#all this over lemon stealing whores

[geoffrard]

My Chemical Romance, Hardcore Sexual Repression, and the Lemon Stealing Whore

[Content warning for non-graphic references to pornography, sex, sexual violence, and negative attitudes towards sex work. There is no explicit nudity but you might not want to read this in front of your boss. All images have descriptions in alt text. See sources here. Read this essay on my Dreamwidth here.]

It’s the setup of a joke: Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Frank Iero, Matt Pelissier, and a porn actress huddle around a leather couch in a dingy room as a camera rolls. The actress, a young and bright-eyed Joanna Angel, asks each member of My Chemical Romance in the room, “Do you guys watch porn?”

Most of us have seen the interview. If not, stop and watch it now, because nothing else I say will make sense otherwise. (And here, just for you, I’ve reuploaded the video with at least 10% more pixels. Watch below, or read a transcript here.)

The fact that My Chemical Romance, whose faces have decorated shirts at Hot Topic for over fifteen years, whose songs have saved lives and inspired memes, who all have wives and children, would end up associated with an alt porn website like Burning Angel often baffles fans watching the interview for the first time. 

For example, see these comments left on the original video uploaded to YouTube: 

These comments, though more than a few years old, generally represent how a lot fans understand the interview. Other people think it’s funny and perhaps a little out of left field, but don’t question how four members wound up on a porn site like Burning Angel. Both attitudes are a pretty typical example of the MCR fandom’s ignorance about the New Jersey hardcore scene, as well reflecting general weirdness about sex work. 

Since I cannot turn my historian brain off, I wanted to provide some of the extremely interesting historical context behind the video. The post I had originally planned to make very, very briefly outlined how MCR ended up being interviewed by Joanna Angel, founder and longtime CEO of Burning Angel. But the more I looked into it, the more I fell down a rabbit hole. This eventually turned into something of a mammoth manifesto about women and sexuality in the late 90s hardcore scene that gave My Chemical Romance and Joanna Angel careers. I will warn you: this is long. But it’s also important historical background information that rarely gets discussed at all—especially by MCR fans.

(So, with all that said, please feel free to ask any questions about anything I say here! Sources for will be posted on a different post which I will link at the end, and I have been quite thorough, though not as thorough as I could have been.)

Tl;dr: Joanna Angel came up in the exact same scene as My Chemical Romance, Thursday, and Midtown, a scene which stigmatized open sexual expression, at the expense of women and queer people—especially those involved in sex work. When she started her porn site, Burning Angel, she applied the same DIY values that her peers did to their own bands, but faced violence and ostracization from a subculture much too repressed to embrace such blatant expression of female sexuality. In this context, the My Chemical Romance interview with Burning Angel in 2004 was not only a group of guys doing a favor for someone they had probably known for years at that point; it can also be read as a somewhat controversial act that pushed back against this aversion to sexuality, and that helped legitimize and popularize both the site and Joanna Angel’s career. 

Burning Angel: the Movie (2005)

Say you’re a diehard My Chemical Romance fan in 2005—if you really want to watch your favorite band discuss their porn-viewing habits, you’ll have to travel to either your local adult entertainment store or go to the hardcore porn site BurningAngel.com and order their first DVD, appropriately titled Burning Angel: The Movie. Once you have the disc, you’ll have to fast forward through several sex scenes and interviews with other bands before you arrive at what you wanted: the actress who you’ve just seen in hardcore sex scenes asking Gerard, Frank, Mikey and Otter questions about their preferences in adult entertainment.

The DVD was Burning Angel’s first attempt at more professional pornography, and Joanna’s first foray into full participation in filmed, live-action sex. Joanna Angel would later go on to be one of the most well-known porn stars of our time—in Virgin Territory (2006), for example, she played a lemon stealing whore; you might have seen the video—and Burning Angel would be credited with the popularization of the “alt” porn genre, which broke from the exploitative mainstream porn model and typically featured models representative of subcultures.

But in 2005 her alt porn empire was still in its infancy, and Joanna was still struggling to rectify her recent full expulsion from the local New Jersey hardcore social scene with her enduring devotion to DIY values—and the fact that members of the sexually repressed subculture that had ostracized Joanna were her site’s target audience.

Joanna Angel on the Scene

Any thoughts of a future career in adult entertainment and the last name Angel were far from her mind when Joanna Mostov enrolled in Rutgers University in 1998. 

Though she often pushed back against the wishes of her religious orthodox Jewish family, the extent of her adolescent rebellion had ended at sneaking out to punk shows and getting piercings her mother wouldn’t approve of. At Rutgers, Joanna quickly became enmeshed in the New Brunswick hardcore scene, putting her in the same circles as a host of people whose names you might recognize: Geoff Rickly of Thursday (who ran hundreds of shows out of his basement), Gabe Saporta of Midtown and Cobra Starship, and Alex Saavedra of Eyeball Records. 

Geoff Rickly: Well, you know, the funny thing is that, at the time, Joanna, who would later go on to form Burning Angel and become a famous porn star in her own right, was playing in her goth bands with chelsea haircuts and the basement shows. Like, her local goth band would play. And they’d bring out people and stuff, and I’d put touring bands on that show, and so it’s funny to me how, weirdly, DIY punk hardcore scenes and porn had weird associations then. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

The NJ hardcore scene was close-knit enough that while she only has documented friendships with some of these people, she had to have crossed paths with most of them multiple times (for example, Joanna was at the show on December 31, 1998 where Thursday and Midtown played their first real sets). She went to every show she could and hosted some in her own basement. 

While we don’t necessarily have a written record of her friendship with Frank Iero and Mikey Way of My Chemical Romance, the fact that Joanna attended plenty of shows in the North Jersey area and also spent a lot of time at the Eyeball House (Alex was a close friend; and Pencey Prep was on his label) suggests that, at the the very least, Joanna, Frank, and Mikey were aware of each other’s presence in these early years. They were peers in the same scene, just as they were with everyone else who frequented the same venues or played in the same basements.

For years, the hardcore scene mattered to her more than anything else; it was her social life and what she based her values upon. 

Those hardcore values and a growing curiosity about her own sexuality lead Joanna to sex-positive feminist activism and a writing internship with Nerve.com, an online magazine which explored topics related to sex and romantic relationships. From there, her interest in expressing her own sexuality continued to develop.

[Suicidegirls in 2001]

So, in 2002, when her roommate and friend asked her if she wanted to start a porn site that offered more explicit content than sites like SuicideGirls, which featured punk aesthetics and band interviews but stayed away from anything more than simple nudity, Joanna agreed.

BurningAngel.com went live in April 2002. It wanted to do things differently than other porn sites. While not necessarily pushing the boundaries of beauty standards, the site used models who were beautiful but in a more approachable, average sense. Joanna has said that since she had little experience even watching porn prior to starting the site, she wanted the site to mimic the kind of sex she was having with actors who looked like the people she was having sex with. 

Joanna: When we started the website, it was a reflection of ourselves. It still is to this day. There's band interviews on the website, the style of girl that we use is not your average typical porn star and the personality on the website is a little bit different. All the members interact with each other, all of the girls have blogs and profiles, and people become friends with each other. It's more of a community and a reflection of a subculture rather than just being a website with content to jerk-off to and never think about again. [source: Complex: Interview: Joanna Angel Talks Alt Porn, Piracy, And Her Blow-Up Doll, 2011] 

[Burning Angel’s homepage in June 2002]

Hardcore Punk Reacts to Hardcore Porn 

Her longtime involvement in the scene and her application of DIY ethics to her porn business did not mean that the hardcore culture actively nurtured Joanna Angel’s career in porn. In reality, many parts of the scene were actively hostile towards Joanna and the site once Burning Angel went live.

This backlash isn’t incredibly surprising within the context of late 90s hardcore, a subculture that by and large refused to acknowledge sexuality of any kind. 

The sexual repression in hardcore reflected several different aspects of its culture: a negative perception of women active in the scene; a reaction against the violence of tristate hardcore in the early 90s; and, more than anything else, the general privilege of those involved in the underground.

Like Joanna, Geoff Rickly, and Frank Iero, most people involved in New Brunswick hardcore were enrolled at Rutgers, and white, middle-class male college students dominated the scene. For many of them, applying DIY values to their own lives meant distancing themselves from their socioeconomic upper-hand. Consequently, the scene as a whole developed an attitude of asceticism, rejecting anything that served no purpose beyond pleasure or personal enjoyment. (Of course, it was easy for them to reject their social privileges, especially when they could just as easily cast off their aesthetic of poverty and self-denial for an adulthood of relative comfort.)

To do anything just because you enjoyed it, or because it brought you happiness in the moment, was seen to be a betrayal of hardcore’s higher intellectual goals—and that included sex. You can see this trend, for example, in lyrics from NJ hardcore bands, which focused on things like political issues or childhood traumas instead of the common themes of sexual and romantic desire found in mainstream music.

Joanna spoke about finding comfort in the general sexual repression of the scene because of her own adolescent insecurities:

Joanna: Me being very sexually not advanced and insecure, [90s hardcore] was the perfect place for me, because I could ignore [sexuality]. I was getting older, I don’t know, I wanted to explore myself more. So I began to write these graphic sex stories. My roommate, Mitch, knew about it, and I remember him getting a kick out of it. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

For another salient example, Geoff Rickly of Thursday has spoken about his own struggles with the hardcore scene’s repression, especially in regards to the shame he felt about writing sexually explicit stories for pay:

Geoff Rickly: You have to think, this is the 90s punk scene. It's not now. Nobody would openly talk about sex in DIY punk. It was such a repressed PC time, where — I mean, a lot of that stuff is my heart, like the political activism that was still such a part of punk, and actually just giving a shit about things that matter, and modes of how you're doing what you're doing. Those things seemed to matter back then, and I appreciated that side, but it was also so uptight. So repressed. [source: Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly, 2012]

While its general aversion to sexuality might have been born out of an initial desire to reform the violent misogyny of other hardcore cultures, it created the conditions for certain social problems to go completely unaddressed. After all, how can you address the rampant misogyny, homophobia, and sexual violence in your community if any acknowledgement of sexuality is taboo?

(For a brief but interesting perspective on the impact of hardcore sexual repression upon queer people in the scene, check out Episode #4 of Geoff Rickly’s podcast Dark Blue, in which Steve Pedulla and Norman Brannon discuss their experiences as gay musicians in the scene.)

Of course, these issues aren’t confined to the New Jersey hardcore, nor were they unique to the late 1990s. This particular brand of sex-averse misogyny reflects important threads within the feminism of the time which villainized open female sexuality—especially when it concerned sex work. Left-leaning spaces like music undergrounds adopted this sex-negative, misogynistic attitude as a part of their feminism—not in opposition to it.

In particular, the Riot Grrrl movement of the late 80s/early 90s pushed back against a culture (and a subculture) that shamed women for publicly expressing their sexuality. Following that, early fanzines and performance practices addressed the mistreatment of sex workers in hardcore as one way that female bodily autonomy was limited and women’s bodies were policed. Bikini Kill frontwoman and Riot Grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna has spoken about her past in sex work, the hostility she endured for openly discussing it, and the importance of that experience in shaping the form of Riot Grrrl’s protest. 

Kathleen Hanna: “Whenever we were written about in the press, I wanted my sex-work history to be part of the description, because I wanted other women whom I danced at clubs with (and who never knew my real name) to see themselves reflected in some way. A lot of women who are doing music now have been sex-trade workers, prostitutes, dancers; I thought it was really important that I didn’t hide that. But I also didn’t want to glamorize that experience in being a super-cool thing in itself. I just wanted other women who work in the sex industry to remember that we can be sex-trade workers and be philosophers, writers, musicians, artists, or whatever. [Andrea Juno, Angry Women in Rock (1996)]

Riot Grrrl gained significant traction and nation-wide attention. In the decade or so after Kathleen Hanna and her peers catalyzed the movement, bands like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile remained incredibly popular, and likely contributed a lot to shifting attitudes towards sexuality in music subcultures. 

Still, these sex-negative attitudes prevailed among enough people involved in local underground scenes that, when Burning Angel launched in 2002 and Joanna started marketing it in local hardcore spaces, the site received a lot of attention—both good and bad. The positive attention fueled the site and allowed it to expand beyond just photographs, text interviews, and low-budget personal sex tapes that characterized its early content. 

However, the negative attention Joanna and her site received was vocal, targeted, and occasionally involved literal physical violence. As Kathleen Hanna had faced moral condemnation for her time in sex work, Joanna Angel faced criticism from fellow members of her subculture who thought sex work to be completely antithetical to their social justice goals. She has spoken about how difficult it was to see a community she had cared about for years turn her back on her completely for engaging in a type of work that she found enjoyable, and that she thought could be done with moral integrity. 

Joanna Angel: People were calling me ugly, calling me all sorts of mean shit, how [Burning Angel was] making a profit, [we were] exploiting women, blah blah blah. And I was so bummed. I was like, you know, this isn’t fair! I always support every fucking band in the punk scene. Even if I don’t like the band, I support them—I go to their shows, I would hand out fliers for their shows. I thought it was like a code, in the punk scene, that it doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. If this is part of the scene, you accept it, and you help it, and you love it—and I thought that’s what you were supposed to do. I remember being very hurt, you know? I was like, dude, I didn’t violate any punk laws by starting this. My friend from my computer class is the one who put it online. All the other girls on the site—all three of them— were punk chicks and part of the scene. And I felt really bad; people were insulting the other girls, and I really thought I was starting this cool thing where girls could just explore their sexuality. And mind you, at the time, the beginning of Burning Angel was just photos, not even videos. People were getting all up in this upheaval because of a handful of naked photos on the internet. It’s crazy to think about now. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Amidst the mounting antagonism and after an incident at Hellfest 2004, Joanna officially decided to leave the hardcore scene that she’d been involved with for over five years.

