear suggested. Reaching to pluck Richter from his place.

They moved to a little hill in the centre of a park, sitting under a small god-oak. Away from prying eyes and ears. The small collective recounting the events that everyone had gone through. Mostly Richter. Finally, the mother, Agatha leaned back. Long timbers that trailed along her arms and legs creaked with the movement. “So... You’re taking this to council right?”

“It’s the whole reason we were buying a suit mam.” Richter shrugged.

“Well, if Mary agrees to it, we’re in.” Her eyes turned to her daughter, who had tuned the conversation out completely in favour of chasing sparrows. “I have to set a good example. After all. Richter? Could you ask her for me?”

He chattered pleasantly, unwilling to be understood just then. The humans conversed before Mary turned to the surrounding giants, grinned, and nodded. Agatha reached down to scoop her, but hesitated, regret crossed her features. Bear patted her shoulder. “All good?”

“I basically just enslaved someone without knowing. Not all good.” She huffed.

“Oh trust me. I know the feeling.” He couldn’t help the grin, glancing down to Richter. The human, in turn just laughed awkwardly.

The trio of giants parted ways. And Bear made his way home. Richter tucked up tightly in his pocket. The travel gate shuddered as they approached. Then sparked and fizzled out. Bear huffed. “Looks like we’re waiting a hot minute for that.”

“What? Why? Did it run out of power or something?” Richter peeked over his pocket with a panicked whimper.

“No. Scheduled maintenance. Our timing was just off by an hour.” He sighed. Richter patted his chest, drawing the mans attention.

“Well. Bright side. We now have five people on board. So... We can proceed. Right?” Bear smirked, nodded, and made his way elsewhere.

“Hey, I’m wanting a coffee, you okay with hiding down there while I order one?” He trailed down a familiar street, with restaurants and coffee shops. Richter readily agreed and stuck himself back into his hiding place. Bear decided to just get one to go and wait in the park for an hour.

He made a point to get something kind of sweet for the day. It felt like a sweets kind of time. The air was just starting to get chilly, and Bear was aware he’d be growing in his winter coat. As well as taking Neil for a few months while Archibald hibernated.

He paused in thought. Tiny snores indicated Richter was out cold as he sipped his drink. Neil. By the end of all this, the man would probably have a home of his own. Little independent bugger. But what about Richter? Would he be warm and safe this winter? What about Midway? Would he celebrate it with everyone else?

A familiar whistle brought him from his thoughts. As Archibald came loping up the cobbled streets of the city. Grinning from ear to ear. A new set of tools in one hand. The other shoved in a pocket. Bear found himself perusing the mans apparel. Long sleeves as always, but as a welcome break, he was wearing red. An indicator he was in a good mood.

“What brings you out this far Will?” He patted Bears shoulder affectionately.

“Suit shopping for Ricky. Gate’s down. But we met someone else and got a fifth member for the council.” He smiled Archibalds grin only grew, and some pit in the giants heart fluttered to the surface. He was content though. He knew Arch was shy. Even a little closed off. So asking could scare him off.

“That’s amazing! Wait. Where is Richter?” An answering snort came from the bearded one’s pocket, then a louder snore. Archibald nodded with a little ‘oh’ on his lips. “Seams like we can’t get a moment without the boys eh?”

“Did you want to? I mean we could meet up for dinner some-” Bear jolted. So much for not asking until Archibald was ready. He gave a glance to his oldest friend. “Time.” He finished.

Archibald fussed. Before heaving a sigh. He made a motion with a finger to his chest. Then flicked it. A signal he wanted to be alone for an answer. Bear hated doing this, but he allowed his magic through him. A light blue glow illuminated his finger. He tapped his pocket. Sending Richter into a deeper, more content sleep. He made a point to affect the dreams so they were nothing but nice.

“There. We’re alone now.” He grumbled.

“Okay...

[chocktaw-salchow]

TRANSLATION: Patrick Chan Appreciates His New Life

By: Pascal Milano

Canadian Patrick Chan took home the gold meal in the team event at the Pyeongchang Olympic Games

This is a translation of an article originally posted by La Presse

Poppy is a 9 month old golden retriever. Cheerful and affectionate, she is always  ready to follow her owners in the search of a new adventure.  She is especially the symbol of Patrick Chan’s new life, retired from figure skating for almost a year.

“My schedule was too busy and I wasn’t at home enough.  I didn’t even have a real home.  Now I live in Vancouver and I am lucky enough to have a life that is a little more normal, with a dog as my companion,” he recounted over a telephone interview.

Olympic Champion in the team event at the Pyeongchang Olympic Games and three time world champion, Chan retired from competition April 16th, 2018.  At 27 years old, he felt that the time had come to move on to other things.  With the new generation of skaters, the difficulty level was rising rapidly.

It’s common to see athletes land multiple quads in one program nowadays.  “It is a different sport from when I started,” revealed Chan, who will take part in the Stars on Ice show tomorrow at the Place Bell in Laval.  “The decision wasn’t hard to make because my body and my heart were telling me that I accomplished everything that I could accomplish.”

“I was ready to try something new and look at other opportunities.“

First big decision: chose where to settle down.  With his girlfriend Elisabeth Putnam, also a former figure skater, the Toronto native headed for Vancouver. Over there, he can satisfy his passion for outdoor sports without the restrictions from his career. [n.b. possible injury]

“In December, it had been four years since I had last skied,” he mentioned.  “I was free, happy and enthusiastic, but maybe a little too much. I had an accident and I damaged ligaments in my right knee.  That has slowed down my adventures, but in Vancouver I always want to do outdoor activities.”

Another year or two

On the West coast, Chan the created a list of interests and opportunities he could explore.  In a city known for an overpriced market, one area that emerged in particular: real estate.

“I am very interested in becoming a real estate agent, but that would involve a major change.  As an agent, I would need to put all my energy into that and I couldn’t skate at the same time.  I am not ready yet because I can still give a lot to Canadian skating.  I would like to continue skating for another year or two.”

In fact, since his retirement Chan has continued touring the country.  Last fall after a very successful Olympic Games, he participated in the “Thank You Canada Tour.” He is one of the skaters on the Stars on Ice show from April 26th to May 16th.  He particularly enjoys these opportunities because they allow him to skate more freely and to concentrate on the artistic side of skating rather than focus so much on the technical skills.

Therefore it’s hard to cut ties, especially as he shares his experiences with young Canadian skaters.  He dreams of opening up a skating school with his partner.  While waiting for that to happen, the couple has gone to China frequently to give seminars and teach young skaters.

“With the coming Olympics in 2022, China is trying to grow figure skating. We work with one of the seven private companies that manage young skaters.  They asked us to guide them in the right direction and to help them plan a developmental strategy.  At the same time, they will send their skaters to Vancouver for a two week long camp in August.”

“Later on, we will try to create good relationships with the six other companies and possibly do other camps.  This is a new opportunity and we hope that it will grow from here,” concluded Chan.

A tour with two legends

The Laval stop on the Stars on Ice tour will let people see different generations of skaters.  Kurt Browning will make  his comeback after retiring from shows in 2017. “He is still young at heart.  It inspires him to skate with other younger skaters, but he inspires me too,” indicated Chan.  “I’ve known him since I was 12-13 years old and he’s is one of my heroes. It’s special to see him every day and to share these moments together.  Sometimes I forget, then I think ‘I’m touring with Kurt Browning and Elvis Stojko, two legends.” Ice dance world champions Gabrielle Papadakis and Guillaume Cizeron who train in Montreal will also take part in the show tomorrow.