Joanna Angel: I remember going to Hellfest one year. Maybe it was like 2004?…these girls were throwing water balloons at us because we had a booth there. Because we used to get booths at some of these shows and sell tshirts. We didn’t even have any DVDs—we’d literally get in a booth and sell tshirts and hand out fliers and stickers. And these other girls were throwing water balloons at us and calling us sluts. I was like, “Hey, that sucks, can you stop doing that?” And one of my friends—he owned a record label. He owned Eyeball Records, Alex…he saw the girls picking on us, and he went over to the girls, and said, “Hey, can you cool it? They have a booth here—let them do their thing. They’re not gonna get in your way.” And then those girls and their boyfriends beat him up, and he wound up in the hospital. He almost died. It was terrible. And I was like, we have to get out here. Let’s just stay away. If we’re a porn site, let’s just be a porn site. Let’s promote ourselves with other porn companies; let’s step away for a little while. Everyone in the punk scene knows who we are. They’ve made their decision about if they like us or not. I’m still gonna interview bands, still gonna do that thing—but I’m done. [source: Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel)]

Joanna and Burning Angel’s separation from the NJ hardcore scene in 2004 finally brings me to Burning Angel: The Movie, My Chemical Romance, and that interview.

So, 2004: after over two years spent largely behind the camera and slowly expanding her porn site, Joanna finally decided to get in front of the camera and produce a more intentionally crafted alt porn video that retained the feel of the website. Thus Burning Angel: the Movie was born. 

As Joanna explains in the interview, the general idea of the DVD was that different self-contained pornographic scenes would be interspersed with band interviews. One of the key features of Burning Angel, like Suicide Girls before it, was the band interviews subscribers could access alongside the porn, so it made sense to preserve this aspect of the site on the DVD experience. Joanna interviewed five bands in early 2005: Killswitch Engage, Eighteen Visions, Shadows Fall, The Dillinger Escape Plan, and, of course, My Chemical Romance—all bands that Joanna admired, and who had been involved in the same scene that she had recently left because of very real threats to her emotional and physical well-being.

Within this context, My Chemical Romance’s decision to participate in the Burning Angel interview was a statement, as they put their support behind an enterprise that was highly controversial within the social circle most immediately relevant to them. 

Fresh off the 2004 Warped Tour and promoted Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, My Chemical Romance might have appeared to be largely divorced from their scene of origin, but they still acted in response to those politics—politics that impacted American culture at large more than you’d think—in both intentional and incidental ways. 

That is not to say that MCR was being overtly political; they’ve made a clear effort to distance themselves from the clear-cut political imagery and goals of some of their peers in hardcore. Still, the band (Gerard especially) very obviously cared a lot about using their music and stage presence to express shades of sexuality that they perceived to be lacking from some forms of music.

Gerard: I also wanted, at the same time, [for] the record to be a testament to self-expression, and putting stuff in there like that, while not being a homosexual myself, but expressing myself in a homosexual way, is either going to push your buttons in a negative way or you’re going to identify with it. [AP: Well, this whole scene wants you to be sensitive, but not too sensitive.] It is extremely homoerotic, especially the whole emo-sensitive thing. Everyone’s wearing women’s pants; everyone’s got women’s haircuts; everyone’s wearing youth-medium shirts. I don’t want to come out and say it. It’s blatantly obvious. Wearing a leather jacket is an extremely masculine thing to do in this scene. Even the hardcore bands, the really hard ones, you see them in makeup and stuff. I like that. I think it keeps it dangerous. It keeps it exciting. In a way, sex has really been missing from rock, especially because of all the sensitivity. That’s what I really wanted to convey on the record, too. I wanted the record to be very dangerous and sexy at the same time. There’s such a lack of sex in music. It’s been more about getting in touch with your feelings and being there for each other, which is great, but it’s definitely lacking this sexual duality. [Source: Alternative Press #193, Aug 2004; emphasis mine]

Additionally, many of their moments of explicit sexuality on stage were designed to be somewhat incendiary and polarizing. 

But it’s important to remember that, just as late 90s New Jersey hardcore was not the first subculture with issues of sexual repression, My Chemical Romance does not represent the first attempt to push back at this asexual culture and definitely weren’t leading that particular conversation. Gerard took inspiration from artists already pushing those boundaries and incorporating sexual expression into their art. He has spoken, for example, about the impact of Riot Grrrl acts upon his music and stage presence (Joanna Angel has similarly pointed to bands like Bikini Kill as significant influences). These bands had already incorporated resistance against harmful sexual repression, values which Gerard and his band mates took on when they adopted their styles into My Chemical Romance.

(I also want to mention briefly that other significant people in the hardcore world have spoken out against pornography, such as Ian MacKaye of the formative post-hardcore band Fugazi. MacKaye owned Dischord Records, the definitive underground music label, to which a young Frank Iero unsuccessfully attempted to get his band Sector 12 signed. The matter of pornography and its role within the hardcore world was not one upon which you could maintain a neutral stance after, say, appearing on a porn DVD.)

As shitty as it was that they needed approval from the men in the scene, My Chemical Romance, along with other bands, supported Burning Angel, a new kind of porn, and helped legitimize Joanna Angel’s claim that what she was doing was not backwards or exploitative but had integrity. 

Have you had an issue with people you grew up with when they find out you're in the adult industry? Joanna: At first people had problem[s], but not anymore. Once the cool kids in bands said, "I think what she's doing is cool" all the others turned around. Everyone I ever respected didn't have an issue with it and all the stupid, annoying hardcore kids had a problem. For as much shit as I got, I also got a lot of support. [Source: Hustlerworld Interview: Joanna Angel]

I don’t mean to glamorize the porn industry or to depict Joanna Angel as some savior of female sexuality in the early 2000s. But, as Kathleen Hanna points out, sex work is legitimate work, and sex workers deserve to have workplaces that treat them with dignity and communities that recognize their humanity. The reality was that NJ hardcore as a community did not support sex workers. Fundamentally, these were the barriers that caused Joanna and Burning Angel to make an exodus from the local hardcore scene—and they are the attitudes we risk reproducing when we express discomfort that a band we admire has interacted with a sex worker.

My intentions with this post (which turned out longer than I had ever anticipated, so Jesus, thank you for reading) were to shed light on the historical context of one moment in My Chemical Romance’s history. I’ve found that the average MCR fan, even those with a specific fondness for their early years, doesn’t actually know much at all about it—so I hope this has given some clarity.

I’ll end on this note: Without bands supporting Burning Angel, who knows—we might have never seen the lemon stealing whore. At the very least, the culture surrounding porn would look a lot different. That might not mean it would look better or worse—though you can’t deny the role that Joanna Angel played, nor the role that bands from the New Jersey Hardcore scene like My Chemical Romance played in shaping the American culture of pornography. 

Find sources for this post here.

[acknowledgements: thank you so much for reading! my forever thanks, as always, to nic @raytorosaurus, sophia @sendmyresignation, vyn @bringmoreknives, and maddy @8thnotes for their continued cheerleading as i spent over a month writing this long, long post. additional thanks to wes @killrockstar for very kindly offering some incredibly helpful guidance about riot grrrl and sending me resources about kathleen hanna. and much gratitude to merlin @void-flesh and @transmascfrankiero for their feedback on the final draft of this essay.]

#mcr #my chemical romance #joanna angel #mcr meta #my post

[white-chalk-sapphomet]

if your neighbor has loquats, you could straight up ask them if you can take from their tree when they fruit; i had a neighbor with a loquat tree that they never ate the fruit from, and they hated the pits getting all over their yard, so it was a win/win for us

Ohh that's so lucky and sounds rlly nice. I worry if I bring too much attention to it the ppl who live there might make a fuss about it and it'll play out like that lemon stealing whores video

#answered

[emi1y]

review of the full lemon stealing whores porn (i did not watch it all. it is 30 minutes long. i just skipped around until i got bored)

- all of them are actively laughing the entire time. not so much during the actual fucking part of the video but any time they say a line about the lemons they are totally losing it

- (they run over to the lemon whore, and take the lemons out of her leotard)

Lemon whore: "Hey, those are my lemons!"

Guy: (most incredulous voice you can imagine) "?? No they're not?? we Saw you taking them??"

Girl: (arms full of lemons) "Im gonna go put these in safeguarding. You teach her a lesson about stealing lemons!"

(the guy grabs lemon whore by the chin hilariously quickly)

Guy: "Are you gonna steal lemons?"

Lemon whore: "Yeah!"

Guy: (barely holding himself together trying to not laugh) "Why! Do not steal our lemons!"

(in the span of 1 seconds he gets his dick out and down her throat)

- The lemons remain a motif throughout the rest of the video

- As you may have been able to guess the lemons do make contact with pussys.

- This is going to sound kind of insane so im sorry but its 3 am and im thinking like a 3 am person and anyway it was like. It felt nice? Heartwarming? Like the people all seemed like they were having fun with it dhdjskdk just the way they are all laughing as they say the lines and the absolutely hilarious camera work that is definitely just a guy holding a camcorder up to them and zooming in on their faces its like. It feels like some friends just went "Wouldn't it be funny if we made a porn about a couple who owns a lemon tree and a woman who steals their lemons?" and they ran with it with a $25 camcorder from walmart

#and thays the end of me talking about lemon whores #emily.docx

[iii-days-grace]

The one, the only, the lemon-stealing whore Joanna Angel interviewing our very own My Chemical Romance! She founded Burning Angel, an early alternative porn site.

This is from their DVD, called Burning Angel: The Movie. Transcript under the cut:

[Gerard Way, Frank Iero, Matt Pelissier, and Mikey Way are sitting on a couch with adult film star Joanna Angel].

JOANNA ANGEL: And here we have My Chemical Romance. Everybody, can you just state your names and what you play?

GERARD WAY: Sure. I'm Gerard, I sing.

FRANK IERO: I'm Frank, I play guitar.

MATT PELISSIER: I'm Matt, I play drums.

MIKEY Way: I'm Mikey, I play bass.

JOANNA: So how long have you guys been a band for?

GERARD: We've been a band for two years in January, so I guess it's a little over that now. So wow, it's like two and a half years.

JOANNA: So you guys are uh, signed to a bigger label?

FRANK: Yeah, we -

GERARD: We're signed to Reprise.

FRANK: Reprise.

[FRANK, GERARD, and JOANNA laugh]

JOANNA: I know you guys have been on tour for a really long time and you're going to be on tour for another really long time. I don't know if you guys have any like, stories from tour. Like I don't know, maybe if you go to strip clubs or anything while you're on the road?

GERARD: Yeah, there's really not any stories because as far as stuff like that, we're not like a Motley Crue-ish type band like that. [Mumbles cut off as JOANNA talks].

JOANNA: Do you want to be like a Motley Crue type band, are you heading in that direction?

GERARD: Um, I think we want to play a lot of video games and collect a lot of toys.

MIKEY: Roll up a lot of Dungeons and Dragons characters.

GERARD: That's what we really want, to play Dungeons and Dragons really bad, and we, we don't, we can't get a group together. I mean you would think that you have seven, eight, well we have nine in the van now [so] you can get a really good game going. But not everybody's into Dungeons and Dragons you know?

FRANK: Let's just get this again, all right? First off, three members like Dungeons and Dragons.

JOANNA: Are you one of them? Are you one of them?

FRANK: I watched the cartoon when I was young and that's about it. But no, I don't go on quests, that's more of a Gerard thing.

GERARD: I paint little orcs. That's really weird, especially for like a 27-year-old. I have, I have a hobbit sword.

JOANNA: Do you guys watch porn?

GERARD: I mean like, uh. Ray watches it too. We, we like porn. I mean porno, porn's cool.

JOANNA: [Turns to FRANK] What about you, you're not off the hook. Do you watch porn?

FRANK: Yeah of course I mean, I don't think, who doesn't like porn though? I mean, you know -

[Cut]

JOANNA: [To GERARD] Do you have a favourite porn star or anything?

GERARD: I know quite a few porn star names, I'm more of a fan of the Score magazine variety girls, or maybe the more naturally-endowed girls like online -

JOANNA: So would you like a website like Burning Angel where you know, more of the girls are sort of natural like real girls -

GERARD: [Mumbles in agreement]

JOANNA: - you could have seen interviewing your band or you know, maybe like at a show or anything?

GERARD: Yeah I mean, I'm more into people that look real and like you know like, the people that I've, I've like, even dated throughout my life like, they, they're just real [emphatically, everyone laughs].

JOANNA: [Laughing] They're not blow-up dolls or anything?

GERARD: They're people that look like, I mean, none of 'em have ever looked alike, so I usually try to find like a - I like, I like somebody that's really beautiful for being unique, you know what I mean? And, and, that's why sites like yours. When it's real people, like, it's obviously a lot cooler than like somebody that's a porn star that makes tons of money and hangs out by pools in Hollywood and stuff like that.

[Cut]

JOANNA: You're on a DVD right now, people are gonna be watching this interview in between a bunch of sex scenes you know, people are going to be banging and then this interview is going to come on. So there might be a guy on the other side of the screen you know, that just finished jerking off and now your interview is coming on. Do you have anything to say to these people?

GERARD: Um. Your mom's coming!

FRANK: You should be ashamed of yourself.

[Cut]

GERARD: What I think you guys should do is intercut it, so like -

JOANNA: Right before the money shot there's just like so, so we like Dungeons and Dragons.

GERARD: Yes!

[Title card comes on, reading: Can't show this on YouTube lol. Scene of an actress blowing a guy on a couch superimposed over the visual of them on the couch.]

GERARD: [In a voice-over, looped 4 times]: So we really want to play Dungeons and Dragons.

[Cut to earlier clip]

GERARD: Not everybody's into Dungeons and Dragons you know?

[Cut]

JOANNA: So is there anything else anybody else has to say? Anything you wanna add?

GERARD: I think we've dug a giant hole and we all jumped, we jumped fucking headfirst in it at this point - no, it was really fun, I'm just playing around. No uh, just fucking keep doing your thing man [mimes jerking off with one hand].

JOANNA: [Laughing] Okay, thanks! Everybody wave bye! [Everyone waves].

#original post #video transcripts #my chmcl rmnce #grrd wy #mky wy #frnk iro #mtt plssr #i guess. i dont think ive tagged him before #Youtube

[lighterthansome]

Existence is cringe, conception was a mistake

Hit me with a rock and name a frog species after me

#ever just want to not #I would like to not #ever think something is funny and then it isn’t because you were big dumb #don’t trust me with language #I so totally and fully loathe myself #the potential for embarrassing myself is debilitating #all this over lemon stealing whores

[teenyweenynightghost]

Maneskin Group Chat - Chapter 8

A/n: so I have some requests left but my brain no worky so why not post part 8 of this absolute chaotic piece of shit. Hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist (for the other chapters)

Warnings: swearing. Like a lot

(Maneskin House 10:35)

D: We should make another music video

E: It is an expensive and difficult decision to make, Damiano, we can’t just decide to do it over text

D: Shut up EDGAR

D: I suggest Mamma Mia

T: Perfect, we’ll kill all our fans

V: YOU GUYS I HAVE AN IDEA

T: WHAT

E: Speak child

V: weird- ANYWAY

V: WHAT IF WE KILLED DAMIANO IN THE VIDEO

T: YES YES YES YES

E: This is the first violent thing you suggest that I agree with

V: Because it’s genius

T: I WANNA SMASH A GUITAR ON HIS FACE

V: I WANNA MAKE OUT WITH A GIRL

E: If I’m tagging along… I suppose drowning Damiano in piss would be nice

D: :0

D: what

V: Awww bambino, WE’RE GONNA HAVE SO MUCH FUN

D: 😦☝️

D: 😑🤌

D: Why

V: Ok let’s all weigh in as to why

V: EHEM number one- you’re a constant pain in our fucking ass

V: You’re a perfectionist asshole

T: You expose me in interviews for stealing ciggarets

E: You keep crowd surfing and I have to deal with you crying later from the injury

D: Y/N CARE TO HELP

E: No chance. She’s sleeping next to me

V: Is that why I heard no movement from your room?

E: What. Did you want me to wake her up?

V: You’re a fool, Ethan.

E: Y’ALL OH MY FUCKING GOD CAZZO VICTORIA DE ANGELIS QUEEN DEL TRASH JUST WROTE AN ACTUAL SENTENCE

V: Do you want us to kill you too?

D: Mr Noodle and the princess killing Ethan and I? With what strength

T: Hey! I’ve started walking!

E: power. Walking. Thomas. Power walking.

T: At least I’m not like Damiano

D: I WORKOUT!

T: Yeah in bed

D: You have terrible comebacks Thomas. You are right. I am a sex god

V: BACK TO THE VIDEO YOU DUMB ASSHOLES

D: I preffered this discussiom

V: Of course you did 🙄

D: Ok, well, Giorgia is home so, excuse me Thommy bambino but I’ll go “workout”

T: THATS EW AND I DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT

E: Close your eyes Cobra and pretend you didn’t read that

T: Yeah I’m gonna go do that

***

12:27

Y/n: Well, I missed a bit

V: Morning hottie

Y/n: A good morning to you too, Victoria

V: Did Ethan wake you up properly or did you wake up without a head between your legs?

E: Victoria de Angelis stop flirting with my girlfriend.

V: No grazie, bebeh <3

Y/n: You two are cute

V: Exactly, so you could come to my room

V: You’d have a much better time than with Ethan😉

***

T: Why did I hear a scream

Y/n: I have a guess

T: Nvm I read the previous messages

V: THIS BITCH

Y/n: what happened

V: HE TORE OUT A STRING FROM MY BASS!?? WHO DOES THAT

E: hihi

D: Ethan. She’ll disassemble your drum set

E: she can fucking try

V: oh? Too bad you’re already back in bed with Y/n

E: 😃

E: che

V: CIAO FUCKERS

***

V: so i talked to our manager and she said we can all kill Dami in the new video

D: idk about y’all but im feeling a bit attacked

T: that is because we are attacking you

D: NAH REALLY?

T: you said the dumb thing first

D: you’re lucky you’re such a cutie

T: i want to smash a guitar on his head

D: YEAH YOU MENTIONED THAT BEFORE JACKASS

T: you just called me a cutie im getting whiplash

T: MOMMY

E: i was out running errands what

E: who hurt you

T: the whore

E: damiano

D: now im lowkey insulted

Y/n: oh but you let Gio call you that?

D: the day you’ll fuck me like she does will be the day you get to call me that

Y/n: fair enough. Babe did you get me tampons?

E: we have three packs in the bathroom

Y/n: what type

E: lemon, strawberry and mint, amore

Y/n: tampons, not ice cream

E: oh yeah and we have chocolate ice cream

Y/n: too?

E: wdym too

Y/n: AMORE what do you think the colored packaging on tampons refers to?

E: … Vic said they’re flavours

***

[chat between Y/n and Vic]

V: im begging you go with it

V: its my longest running lie

V: i even convinced his whole family to go with it

Y/n: he will be deeply hurt

Y/n: im in

V: perfection

***

[maneskin house]

Y/n: you’re right, babe

Y/n: but how old are the lemon ones? They stopped making them quite a while ago

D: how? Gio asks me to get them all the time

Y/n: oh… then ig i just didn’t see em

E: maybe

T: uh guys

D: no

T: ok maybe later

V: dami you asshole

D: vic you sea bitch

V: sea??

D: your eyes- they’re like the sea

V: and thats supposed to be an insult?

***

E: I WANT TO KNOW WHO DID NOT ANSWER THOMAS’S PHONE CALL

V: damiano

D: it was victoria del trash

Y/n: what happened?

E: HE CALLED ME CRYING WITH SIRENS IN THE BACKGROUND

V: uh…oh

E: HE SET FIRE TO THE KITCHEN AND YALL WERE LITERALLY NEXT DOOR

E: HOW DID YOU NOT NOTICE??

V: we’re antisocial

Y/n: OMG THE POOR BOY! IS HE OK? WHERE ARE YOU GUYS??

E: we’re… we’re getting ice cream

V: 😑

V: bullshit why does your snap map show you’re the mall

E: he wanted to get a plush

E: to commemorate

E: burning theee strands of hair off

D: and you went with it?

E: WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO??

V: fair

V: i want to go buy more leather harnesses y/n r u cumming with me?

E: i will kill you

Y/n: sure!

E: 👁👄👁

Y/n: what

Y/n: OH

V: oh shit i made a typo

Y/n: oh okay

Y/n: anyway… see you in 5 min?

Vic: sure 😇

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline e @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @bidet-and-legolas @makapaka11 @electra-phoebe @makeavvish @perfectlyunbiasedobservation @cucciolafaerie @theimpossiblehologramtree @unitersmoonshine @deeavjbes @selenophiliaxx @oro-e-diamanti @l0standn0tf0und @iosonoarina @que--sera--sera @writingmaneskin @rhaellasdaughter

#maneskin #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #damiano david #måneskin #thomas raggi #incorrect quotes #maneskin fic #giorgia soleri #chat fic

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 9

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,257

Warnings: mention of accident, mention of blood

A/N: I’m sorry this took longer than usual but it’s pretty long so yay! I hope you’ll like this chapter. We’re slowly getting there :’) Thank you for the feedback, I truly appreciate all of you! Also 1 marvel quote and several Bob Ross quotes that I obv don’t own.

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Good luck on your interview xx

Bucky had just hit ‘send’ when Sam cleared his throat noisily, drawing Bucky’s attention away from his phone. His friends were frowning crossly at him, their glasses raised in a silent toast. He set his phone face-down on the table and picked up his glass.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Sam shot Steve a ‘see?’ look and Steve replied with a shrug and a little smile. They looked like two sassy grandmothers judging their only grandson. Bucky checked his phone again, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see his grandmothers share another look.

“What?” he barked, annoyed.

“Nothin,” they both answered at the same time before they took a synchronized sip of orange juice.

Smacking his lips together, Sam opened the menu and began to skim through the choices. A waiter suddenly came out of nowhere to take their order. Bucky ordered a cranberry rosemary scone, smoked bacon, an eggplant sandwich, and a plate of lemon-ricotta pancakes.

“Excuse-me,” Sam called out to the waiter. “Could you make his pancakes in the shape of an angel?” he asked, ignoring Bucky who was openly glaring at him.

The waiter, albeit a little surprised, kept a smile on his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bucky told him, handing him the menu. “Thank you.”

Without another look to his friends, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages for the third time in less than two minutes. Steve snatched his phone up and sat back in his seat, waving the phone at Bucky.

“Enough! Live in the moment.” He pocketed the phone and gave Bucky a pointed stare. “You’ll get it back later.”

“What the hell? You’re not my father, give it back!” Bucky snapped, extending his hand, the palm facing up. Steve shook his head. “Give it back, you fucking meatball.”

He got up and tried to reach inside Steve’s pocket for his phone but Steve kept shifting in his seat. They wrestled like that for a minute while Sam watched them, eating a breadstick and looking mildly entertained.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky panted, pushing himself away from Steve. “You leave me no choice, Rogers.” He cleared his throat like an actor about to jump on stage. “Give me back my phone, Steve!” he said, raising his voice. “Do you enjoy stealing from disabled people?”

He nearly shouted the last two words, and to Steve’s horror, the buzz of conversation around them had died. He could feel people staring at him. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached into his pocket and dropped the phone into Bucky’s awaiting hand.

“It’s okay, we’re friends,” Steve said to the people sitting behind him. They looked at him with a disapproving glare. “Jesus, Bucky, you’re making me look like an asshole.”

An amused expression crossed Bucky’s face as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

It was quiet while he checked his messages. Slowly, those around them returned to their own conversations. Sam pointed his half-eaten breadstick at Steve.

“Do you think the waiter will spit in your omelette?” he said the last word with an exaggerated French accent. Steve glared at him.

Their waiter arrived a moment later carrying a large tray with their brunch. Steve poked at his omelet with a suspicious frown, then looked over at Bucky who was still on his phone. Sam stole a slice of bacon from Bucky’s plate and gave it to Steve.

“I hear you’ve got a date tonight,” Sam said, making conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just looking for something casual. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Where’re you going this time?”

“South Africa,” Steve replied, stealing another slice of bacon. “What about you? What’s that big emergency?”

Sam glanced at Bucky who was grinning like an idiot at his phone. “Not now. Let’s eat first.” He took the plate of bacon, took what he wanted then handed it to Steve. “Want another?”

Steve kept looking over at Bucky while they finished his bacon but Bucky didn’t seem to acknowledge their presence. He was in his own little bubble.

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” Steve remarked out loud.

“I know, it’s amazing. Look!” Sam straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat. “Bucky Barnes is the biggest idiot on the planet, and he can eat my farts.” Bucky was hunched over his phone, his thumb typing away. “See?”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the angel effect,” Sam said.

With a happy little sigh, Bucky pocketed his phone and turned his attention to his friends. He frowned at the amused look they shared.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Steve’s first date in two years.” Sam turned to Steve. “You must be nervous.”

“Strangely, no.” Steve broke off a small piece of omelet with his fork. “I actually know him. He’s an old friend from college.”

“Nice,” Sam said.

“He’s a fashion photographer now.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s brows pinched in confusion as he stared at Steve.

Undeterred, Steve continued. “We’ve been facetiming a lot lately.” He shot Bucky a glance. “Why do you think I go to bed at 8?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought I had a date with your girl,” Steve said with a warm smile. “Listen, man, I like her. She’s cute, funny, talented. She’s a real sweetheart. But I like her because she brought back that light in your eyes. You look happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. You had to go through so much crap, Buck. You deserve this.”

Bucky looked down at his pancakes, feeling tears pool in his eyes. He blinked them back and sniffed quietly. “So you were never going to ask her out.”

“I was until you called her ‘angel’,” Steve replied with a shrug. “You kept saying you were okay with this but, I mean, I’m not that dense.”

“Why do you keep going out with her then?” Bucky grumbled.

“Jeez, Mother Gothel, I didn’t know Rapunzel wasn’t allowed to leave the tower,” Steve exclaimed. “We were bored. You’re in your office all day. It was fun to mess with you though. You’re a grumpy Gus when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, okay. I was annoyed. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky looked over at Sam who had been strangely quiet throughout this whole exchange. He loved teasing Bucky, and he always had something to say about Bucky’s love life. Sam wasn’t looking at Bucky, he just pushed his food around with his fork, his lips pinched shut. He met Bucky’s eyes, then lowered his head again.

Bucky had a feeling something bad was about to happen.

“What’s the big emergency?” he asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Sam set his fork down beside his plate and leaned back against his chair with a sigh. He trained his gaze on the front door, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’m moving to D.C.” He paused to let the information sink in. “They’re transferring me to the D.C. office. I’m their new chief financial officer.”

“Congrats, man!” Steve exclaimed. “You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“So why the long face?”

“I’m a little anxious to leave New York. What will Barnes do without me? Without his mentor? Without someone to look up to?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll be all right.” He hesitated before he asked, “Did you tell her?”

“Tell who?” Steve inquired, polishing off the last of his omelet.

Bucky felt the wave of long-held sadness his Sam’s eyes. “I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look. They weren’t sure how Steve would react.

The word sugar daddy held a pejorative connotation. Every single one of those relationships featured a powerful, rich man and a poor, vulnerable man or woman. There was a clear power imbalance here that never appealed to Bucky, and he was pretty sure it never appealed to Sam either.

Whether it was a no-strings-attached service or an emotional service, it was still a hole in your resume. One that would be hard to explain to your future employers. He was afraid people would call you names, treat you differently or harass you if they knew.

He often wondered if he had unintentionally ruined your life.

Deep down he knew Steve would never call you a whore or treat you differently but he was still trying to protect your reputation. He believed that Sam had Natasha’s best interest at heart too.

Sam told Steve everything. He remembered the day he had met Natasha, their instant chemistry, the subtle flirting, the arrangement, their first night out, their first kiss, their first time together, their new arrangement. Steve listened attentively. When Sam told him that you were Natasha’s best friend, Bucky interrupted him and told his own story.

“Wow,” Steve deadpanned, leaning forward to take one of Sam’s poached egg and avocado toast. Sam slapped his hand away. “Is that a thing now? Sugar daddies, I mean?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yeah.” Steve sipped his mimosa with a bored look on his face. “You’re both not ready for the real conversation, so I’m just making small talk.”

Sam and Bucky exchanged confused looks. “What real conversation?”

“Sam, you just got an amazing promotion, you’re going to be the Prince of D.C. and you’re sitting here like someone kicked your puppy,” Steve replied, then turned to Bucky. “And you, well... I’ve been living with you for the past two weeks and you’ve gone all Alpha male on me, Buck. Cut the shit. You’re both in love with your sugar babies. Companions, or whatever the fuck you want to call them.”

Sam and Bucky sat in silence with their heads hung low. Steve opened his arms wide like a lawyer in a bad TV show saying ‘I rest my case’.  When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Look, as maybe the world's leading authority on waiting too long, don't,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen, um?”

It made Bucky think. Best-case scenario, you loved him too and life was a breeze for the next fifty years. Bad-case scenario, you didn’t share his feelings. Worst-case scenario, you shared his feelings but couldn’t make the transition from sugar baby to girlfriend.

Yeah, worst-case scenario sucked...

He came home around three in the afternoon, and smiled when he saw your shoes and coat. Knowing you were home always put him in a good mood, but his heart was heavy. He felt conflicted. He didn’t know if it was better to tell you how he felt now or to just keep living in this little bubble with you until it’d inevitably burst.

And to make things worse, Sam was going to end his contract with Natasha tonight. He made Bucky promise not to tell you about it. Bucky felt sorry for Natasha, he wondered if she had feelings for Sam. He wondered if she had a backup plan.

He found you in your studio, sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall, with one knee drawn up to your chest and your arms loosely wrapped around your leg. You were staring at the painting you’d just made, the still wet paint glistened under the artificial lights.

This painting was different from your usual landscapes and occasional portraits. There were various shades of blue and grey intertwined, and five big splotches of dark red paint layered on top of the canvas.

Bucky knew just by looking at you that something was wrong. You looked defeated, sad, upset. He reasoned that your interview didn’t go as planned. Quietly, he stepped into the room and sat down on the floor next to you, his left shoulder brushing your own.

“I just got home,” he said.

“Where’s Steve?”

“He said he had some errands to run. He’ll be back later.”

You nodded, still staring straight ahead. “Okay. I bet you can’t wait to have some time to yourself. I asked Natasha if I could stay with her, but she’s going out with Sam tonight. I’ll stay in my room, I won’t bother you.”

Bucky felt his heart drop, his breath caught in his throat. He had made the woman he loved feel unwelcome. God, he wanted to kick his own ass.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting his head to look at you but you were stubborn and refused to meet his eye. “I thought you were going out with Steve and I- I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me.”

“I’m not interested in Steve. I told you that.”

“I know.” He moved so that he could see your face. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and for the way I treated Steve. It won’t happen again. I promise. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Bucky,” you huffed.

He saw your chin quiver slightly and your eyes glaze over with unshed tears. You looked utterly broken. He reached up and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Sorry, I had a difficult day,” you said.

His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb stroking a caress across your cheek. You met his eyes for the first time and he smiled softly at you.

“My angel.”

His words made you cry even harder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. With his hand still cupping the side of your face, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against your other cheek. You closed your eyes and basked in his affection.

He could feel the warmth of your tears, could taste the salt on his lips as they streamed down your cheek to his mouth. Slowly, he pulled back and looked at you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw a fleck of dried blue paint above your eyebrows.

“Painter Smurf,” he teased, wiping it off. You let out a huff of air that sounded like a laugh. “I’m here for you, angel, whatever you need.” He pulled you against his side and you rested your head on his chest.

“My interview didn’t go very well,” you said after a long moment of silence. “She said that I’m really talented, that my technique is perfect. But my work is too figurative. It’s not what she’s looking for.” You paused to wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s just- It wasn’t my first meeting. They all tell me the same thing: I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, kissing your hair. “Your work is unique. It’s raw and beautiful. If they can’t see that then they’re morons.”

“She told me that if I had been a white man in the nineteenth century, people would still talk about me today.” You sighed. “I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe I should work on something more abstract.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side as he looked at your painting. “Is that why you painted this?”

“Mhhh,” you hummed. “She told me to play with the textures, the forms, the lines, the colours. Suggest rather than show. Let the painting tell its own story.”

“Yeah, I think you did it.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I don’t think those adjectives apply here. Not with modern art. It’s in the eye of the beholder,” he said, running his fingers along your shoulder. “Abstract art isn’t supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, right?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Unsettled, sad.”

You straightened up and sat shoulder to shoulder. “My brother died in a hit-and-run.” You let the information sink in for a minute. “I was with Okoye, we got a call from our mom but by the time we got to the hospital, he was already dead.”

Your voice was surprisingly calm and controlled. Bucky wanted to reach out to you but he was unable to move. He listened attentively, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

“He was wearing some kind of compression shirt, grey-blue with two white stripes, and it was covered in blood. When I close my eyes and think of that day, all I remember is that shirt and the blood.” You tilted your head and gave him a little smile. “That’s what I painted.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Sorry,” you let out a small laugh. “I had a shitty meeting and then I came home and basically relived one of the worst days of my life to put it on a canvas. Now it’s staring at me and all I want is to shred it to pieces.”

Bucky noticed that your hand was close to one of your palette knives. Your fingers brushed against the handle, debating whether you should pick it up and slash the canvas. He laid his hand on top of yours.

“It won’t help,” he said. “Trust me. I can put the painting somewhere else if you want. You won’t have to look at it again. I promise.”

“Yes, please.”

“C’mon, beautiful, let’s go downstairs. I know someone who can help you.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to you. You frowned up at him, a silent question in your eyes. “His name is Bob and he paints happy little trees.”

A bright, wide smile spread until it lit up your whole face, and Bucky’s heart melted at the sight. He grinned at you and pulled you to your feet.

“I love Bob Ross,” you said, and Bucky gave your hand a little squeeze.

In the living room, you sat down on the sofa, crossing your legs under you and grabbed a blanket while Bucky connected his YouTube account to the TV. He sat down beside you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and adjusting the blanket in his lap.

“Hi, welcome back. Certainly glad you could join me today.” The show started and you melted against Bucky’s chest, pulling the blanket up to your neck. “Thought today we could do a fantastic little painting-”

You were pressed against his bad side, but Bucky didn’t mind. As the show progressed, you slid further into his lap until your head rested on the armrest of the sofa, close to Bucky’s right hand.

“People know when you’re happy. They can look at your paintings and tell how you were happy. They reflect your moods. Paintings are a reflection of your innermost feelings.”

He gave your head a little massage while you both watched Bob Ross create a stunning lake view painting.

“Cuz in your world, you can create any kind of illusion that you want. I spent half my life in the military, and I had to live in somebody else’s world all the time. Painting offered me freedom, I’d come home after all day of playing soldier and I could paint the kind of world that I wanted. It was clean, it was sparkling, shiny, beautiful-”

You shifted a little, and Bucky wondered if those words resonated with what you had been through. Being adopted, losing a brother, taking care of your sick mother when your siblings left, graduating, making ends meet... Those experiences had shaped you into the woman you would be for the rest of your life. A kind and strong woman who never really got to live or enjoy life.

He understood how important painting was to you. He was an artist too. He wasn’t a painter, but writing offered him a kind of freedom he had lost a long time ago.

“We should paint along,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “Then I’ll sell yours. I bet people would pay a lot of money to own an original Grant Thomas painting.”

Bucky chuckled. He knew you were teasing him, the slight curl of your lips said as much. “I’ll sign it James Barnes. It’ll be worthless.”

“It’s not worthless to me,” you said.

“Would you hang it in your room?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, okay, I’ll paint along with you.”

When the episode ended, you decided to eat dinner first and paint later. You were sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of leftover pasta from the night before, when Steve came home.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, throwing a plastic bag on the kitchen island before he made his way to his bedroom.

“I’m so fucking late. I still need to take a shower and get dressed.” Steve came out of his room, shirtless, and working his belt buckle open. “Hey, Buck, can I borrow some clothes?”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Rogers, if you undress in the middle of the kitchen I’ll make you eat your jeans.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A minute later, Bucky heard the shower running.

Later, you went upstairs to gather canvases, paint brushes and paint while Bucky helped Steve pick out an outfit.

Steve was too excited about his date to remind Bucky that he was an idiot, and Bucky was happy that for once they didn’t talk about his feelings for you. He teased Steve and watched as Steve squirmed, the tip of his ears bright red. Just like old times.

Then they met you downstairs where you had two easels set up in front of the television. Steve stood in front of you, visibly nervous and agitated, while you looked at him from head to toe.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re wearing clothes two sizes too small for you, which makes you look even bigger than you normally are so... pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

You chuckled. “You look great, Steve.”

Steve responded with a relieved sigh and a little bashful smile. Bucky liked that look on Steve, it reminded him of their childhood when Steve awkwardly flirted his way through Brooklyn.

Bucky jerked back to the present when Steve turned to him for confirmation. He gave him a firm nod and a thumbs-up, then walked him to the kitchen. They talked about Steve’s plans for the night while Steve gathered up his things.

Bucky was walking back to the living room when Steve called out his name and threw something to him. Bucky caught it in mid-air, then looked down at his hand. A shiny looking condom wrapper was nestled in the palm of his hand. He scowled at Steve.

“Just in case,” Steve said with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re a dead man.”

Steve’s laughter echoed down the corridor as he left the apartment.

Blowing out a breath, Bucky pocketed the foil packet and joined you in the living room. You were sitting at your easel, blobs of paint arranged in a semicircle on a palette. There was another easel next to yours, with a palette resting on a stool to make things easier for him.

You selected the lake view episode you had watched earlier, thinking that it would make things easier. Bucky was in awe of you, you made painting look so effortless and beautiful. You added your own trees and clouds, shifting things around to create your own world.

Bucky followed Bob Ross’ instructions closely but, in his opinion, it looked like someone had made it with their feet. You laughed at his comment and told him that you would still hang it in your room. It boosted his ego a bit.

When you both finished your painting, Bucky looked up at the clock. It was close to midnight which made him do a double take.

“Time for me to hit the hay,” he said, yawning. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Mhh,” you mused, turning the TV off.

“You okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I- uh, I was kind of hoping we’d do this all night,” you said, playing with a mostly dried paintbrush. You looked at him from under your lashes. “But it’s fine. I understand, you’re tired. I think I’ll wait for Steve.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained expression. He could tell something was bothering you. He placed his index finger under your chin and tilted your head up. “Angel, I don’t think Steve is coming home tonight.” You pinched your lips together and nodded. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Your words hit him like a punch in the chest, leaving him momentarily breathless. He pulled you close and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. You clung to him for dear life, your warmth and familiar scent made his heart ache.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back a little so he could look you in the eye. “Let’s change into something more comfortable, um? Then we’ll catch some shut-eye. I have an idea, the first person to fall asleep has to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted, I’ll fall asleep first,” he said, shaking his head. “New rule, last person to fall asleep has to make breakfast.”

You snorted. “No, I meant... are we going to sleep in the same bed?”

“I promise I’ll stay on my side. But if it makes you uncomfortable, there’s a bunk bed in Steve’s room.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to wash my face first. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Bucky tried to play it cool but his heart was pounding. He kept seeing flashes of his dreams in his mind: skin against skin, steady puffs of air brushing against his skin, the smell of sweat and something uniquely you surrounding him.

He was absolutely terrified.

He went upstairs, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas. His night-time regimen took longer than he had anticipated so he wasn’t surprised when he found you sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone, looking so calm and peaceful.

You were wearing your pyjama bottoms and a fluffy sweatshirt stained with blue paint and tomato soup. He felt his stomach flip when you raised your head and smiled at him. A chill ran through his spine, and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, placing your phone on the nightstand. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“The side you’re sitting on.” You rolled to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers making him laugh. “You didn’t have to move.”

“It’s fine. I prefer this side.” You looked around the room. “I like your room. It’s very you.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah, neat, organized, lots of books, a cosy armchair, stormy blue comforter. It looks intimidating but it’s actually really soft. Like you.”

He suppressed a laugh. “Thanks.”

Bucky climbed into bed beside you, turned off the light and drew the blanket over him trying to get warm. He lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. He was so stiff and nervous, he forced himself to breathe normally. You turned onto your side and slid one of your hands under your pillow.

“Do you usually read before you go to sleep?” you whispered, afraid to disturb the silence.

“Yes,” he whispered back. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” There was a moment’s silence before you spoke again. “I’ve started reading your book.”

“Oh, Christ,” he let out a small laugh and turned his head to look at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I hope I didn’t traumatize you.”

“You have a very dark sense of humour,” you said. “But I already knew that.”

“I’ve always had a dark sense of humor, but trust me, when I lost my arm I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Therapy helped a lot. Besides, laughing is good for your health, right? My books are very personal, I don’t censor myself.”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it to be so honest.” You shifted a little and looked away from him. “I don’t know if I’ll finish it, I feel like I’m intruding.”

“I understand.” He shifted slightly so he was lying on his left side, facing you. “I wrote it like a diary. Talking isn’t my strong suit. I don’t know, I think I’m trying too hard and I just end up being rude or not making sense. When I write, I take my time, I find the right words. It’s easier when I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.”

He knew his book was a little rough. He focused on his depression, his rehabilitation, relearning basically everything. He talked about rediscovering his body, intimately. He talked about his friends, his family, strangers, therapy, dating.

“Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight. “Yes.” In fact, he was in love right now. “Once. I don’t trust easily.”

“I know I read what happened between you and your girlfriend.”

She had been his first girlfriend since the accident. She was kind, patient, a little over excited but he found it cute. In a way, she reminded him of himself before the accident. She wasn’t afraid to touch him, and God, he needed to be touched.

Sam had witnessed little things that irked him but Bucky had ignored him, refusing to see the warning signs. He wanted to be happy again. But then he couldn’t bury his head in the sand anymore.

She treated him like a child in front of their friends, and her friends praised her for taking such good care of a man like him. A man who, in their mind, was high maintenance. She cut his meat for him even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. She helped him dress, tied his shoes, zipped up his coat, etc... He felt infantilized, humiliated.

He didn’t think she was a bad person though. It was just her personality.

“How’s Natasha?” he asked suddenly.

A puff of air caressed his face as you snorted out a laugh. “Why do you ask? You don’t like her.”

“I like her a lot,” he argued. “She seems wary of me, which I understand, but she’s great.”

“Yeah, she is.” You considered his words. “She’s doing well. She went on work date with Sam.”

Despite his promise to Sam, he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping things from you. “I have to tell you something about Sam and Nat.” You waited for him to continue. “Sam got promoted, he’s moving to D.C. He broke things off with Natasha tonight. I mean, their arrangement.”

“I know,” you said. “She texted me while you were in the bathroom. I’m going to spend the night at her place tomorrow. It’s been a while since we had a girls’ night, and we both really need it.”

“Good.” He cupped the side of your face, let his thumb brush your jaw. “I’m going out with the boys tomorrow. Steve’s leaving soon.” He pulled his hand back. “We should try to get some sleep.”

“No, please,” you said, shifting closer to him. “Not yet.”

“Angel, we can’t stay awake all night.”

“I don’t want to be alone in the dark.”

“I’m right here with you,” he spoke gently.

“But once you fall asleep I’ll be alone.”

Bucky raised his head and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. When he pulled back, he rested his hand on your forearm and let his warmth seep into your skin. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, stroked over your racing pulse point.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” he said.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled and let your index finger run down the length of his nose. “Does it hurt when you sleep on your left side?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Most of the time it’s just weird. It feels like my phantom limb hangs down through the bed. Like my arm is invisible and just goes through the bed.”

“What do you miss the most?”

He let out a long exhale. “Not much. Hugs. Proper hugs... I guess. Holding someone close and wrapping myself around them. Squeezing someone against my chest, making them feel protected. I used to be a great hugger. Now I give bro hugs.”

“I love bro hugs.”

His chuckled dissolved into a grin, and you both stayed quiet for a moment. He knew you weren’t asleep, he could hear you thinking. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

“I was wondering,” you started, then trailed off. “One day we’ll have to end this arrangement. Do you think it’ll end well, or is it going to be messy?”

It took him a minute to respond.

“Y’know, one of the things I learned in therapy was to stop worrying about things I can’t control,” he said. “That’s in the future, for future-you and future-me. I don’t know how it’ll end but I can promise you one thing: I’ll always be there for you. Arrangement or not.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you breathed out. “Right-now-me is a lucky bitch.”

You both laughed softly, then fell into a contemplative silence. There was something so peaceful about lying in bed with you, his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist, sharing warmth. He didn’t want to fall asleep.

For the next hour you talked about your families, your childhood, your friends, your likes and your dislikes. You told him about being an adopted child and living with other adopted kids. He could tell you were holding back when you talked about your siblings.

The only one you gushed about was Okoye. You were evasive when you talked about Scott and Wanda, though you did tell him that you had agreed to meet Wanda.

“What’s your favorite comfort food?”

“Breakfast for dinner.” Your voice was soft and small, he knew you were falling asleep. “When I was a kid, we had breakfast for dinner every Sunday night. We’d grab a bowl of our favourite cereal and eat together in front of the TV. I miss those days.” Your face was half buried in your pillow. “What’s yours?”

“Easy, pancakes.”

You smiled, your eyes were closed. “I like pancakes too.”

He watched you fall asleep and made a mental note to make some pancakes for breakfast. Your breathing evened out, and he waited a few more minutes to make sure you were asleep before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Bucky woke up to the sound of rain striking against the window. He opened his eyes and noted that the room seemed brighter than usual. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him that it was already a little past eight.

He stretched, sighing contentedly, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his closed fist. He tilted his head to look at you, still sleeping next to him. You lay on your stomach with your face turned away from him and your arms hugging your pillow. He adjusted the covers around your shoulders and stealthy slipped out of bed.

He went to the window and fixed the shades to make sure they didn’t let any light in. Then he made his way downstairs where he found Steve cracking eggs into a bowl. He was still wearing Bucky’s clothes, but his hair was a mess. Still he looked positively glowing.

“Mornin’,” Steve greeted with a wide smile.

“Hey, man.” Bucky took a seat at the kitchen island. “When did you get back?”

“About ten minutes ago. Long enough to notice that your angel hasn’t slept in her room last night. Wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you slept with her.”

“We slept in the same bed. Nuance.”

“I’m gonna nuance your face with my fist if you don’t talk to her soon,” Steve exclaimed. “She’s not going to stay single forever, Buck. Things are gonna change, one way or another.”

“I know.”

Steve set the bowl aside and held the edge of the counter behind him. He sighed, exasperated. “If I were you, I’d talk to her before something happens and takes your choices away from you.”

Bucky pinched his lips together, hard, and looked down at the counter. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I- I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He met Steve’s eyes. “I physically can’t talk to her. It hurts. It’s stuck here-” he aggressively grabbed his stomach “-all the time. And it hurts, Steve, you have no idea how painful it is.”

“That’s love,” Steve replied, smiling at him like he, too, knew how it felt.

“Well, it fucking sucks.”

Bucky wiped the back of his hand against his runny nose. Steve stood there in silence.

“This book I’m writing,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “It’s about her. Just her.” He paused. “I can’t back down now, my publicist’s too invested in our story. I know it’s an eccentric way of telling someone you fell in love with them but... writing’s easier than talking.”

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “It’s like a long love letter.”

“Something like that.” Bucky climbed off the stool and rounded the kitchen island. “Now, I’m going to make breakfast. I promised her pancakes.”

Steve smiled and watched him move around the kitchen. “I hope it works out for you, Bucky. I really do.”

Part 10

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

[chainsawing]

Would you please tell us some niche mcr related trivia? :)

omg ok so heres just a bunch of stuff off the top of my head, & ig how niche these are depends on how deep you are in mcr lore

-my favorite mcr fact of all time is probably mikey whispering "disenchanted" while everyone slept so it would get put on the album, it was almost cut

-2nd fav mikey moment is when he said "gerard has always been my older brother" in lotms like . yeah .

-mcr once got interviewed for an emo porn dvd in like 2003 ? and the interviewer was the girl from that "lemon stealing whores" vid. they spend the whole time talking about dnd & action figures and thats where the famous "your moms comin'!" gerard quote comes from

-frank almost drowned during the making of the ghost of you while he was in full army gear, he said he didnt get scared "until the water reached his balls", and even then he said thats when he found out he wasnt afraid of dying. the next day (?) he got his "forget me not" tattoo (which is a hand with fingers crossed sticking out of an ocean of blood)

-joe rogan is gerard & mikeys' cousin

-gerard was really good at science in school & he has a big fear of needles

-THEY LEFT RAY AT GAS STATIONS MULTIPLE TIMES

-their old tour van got pulled over a lot because police thought "my chemical romance" was a drug thing

-bullets is the only album without a parental advisory warning, but i think it has the most swearing in it? actually i think danger days might have more (but dd does have a warning)

-frank is really jealous of how good gerards voice is, even though he did nothing but drink black coffee & smoke cigarettes

-hey im in the middle of writing this and i JUST remembered that super weird fanfic set in the i dont love you (?) universe where everyone was either literally black or white and you couldnt have relationships outside your color ??? does anyone else remember that what the fuck was that. i could go on for a long time about super weird fanfictions but im just gonna leave it at this i think

-my favorite fake fact is that conspiracy that gerard locked frank in a tower at the mansion they stayed at to record the black parade ??? i think about that so often

-gerard wrote the first song, skylines and turnstiles, after seeing 9/11 while at his job as a cartoonist for cartoon network in nyc. imo the demo of that song is one of mcr's best ever made

-bob used to be the sound technician for the used, and replaced matt pelisser

-gerard went to art school in drag multiple times

-bullets was produced by geoff rickley of thursday. the original anti-piracy message of the album warned any unlawful duplication would result in "gerard coming to your house and sucking your blood" (.... promise...?)

-gerards old myspace (?) had "interests: fucking bats" listed on it, which was my desc quote for a long time LOL

-right after revenge was released, gerard described their genre as "violent pop"

-while writing this just now i rewatched the burning angel interview & gerard paints little orcs (like me!) while frank "doesnt go on quests"

-this doesnt really count as a fact but its a video of frank just being . violent that ive had saved on my computer for the last 6 years

-underoath (who i have seen, theyre so good!) supplied mcr with food, clothes, & beer during one of their first tours. they toured again together at the 2005 taste of chaos (which is a whole separate can of worms)

-bert mccracken did all the backing vocals for you know what they do to guys like us in prison

#sorry its not much its like 2 am now . #but whoever sent this ask im kissing u rn i love talking about mcr #ask #mcr

[herradhighpriestess]

Love Grows in the Valley of Death

Chapter Nine:  The $64,000 Question

As Dr. Wakefield began rummaging through the ugly yellow folders in the rows of tall, grey steel cabinets, each containing four drawers of files, across town in Helena’s kitchen, Tig kept his grip tight enough that his touch brushed into near painful as his eyes bored into her, “please,” he finally growled, his tone reeking of outright, face down begging.

Helena pressed her dry lips together and tried to control her breathing, distracted by his ironclad hold, making it difficult to form words. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear the message or see the flowers?” she managed to stammer.

Tig shook his head before she lapsed into silence. He lifted a hand to pinch her chin with his fingertips as he dropped his face until their lips were a breath apart. “Talk to me,” he demanded on a whisper.

In the space before Helena spoke, her mind whirred with the intensity of the turbine engine of a jumbo jet. “What do I say? Will he end up hurting me?” Helena thought before she stopped being able to think when Tig pressed his lips to hers. His kiss turned urgent, and she felt herself left breathless when he lifted his lips, foreign patience shrouded him as he gave her time to think.

Helena blinked and found herself unable to look away from Tig’s probing, penetrative stare. The press of his body made Helena fight competing lust-fueled thoughts as she cleared her throat. “How do I fit in?” she finally asked.

Tig frowned, unsure of what she was asking, and Helena continued before he could speak.

“How do I fit into your world?” Helena asked as her mind once again conjured the seemingly inerasable image of the skinny, glossy-lipped, spike-heeled, gonorrhea ridden, parasitic whore trying to play with Tig’s stick.

Tig dropped a strong hand to encircle Helena’s wrist, the tips of his middle finger and thumb overlapping. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. Tig squeezed her smaller hand, free from scars, lines and nails gaudily encrusted with rhinestones before he spoke.

“I should be askin’ you the same thing baby,” Tig murmured on a heady rasp, his exhale a hot tease against her skin.

Helena drowned in the electrical sensation that was ignited the nanosecond he pressed his lips to her palm, the wiry strands of his facial hair, near-singeing where it brushed against her skin.

Helena blinked hard as she tried to collect her flurrying thoughts, she was suddenly a snow globe that had been violently shaken and left to find herself again amongst the falling chunks of artificial snow. “How does he fit in?” Helena asked herself. “How do I tell him that he scares the nightmares away, that since the moment I met him, he filled a space inside me that was empty?” Helena asked herself as her face turned a brilliant, fuchsia hue as she let her mind wander down a sexual rabbit hole.

“Because you’re different,” Helena finally managed and added in a quick stammer as Tig’s hands slid down to rest on her hips. “You’re not like the rest of them.”

Tig squeezed her taut hips, massaging the supple flesh through her jeans. “Who do ya think I am doll?” he asked on a heady tease.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Helena whispered on an exhale as Tig tugged her closer and slid one hand up the length of her spine, his fingertips brushing each of the protruding vertebrate until he could tangle his fingers in the silken fall of her hair.

Tig couldn’t even pretend to deny the veracity of her words as he tugged on her hair until her neck pulled taut and Helena met his unblinking eyes. “Not towards you in any way baby, nothing bad will ever happen to you again,” Tig rasped and crushed his lips to hers, stealing her breath with the intensity of his want.

Helena was forced to surrender in Tig’s embrace, his hands everywhere at once while holding her immobile.

Tig’s strength was equal parts frightening and protective, his physical intimidation was not lost on himself as he settled closer to her.

“I’m not the kind of man you think I am,” Tig whispered as he pressed his lips against her ear and smoothed one hand down her side and cupped a hand under the curve of her bottom.

“What do you think I have wrong?” Helena asked on a low murmur.

“That I’m some kind of monster, inhuman,” Tig growled in a low tone.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Helena said softly and lifted a hand to cup his jaw. Tig captured her wrist, keeping her palm pressed hard to his face. Helena shivered as she felt the stubble against her warm palm and could feel his words vibrate against her skin as he spoke.

Helena almost didn’t hear him add in a strangled whisper against her flushed skin over the thundering beat of her heart. “Please don’t reject me,” Tig growled.

As Tig and Helena’s red blood cells bloated and their pupils pulsed with the increase of their collective and rising blood pressure, across town in the Human Resources office at St. Thomas’s, Dr. Andrew Wakefield pulled open a metal drawer and pawed through the folders until he found Helena’s personnel file.

Andrew began to whistle a lively show tune as he opened Helena’s folder on top of the HR secretary’s desk.

For a second Andrew looked like a reptile, so much so, one would’ve expected a forked tongue to slip out from his thin lips and wet his twisted smile as he read her name aloud from the sunny yellow folder tab.

Onassis, Helena.

Andrew skimmed her contact information, most of which he already knew, before he fished his phone out of his pocket and took pictures of each page in the manila file folder.

Andrew replaced the file and easily slipped out of St. Thomas’s before he casually made his way back to his hotel room.

As the prominent and adored Floridian doctor returned to his hotel room, back in Helena’s kitchen, the air had become charged, and Tig found himself closer and closer to losing the mere semblance of control he possessed.

Helena found her voice as Tig began to tug open the top button of her jeans and deftly lowered her zipper. “No, I, I can’t,” Helena began before she trailed off into silence and desperately tried to avoid his gaze.

“Ya can’t or ya won’t?” Tig hissed, his exhale fell from lungs surrounding his heart that began to gallop in its opaque pericardial sac.

Tig never stopped his touch even as Helena unsuccessfully pushed at his hands and incoherently protested. “I can’t right now,” Helena finally spit, her anxiety had melted into vulnerable defensiveness.

Tig tried to lessen his hold but failed as he took a deep breath in through his nose as he softened his tone but fell flat in an effort to blunt the crassness of his words. “I’ll do anything you tell me, just let me fuck you baby,” he grumbled, his words delivered under the growing roughness of his touch.

Helena couldn’t help but laugh nervously once she caught her breath and dropped her hands to close around Tig’s wrists, simultaneously brilliantly blushing at his ragged admission. She shook her head, “I should probably tell you something,” Helena lamely managed.

“Tell me,” Tig said on a rasp as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his exhale causing her to break out in goosebumps.

Helena danced her fingertips up his forearms and along the curve of his triceps as she tried to formulate a coherent sentence. “I need some air,” she said in more of a shrill tone than she would’ve liked.

“Could we go outside for a few minutes?” Helena asked on a breathy moan as Tig slid a hand to cup over the clothed junction of her thighs, shuddering with the urgent want to sheath himself in her wet center.

“Just a few,” Tig finally conceded on a frustrated groan.

Helena looked past his shoulder as she raised her hands to his chest, feeling his heart pounding under her palm. Tig let her slide along the edge of the counter away from him as he drummed his fingertips on the outside of his thighs.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Tig told himself as he followed Helena outside.

They each settled into the new turquoise chairs that Helena had picked up at the hardware store, the southwestern round chair pads were still stiff with newness but stood out brightly on the sagging porch.

Helena tapped the arm of the metal chair. “I bought these the day I moved here.”

Tig squeezed the cold arms of the matching chair, “from Harvest’s?” he asked, not sure how to have a casual conversation with her when all he wanted to do was fuck her until he forgot how to spell his name.

Helena nodded, “that place is great, I think I’ve been there more than the grocery store.”

Tig nodded and fumbled for his freshly opened pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket as Helena directed her gaze out at the overgrown yard that needed countless full weekends to clean up and who even knew how many trips back and forth to Harvest’s for mulch, weed killer and topsoil.

Tig was grateful to whoever was on the other end of the incoming call that made his phone buzz in his other pocket.

Helena moved her eyes off a trio of overgrown Meyer lemon trees, their wickedly sharp thorns ready and waiting to rip the flesh from anyone who dared supplant them, to look over at Tig as he frowned down at the caller ID.

“I gotta get this,” Tig murmured, suppressing the anger from his tone that he was being pulled away from her. Helena nodded and watched Tig disappear into the house before he answered the call.

“Yeah,” Tig grumbled tersely as he picked up Clay’s incoming call.

“Where are you?” Clay barked, irritated that Tig had been ignoring a laundry list of calls and messages.

“I’m just working on some things,” Tig benignly answered.

“Well brother, we’re meeting with the Irish in a few hours. Can you break away from your ‘things’ for a while?” Clay added with a chuckle, recalling Gemma telling him what she’d seen in the grocery store aisle with toiletries and over-the-counter products.

Tig walked over to the kitchen counter and stared down at the chipped tiles on the edge and ivory-colored grout lines as he tried to come up with an excuse to not have to leave.

As Tig was trying to come up with an excuse that would hold water to skip out on Club business, Helena’s phone chimed from where she had left it by the stainless-steel toaster.

Tig glanced over his shoulder and could see Helena still sitting on the rear porch, staring out at the yard just as she had been when Clay called.

“Tig? You there?” Clay asked when Tig fell deathly silent as he picked up her phone and glanced at the message preview that popped up on the phone.

“I gotta call you back,” Tig muttered abruptly and hung up on Clay.

Tig clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as he read the first sentence of the incoming text message. Helena’s locked screen kept him from reading any further than the three words displayed on the smudged screen.

“Remember this baby?” Tig read aloud before another message arrived. Tig squinted down at the small square photo that was too tiny to discern much detail.

Helena flinched when Tig stomped back outside and held her phone out towards her, the screen facing her.

“What is this?”

Helena’s face first drained of color as she swallowed hard and was then replaced with a wave of defensiveness as she reached out for her phone. Tig held it just out of her reach, “tell me who sent this.”

Helena blew out a low breath before she moved her eyes from the rectangular screen to settle on his face. “Fine,” she finally said in a heated tone as she began to flush. “Give me the phone first,” she demanded as she held her hand out.

Tig pressed his lips together. Feeling his salivary glands leak and a trill of excitement stimulate his nervous system as Helena’s indignation at his invasive encroachment into secrets she wanted to keep hermitically sealed in a titanium coffin, buried under three million miles of earth.

Tig’s watched her eyes grow wide as her irises practically vibrated in their sockets. In the center of his brain, his pituitary gland ejaculated hormones that further fanned his lust as her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Helena felt the tiniest lessening of the electrical heaviness in the air when Tig gently placed her phone in her waiting palm. They both felt a tingling jolt as his fingertips brushed against her open hand.

Tig sat back down on the firm chair pad and watched Helena unlock her phone and read the messages. He watched her eyes move back and forth over the words before she began to speak.

Helena spoke without meeting his eyes, never taking her gaze off her phone clutched in her hand. Her voice grew in strength as she gripped her phone so tight that the skin over her knuckles turned white as it was pulled taut.

“Before I started in the neurology ward, I heard all sorts of rumors about several of the physician department heads and a game they played.”

Tig waited as she gathered her words, willing to give her eons to continue, as long as she would speak only to him.

“Dr. Gatez, with a Z, was the one who started everything. He paid off a guy in maintenance to put cameras in the bathrooms, changing rooms and staff lounges. They had competitions for best pictures and videos recorded. They set aside one department head meeting a month to talk about their other conquests,” Helena said before closing her eyes and resumed leaning back in the metal chair.

Tig didn’t have to wait long for her to continue.

“Besides their surveillance fun, they would often use the footage to blackmail people they found in compromising footage or threaten to release still frames. Sometimes they’d try to leverage more with their threats,” Helena said as she looked down at her phone and reread the simple message and tapped on the photo, enlarging it.

Helena was transported back to the events she had moved three-thousand miles away from as she stared at the screen.

Helena turned the phone’s face towards Tig, she cleared her throat as his eyes fell on an image of her emerging from the employee shower. She positioned her fingers to cover most of her nudity.

“After I was sent this and a few that were similar, there was another message that said I could find out how to keep that picture and more from being circulated to the entire staff.”

Helena settled back in the chair and turned the screen back towards herself as she struggled for a moment to find her words.

“One of the doctors told me that all I had to do was perform a few free favors and I’d get the originals.”

Tig felt himself hit with a simultaneous tsunami on each hemisphere of his brain as he battled vastly different thoughts about what Helena described. Tig was both compelled to comfort her while at the same time he felt a coiled charge of excitement in his body as he wanted to rip her phone out of her hand to see the uncensored image of her wet nakedness.

“He tried to take payment when I said no,” Helena started to say before her voice broke and she sniffed hard. “There was a security guard close by,” she added and pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache decided to start brewing behind her eyes.

Tig finally spoke when Helena didn’t seem like she was going to offer more. “What happened after that?”

“I filed a report with the hospital and police department but of all places the cameras weren’t working was the parking garage and the security guard never got a good look at him. It became my word against the esteemed Dr. Wakefield and Gatez,” Helena spit.

Helena blew out a low breath. “The threats quickly escalated, and I tapped into my trust and left everything behind. I didn’t even put them down as a job reference for St. Thomas.”

Tig left his chair and dropped to a knee in front of her. If someone had been watching, without words, it would appear he was proposing. “Let me in,” Tig breathed as he pulled her phone from her tight grip and set it aside. He gathered her hands and smoothed his fingers over her soft, unscarred skin.

Tig pressed his lips to her palms before he buried his face in her lap. “Please let me in,” he begged.

Helena stared down at Tig’s head, his face pressed against the tops of her thighs, his ragged exhales were hot through the denim.

Tig held himself statue still on the outside while inside his chest cavity, his heart leapfrogged itself with its rapid beating.

Helena lifted her hands and slid her fingertips through his hair, the strands tickling her palms.

Tig closed his eyes and smoothed his hands up and down the outside of Helena’s thighs as she rubbed her fingertips in slow circles on his scalp.

As Helena and Tig remained in silence, across town at the Clubhouse, Piney was eating a second sandwich, the new anti-nausea medication had made his appetite return with a vengeance.

Inside his body, the cancerous cells continued to divide. Piney’s discomfort was trapped behind a narcotic wall that was difficult to maintain, the breakthrough pain made his spine practically bow with its intensity.

Piney lowered the volume on the game show rerun as Cassie brought him an extra slice of pie she had brought from St. Thomas’s cafeteria. As the two of them talked about bland topics and then shouted out their answers to the game show trivia, back on Helena’s rear porch, Tig squeezed her hips until she hissed from the pressure as her whispered words fell around his ears.

“Can I trust you, Tig?” Helena asked. He began to nod his head the nanosecond she was done speaking.

“I need something, “ Helena began and trailed off as she lost confidence in her words.

“Talk to me,” Tig demanded as he snapped his head up to find her eyes on him.

“I want,” Helena began before she paused briefly. “I need to know I mean something to you, I’m not disposable.”

Tig rose to his feet and pulled her up and out of the blue wrought-iron chair to join him. “You’re everything,” he growled and crushed his lips to hers.

#sons of anarchy #SOA #Gemma Teller #jax teller #chibs telford #teller morrow #tig trager #tig x oc #tig smut #juice ortiz #bobby munson #opie winston #piney winston #cancer #assault #sex virgin oc #charming #clay morrow #grey consent #tara knowles #hospice #fanfiction #fan fiction dot net

[geoffrard]

My Chemical Romance, Hardcore Sexual Repression, and the Lemon Stealing Whore - SOURCES

The interview: 

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzAOmGe1S00

Transcript: https://mcr-transcripts.tumblr.com/post/17317559562/burning-angel-dvd-interview

Joanna Angel:

Complex: Interview: Joanna Angel Talks Alt Porn, Piracy, And Her Blow-Up Doll (Tara Aquino; Jul 29, 2011)

Turned Out A Punk #127: Joanna Angel (Burning Angel) (May 2017)

Hustlerworld Interview: Joanna Angel (March 2006) 

'Each Time It's More Fun' in Haaretz (Shahar Smooha, Jul 12, 2007). 

‘Wearing Nothing but Attitude’ in The New York Times (Robert Lanham, May 1, 2005).

‘A Woman On Top’ in New Jersey Monthly (Eric Levin, Dec 19, 2007)

Hardcore (NJ & otherwise):  

Going Off Track: Geoff Rickly (2012)

Dark Blue Episode #4: Norman Brannon & Steve Pedulla (Oct 2018)

Geoff Rickly on Warped Tour 2004 discussing the meaning of the track Signals Over the Air from their 2003 album, War All the Time.

The Summer of Screamo in The New York Times (By Jonathan Dee, June 29, 2003).

Sellout: The Major-Label Feeding Frenzy That Swept Punk, Emo, and Hardcore (1994–2007) (Dan Ozzi, 2021). 

Popular Music, Gender, and Postmodernism: Anger is an Energy.  By Neil Nehring. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications, 1997.

MCR:

A ‘Great Romances of the 21st Century’ in Alternative Press #193 (Leslie Simon, Aug 2004)

Alternative Press: Frank Iero: The Oral History (Alt Press #389.2, Dec 2020).

Riot Grrrl:

‘Kathleen Hanna - Bikini Kill’ in Angry Women in Rock (Andrea Juno, 1996).

‘I Can Sell My Body If I Wanna: Riot Grrrl Body Writing and Performing Shameless Feminist Resistance.’ By Leah Perry. Lateral: Journal of the Cultural Studies Association 4 (2015).

#mine

[miekasa]

SCREAM!!!!! OKAY you get me YOU GET ME!!!!!! and YES the fact that the giant fighter robots are called Jaegers like...the material on hand...there’s SO much one can do!! it’s for multiple ships and for multiple reader-inserts, like hello world!!!! one of THE best aus!!! it could be an eren x reader fic where eren’s family (sadly, gr*sha 🙄) spearheaded the program hence Jaegers, and idk what the plot would be, but there would definitely be family drama. dee-lish, deelish! jean x reader, where jean is a pilot and reader works in the lab....angsty and fluffy! hange as the scientists with their apprentice armin and reader who is gonna start working there? if you’re a coconut head stan, go for it! i personally...headcanon it as a levi x reader fic because i’m a whore for levi 😌 they’re co-pilots. like unpacking all that between reader and levi, and going through the mortifying ordeal of being known just so humanity’s strongest and his partner could bring down the kaiju? yeah yeah 😌 and on the other side of things...the drift. ahem. the things one can do here. mentally holding each other in place to keep one from chasing the rabbit—oh HO the communication issues! suddenly knowing the other person so well that they nonchalantly save the last lemon curd cupcake for them because it’s their favorite and their partner was late to the mess hall. suddenly knowing how to brew tea to perfection. that neural connection lingers after a fight, and co-pilots are drawn to each other (whispers: bed sharing...and it progresses...to a lot more). mmhm mmm. i just...it’s modern romance that completely reinvented the concept of soulmates and elevated it and made it absolutely transcendent okay!!!!! i have a lot of feelings about this kinda au, literally it eats my brain and i daydream about it a lot 👁👅👁

YES TO ALL OF THIS!!! YES ABSOLUTELY YES!! The mortifying ordeal of being known... the idea of letting somebody into your head and literally knowing the inner most mechanisms of your mind, body, and soul... it's so tender; it's so fucking GOOD!! OKAY here me out for some options below

Okay, here me out: Kenny and Levi who, despite their unconventional uncle-nephew relationship, are just about the best pair of co-pilots anyone has ever seen (bc you know, shared trauma brings a family together). Until Kenny is killed on a mission, and Levi has to find a new co-pilot. Cue oc, Levi's childhood best friend, a talented engineer, and Hange's right hand woman. Hange suspects oc and Levi would be pretty compatible, maybe even with a higher compatibility than Kenny; except, oc has no plans to be a pilot, and Levi wouldn't want to do a drift with her anyways, because that would mean letting her into his mind, and, subsequently, letting her know that he's in love with her.

Or, alternatively, oc just happens to be a new recruit who is talented, and drift compatible with Levi, and become good friends through their training. Over time, it's Levi who realizes that he feels something for her outside of the drift, and finds himself drawn to her and picking up on little habits and preferences. It's too bad she's already engaged to one of Levi's closest friends.

Or, Eren's family spearheaded the Jaeger robots and obviously receive government funding to engineer them and keep them going. The whole family is pretty impressive; tho it damaged her, Carla was the first woman to solo pilot a Jaeger and saved an entire country, Gr*sha is the head engineer, and Zeke and Eren are pretty damn good co-pilots. But some other nations have suspected that Gr*sha has been making faulty Jaegers for them, and making the best ones for his home country; and oc is the person sent to by one of these nations spy/steal the blueprints/maybe even kill the Jaeger family, and ofc she somehow meets Eren and falls in love in the process.

OR scientist coconut boy and oc who were childhood friends, and who both shared a common interest in deep sea creatures. She's really interested in the kaiju themselves and has her own theories about where the come from and their overall biology, that would sound crazy to any government official, but Armin believes her wholeheartedly. However, having nearly been killed in an attack, oc grows apart from her love of the ocean and the animals; so while Armin goes on the study and aid the Jaeger program, she finds a new hobby, far away from the kaiju. When it comes time to try and close the breech, all the scientists, Armin included, are stumped and there's a few puzzle pieces they can't quite solve, but Armin remembers oc's theory, and he knows that she's about the only person in the world who could help save them right now, so obviouslyyy he has to go and find her and bring her back and ask for her help and you get it.

Okay one more because I love Jean. He and Marco are pilots, and oc is actually Marco's girlfriend; she's a civilian, and lives in their hometown. Except, in their most recent drift, Jean and Marco have been having some difficulties; Marco isn't letting him in as much, and when he finally does, Jean sees that Marco's been hiding that he's been cheating/cheated on oc. Jean is upset with him, but hardly has time to reprimand him or talk it out fully because Marco dies on their next mission. Enter oc, who joins the Jaeger program to avenge the death of her boyfriend, which wouldn't be an issue, if she weren't drift compatible with Jean, the only person in the world who knows what Marco did wrong.

As you can tell, I have many thoughts about this. I am obsessed with this movie. Very much. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#welcome to mie has an obsession with romance being the underlying factor in saving the world in sci fi movies

[peachyaone]

Lonely Heart pt.5

Pairings: Lierra x OC

(A/N : Hi again! I’m excited to announce that the song “You” in this chapter is written by me! :) So pls don’t steal it :( And I’m also less busy this month so part 6 might be out soon! So yeah, hope you enjoyed this chapter, See you in the next one!)

*Luke’s POV*

They arrived at Ashton’s. His palms are sweating, and his throat was getting dryer by the second. Sierra placed her hand on his shoulder, slightly calming his nerves. They stood in of his door. He hesitated on knocking, Sierra had tired of waiting and knocked. Nothing happened at first, Luke knocked this time. There were footsteps, and the door opened. “Look, its early in the morning, so what the fuc- Oh. You two. He groaned.  “ I-Is Iris here?” Sierra asked him.  “You didn’t check your phones?” He said, slightly irritated. The two took out their phones.

They checked their messages:

[10:00 pm, 09/10/2020] Iris <3 : Hey. Just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving for tour early. I cleared up everything with Ashley and my bandmates. I will be leaving at midnight tonight. You’re welcome to come and see me off, only if you want to. I’ll be with Ashley for the while leg of the tour, we might have separate shows, but we’ll wait for the management announcement.

[10:00 pm, 09/10/2020] Iris <3 : I just wanna say that I apologise for being so distant , I’ve been in a really bad headspace lately. I’m sorry. It’s my fault for making you mad, making Sierra upset and everything.

“Fuck.” he whispered. Ashton was staring at them, arms crossed. "Have you realized what you've done?" Ashton said. They didn't have the chance to speak. "You absolutely wrecked her, you know that? Both of you. I thought you're better than this. She came here, soaked to the skin. She could get sick, and you both know that she gets sick easily. She was trying to keep herself together. She on a verge on an attack, thank god Katniss was there to calm her down. I wanted to march up to your house and beat your ass . But Iris wouldn't let me, you know why? it's because she loves you, Lucas. And that's the only thing stopping me from beating your ass." He scolded. Luke was looking at the ground, ashamed.

"And Sierra, you know what the media could do. They'd do anything to tear people apart, fuck with their mental health, twisting lies into stories with without knowing the real truth. One article could turn people against each other. I really thought that maybe you would understand a little more about this." He said. Ashton was disappointed. He sighed. "Now that you have your answer, I have a lemon tree to save. Goodnight." He said, closing the door on them. The two walked back to their car.

What were they gonna do now?

*Iris's POV*

The live session was a blast. Once she felt sensation of the bass, the sound of the guitar, the kick of the drums, she never felt so alive. They were covering "I Don't Love You" by My Chemical Romance. She felt the problems slowly melt away when she started singing. She sang each verse with all she got. It was pure, raw emotion, the one that could make everyone tear up. It's like she was a different person. Long gone the Iris that was depressed. The Iris on stage now was, way more brighter and her eyes seems to shine with unshed tears. This side of Iris only comes out when she's performing. Usually, without the tears. The crowd cheered her on. She was smiling. The trio gave each other knowing glances, once the adrenaline from performing wears off, she would go back to the woman she was before.

Sad and empty.

They thanked the crowd and the host and went backstage. They were buzzing with adrenaline. "You guys, wanna grab some food before we go back to the hotel?" Maia said. Julia and Helena nodded. "Iris?" Helena said. Iris's head snapped up. "You okay there? Your lookin' a little bit pale, shortcake." Helena said. Iris rubbed her face. "I'm alright, Just need fresh air, that's all. Maybe something to eat." She said. The trio was looking at her worriedly. "Guys. I promise, I'm okay, don't worry." she shyly smiled, nervous from the looks her bandmates were giving her. "Macca's?" Julia said. "Sure." Maia said.

*timeskip*

"That's all your going eat?" Julia said. Iris was eating her veggie dippers. "Yeah. I'm not that hungry." she mumbled. "Bullshit. You haven't eaten anything since last night." Julia said. "Take some my fries." Maia said. "Maia, I can't take it. It's your food." she declined. "Iris, we won't let you fuckin' starve. We have a long night of performing coming up. And you need the energy." Maia said. Iris stared at the ground. Helena rubbed her back, "Please, Iris. We all know you have haven't been doing well." Maia said. "Fine."

"Good girl." Julia said. "Wow, Julia. I didn't know you were into that kinda of stuff~" Iris teased. Helena choked on her drink. Julia looked at Helena, confused. Maia shoved Julia's shoulder. The look of realization dawned on her face. "Oh. Iris, you kinky bitch." She said, smirking. "Well, someone's gotta be the Yuri in this club, and you guys don't have to balls to be him. " she teased again.

They heard cameras clicking.

"Paps." they said in unison.  “Shit.” Helena mumbled.  “We have to get out of here, quickly.” Julia said. The group got out and tried to get to Maia’s car. Iris was soon cornered by the paps.

“Iris, you know they can do better!”

“Is it difficult having TWO partners? Having to be jealous all the time and fighting for attention – what does that feel like?”

She kept quiet.

“What do you think to the rumours that you cheated on them? There’s evidence of you spending the night with a mysterious female.”

“You’re really nothing special though are you? They won’t stick around for long, whore.”

“We’ve seen the scars on your arms.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bad image for your band?”

“You should look into conversion therapy, disgusting whore.”

“What about your partners? Should they have to deal with that on top of everything they should be doing?”

“You’re nothing but a slut. A cheating, useless piece of shit.”

“You’ll be better off dead.”

“'Lena…” She mumbled, searching for any of her bandmates over the crowd, she felt her vision go hazy for a bit as she desprately tried to push through the paps. She was so close from losing her sanity. The paps was closing in, blocking her in. Insults was thrown her way. She was going to break.

Then she felt their arms. Helena's strong hand gripping hers and pulling her into their arms, cradling her against her chest and Julia pushing through the crowd telling the paparazzi to fuck off along the way.“Get away from her!” She pushed the paps away from the duo while Helena helped Iris up. “We just want answers!” One of the paps shouted back at them. “Well, you’re not gonna get any so take your camera, shove it up your fucking asshole, and fuck off!”

They got her into the car. Maia drove away from the scene as fast as she could. Iris's hands was shaking. “Iris?” Julia ask, her hand moving to cup her face. “Iris, come on.” Julia pleaded, she was desperately trying to help her calm her down, holding her hands and trying to help her breathe. “They said such horrible things.” Iris mumbled. “They’re just trying to get a response.” Helena said.

"Can we call, Ash?" she meekly asked. "Of course, shortcake." Helena said. Julia called him.

"Hey, Julia. Is everything alright?"

"Um... about that."

"What's wrong?"

"Well, we had a run in with paps eariler and they cornered Iris."

"What?! Is she okay? Did the paps do anything?"

"Well, they verbally harassed her. We might ask management to file a lawsuit. As for Iris? She's the reason why I called, wait a minute-

"'Lena take the phone."

Helena took the phone from Julia.

"Hey, Lemon boy"

"Hey, Helena. Is Iris with you?"

"Yup. Let me hand the phone to her."

"Thanks"

She passed the phone to Iris.

"Hey, Ash..."

"Hey, Sunshine. Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"

"They were closing in on me, taking photos of me and said bad things."

"What kind of bad things did they say, sunshine? "

"That I’m not good enough, they keep insisting that I cheated. They said that I look into converstion therapy-"

She was startled by Helena's hand on her shoulder. "Let it out." She mouthed to her.

"They joked about my scars, they said I would be better off dead." she choked out.

"They what?! Oh, Iris, I'm so sorry."

She sobbed.

" Iris, listen."

"What they said.... it's all lies. You hear me? They are lies. You are not what they paint you to be, they don't know who you really are. You are amazing. You are the most amazing person I know, the boys loves you.... even Luke. He came by with Sierra the night after you left. I didn't do anything, like I promise. But you bet I gave him an earful. But all that aside, Iris, you deserve to be here, and you are good enough. You make people happy. Your fans? They all love you, you make them smile, you make them feels safe. This will pass, things will get easier. I promise you."

"What if I fail to do so, Ash? What if I disappoint everyone?"

"You won't. Trust me, you are not a failure. You will get better. You will heal. You will be stronger than ever. You will make it through this."

"Are they alright?"

"You're seriously asking that? You're not okay and you're asking if they're alright?"

"Please Ash... I want to know."

They arrived at the hotel.

"Yes, they are. You don't have to worry. All you have to worry now is me giving you a lecture. Look outside."

"What?"

"Just look outside."

She looked outside to see Ashton, giving her one of his signature smiles. Beside him.....Luke and Sierra.

"Ashton?"

"Hey, sunshine."

She paled. She turned at the bandmates and chuckled shakily.

"Am I finally going crazy? Is they really here?"

She looked at Luke and Sierra, laughing disbelievingly. Shaking her head, she walked up to them. She prodded Luke at his chest angrily, as she laughed. "You had the fucking nerve to show up here." She was chuckling yet crying in the same time. "Where were you, Lucas. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?!" she said. She stumbled back, shaking her head. Iris's knees gave out. Maia reached out to steady her. "Can we get out of here, please?" She whispered to her. Maia looked at Helena and Julia. "Let's get her inside." She said, quietly. They nodded. They moved to get her inside. Sierra moved to stop them. "Let's talk this through, please." She said to Iris. Helena glowered at her. She stood in front Iris protectively.

"After what you've done, you think you could just come up here and expect her to talk? After the pain you put her through? No, ma'am. You lost that right." Helena said. "Hey, don't talk to her like that." Luke defended her. Julia stepped forward. "Don't think we forgot about YOU, Hemmings." She said. "You don't get to come up here, all high and mighty and expect that we let you go that easily." Helena said. “You two are fucking dumb if you really believe that's a way to treat our bandmate.” Maia said.

“If anyone should be arguing, it should be me.” Iris said, as she straightened up and six pairs of eyes snapped to her. "Thank you for standing up for me, guys." she said to her bandmates. They shrugged and smiled. "Pop off, bestfren." Maia playfully winked at her. Iris smiled and turned to face the duo. The look that they gave her made her newfound anger surge.

“You both don’t get to look at me like that.” She snapped, causing them to reel back in suprise. They never seen her this mad, never at them. "If you gave me the chance to talk back then, we wouldn't have this bullshit." she said. Their faces fell in guilt. The Iris she was before this would've cave in and forgive them but she was seething with anger now to care.

"If you'd noticed the sleepless nights I had, the bag under my eyes. If you'd have cared to even try and listen to what I had to say, maybe I wouldn't be fuckin' pissed at you right now!" Iris snapped and Luke flinched back.

If they'd only looked into her eyes, they would see the bottled up emotions that was threatening to explode. It felt wrong to see Iris so angry. She was always been the one to break up arguements, not start them. "Did you know how much suffering you caused me? Do you know how much pain I've been through? I never asked for this, you know? I never asked for us to fight. I hate fighting, you know that?" She said. She looked at them, they were looking down to the ground.

"Look at me." she pleaded. Her anger disappated. Their heads immediately snapped up."I d-don't think I contribute to this relationship anymore." her broken voice reached their ears.

"Iris!" They called out, but she's gone. Luke frantically searched for her. "Luke, we still have one more chance." Sierra said. "Sierra, there's no more chance. We lost her." He said. "And it's all my fault." he whimpered. "Luke, honey. We have her concert tickets, thanks to Ashley. Let's not waste this chance alright?" She said.

*timeskip*

Two hours till the concert. The stage staff were moving around, making sure that everything goes well. After the encounter, Iris fell in the hotel bed and proceeded take a long nap. And woke up just in time for rehearsal.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours. Iris drank some vodka that was prepared by the staff, it did so little to calm her nerves. She was pacing around. “Iris?” Her makeup stylist called out. Her head shot up, “Yes, David?” She said. “It’s time for your makeup, and then your outfit." He reminded. She smiled softly at him, "Alright, I'm coming."

She got dressed and sat on the chair."So what would we like on this wonderful night?" He said prepairing the brushes. "I was thinking of skeleton kinda look. Some black, a little red." She said. "That sounds good. Would you like some to put glitter on the black part?" he asked. "Sure" she nodded.

(A/N: Here’s the outfit. Credit to @boy..brainr0t for the makeup look)

They made a small talk about the weather and the upcoming shows. Half an hour later, David finished. "Wow, you did a great job! I love it so much, thanks David! " Iris said, her mood brightened. "No probs, Iris." He said with a smile. She side hugged him and left the room.

"Looking good, shortcake! That choker looks deadly, in a good way." Helena hyped her up. Iris flushed. "Enough about me, look at your mohawk! The spikes are as deadly as my choker! " She said, smiling. "Can I.... touch them? " Iris said. It was like a child asking for candy. "Knock yourself out, shortcake. " She shrugged. Iris's eyes shined with excitement and she poked it. "It's rock hard, did you use hairspray?" she asked, "I did. Used a little bit of hair pomade. Gotta make sure it won't fall while performing." Helena explained. "That's cool." Iris giggled.

 "Hey, cuties!" Julia hollered from arcoss the room. "Its almost time, get your sexy asses over here!" Maia said alongside Julia. "Alright, alright, we're coming!" Iris shouted back. "You look like Gerard Way, Iris." Julia said. "Awh, Julia that's nicest thing you ever said to me" she joked. Julia playfully punched her in the shoulder. "Heeeey" She pouted. "Hey guys!" Ashley jogged over to them. "Hey, Ashley" They said. "You ready to go up there?" She asked. "Yeah, it's been a while since we last went on stage, still kinda nervous, but excited." Iris said. "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but you guys are up in 10" the stage manager informed them. "Alright, thank you for informing us" Julia thanked the staff. "You welcome." the staff said, then walked away. 

"Go get ready, I can't wait to see you guys out there." Ashley said, before leaving to get ready herself. "You ready?" Maia asked. " As ready as I'll ever be" Iris said. Her eyes shining with excitement. The group fistbumped each other and went on stage.

"GOOD EVENING, LONDON!" Iris screamed into the mic. The crowd screamed. "ARE YOU READY?" The crowd cheered. "WE CAN'T HEAR YOU" The crowd screamed.The intro for their song "You" started playing.

You, 

The thought of you makes me sick

Heaven and Hell doesn’t scare me anymore

Not when your with me

Why you gotta be so greedy?

I’m giving all I have to you,

But you keep asking for more,I’m dying, can’t you see? (Look at me)

My blood stains the floor

And I know you love seeing me like this

When it comes to you, (you temptress)

You act so innocent, like an angel in disguise

Always painting yourself as holy

But your tainted halo says otherwise, my dear

Iris sang, stomping her feet to the rhythm. She was smiling, looking out to the crowd. And then she saw familiar head of curls. It was Luke. Her eyes widened, trying to maintain her composure as she sang. She looked at Julia, who noticed them too.

Look at what you’ve become

My still beating heart you hold,

Your knife against my throat.

I’m on the floor, barely breathing (Gasping for air)

My mind tormented by your lies

There’s no escape from you (Never)

There’s no saving for me

“Oh, my darling sweetheart” you said,

With your hands around my neck 

“Let me own you” you whispered

Your cold breath makes me shiver

Death knocks on the door (It’s time)

She puts on a facade, performing all the energy she had. Maia and Helena soon caught up with the situation immediately. They were soon picking up on the energy that Iris is giving out. She was nervous. Very nervous.  Her heterochromia eyes instantly found blue ones.  She wanted to run off stage but her pride wouldn’t let her. What would the fans think of her if she did? She didn't want to be coward.

*Lierra's POV*

They were standing somewhat near to the stage, same as the people that are there, they were all waiting for the show to start. Soon, Iris came on stage along with her band mates. The crowd screamed and cheered.

"GOOD EVENING, LONDON!" she said. She sounded so different from 4 hours ago. She looked beautiful as always, her facial features were enhanced by her stage makeup. "ARE YOU READY?" They cheered. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" They cheered even louder.

Iris smirked. "Helena, darling. If you please." she said. They both knew it was her persona on stage to be a little flirty , but Sierra couldn't stop but feel a little bit of jealousy. Helena was smirking on the screen. " ONE, TWO, THREE-" Helena said, before she started playing the drums. The intro sounds familiar to them. Then Iris started singing.

In their eyes, she was the most ethereal being they ever seen. She was confident when she sing, it was beautiful.

Midway through the song, their eyes met. Luke could see her eyes widening. She turned to Julia. Julia gave her a brief nod. She turned to the front, with a smile on her face. He gave Sierra a look.She shared the same look, they clearly knew that she was faking her expression. And the thought of that made them feel even more guilty.

*Back to Iris*

Look at what I’ve become

My still heart you hold,

Your knife still against my throat.

I’m on the floor, still and silent

My mind corrupted by your lies

There’s no escape from you

There’s no redemption for me.

As she sang the last verse, the crowd cheered and clapped. She was a little sweaty and she was a little out of breath.  She kept on smiling. Her bandmates joined her at the front. Ashley comes on stage next. “Good Evening, London!” Ashley said. The crowd screamed. “ I would like to thank my good friends, The Temptress, for their AMAZING performance tonight!” She exclaimed. The crowd screamed again. "You welcome, Halsey." she said. 

In the corner of her she saw a sign. The sign said "It's Nia!". Her eyes shined. "Well won't you look at that, Hi Nia." She waved at the girl direction. A group of girls were screaming as she said that. "Thank you again for the wonderful gift you gave me yesterday, darling. I really appreciate it." She said. The group screamed again. She was smiling. A real smile. The camera was on her and the crowd screamed again. She and her bandmates said their goodbyes to the crowd and Halsey and went off backstage. 

She took off her facade and became unsually quiet. She plopped on the couch and drank the vodka she poured for herself. Her friends didn't know if they should comfort her or give her space. "Hey, shortcake." Helena said softly. Iris just leaned against her, her head on her shoulder. "You okay, bub?" Helena said. Iris just buried her face further into her neck.

 "I don't know, 'Lena."

#poly!5sos #poly!lierra #lierra x oc #lonely heart #luke hemmings #sierra deaton #5sos fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5sos

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED - 8. Wonders

CW: ethnic slur

April is in her truck. Her shirt is wet where she used it to dry herself off, because she was not given the chance to find a towel. She has that disgusting just-woken-up taste in her mouth. Shep sits in the passenger seat, his face pushed up against the glass.

April is in her truck, and Dell and his mother are in the apartment. She is in her truck and not in the apartment because Dell all but shoved her out, and she is not sure if she's grateful to be away from the howling bitch or angry that Dell evicted her and not his shrieking animal of a mother.

His mother.

It defies belief that Dell could be in any way related to that thing. The woman who had broken in and thrown water in April's face looked the part, at least, a stout white women with white hair dyed yellow and a Texas drawl to rival Dell's own.

April takes a brief moment to consider her actions, and decides she does not regret slamming this particular old woman into the wall.

She's thinking about slamming Dell into a wall, too.

---

The problem with April is that---it's a sour truth, Dell thinks---she simply doesn't understand about family. He doesn't fault her for it. The chance to learn was taken from her, and she's only found her blood in the last two years.

The fact of the matter is family's family, like it or not, and anyway he's got to do even more damage control.

So of course April barges back in, dog in hand, just as Dell's started to get his mother to lower her voice. The only good part of this is Shep goes straight to Janet Conagher with a wagging tail, the prior sins forgiven, because of course he remembers her: she was the one who appeared on Dell's doorstep with a puppy he had not known he would be receiving some seven years ago.

All eyes, of course, are on April. She stares them both down, and says: "I have to use the bathroom."

Then she's gone down the hall.

Janet turns her gaze on Dell, the dog's nuzzling gone ignored. "What a nice girl," she says, the words thin, sharp ice. "If you faked your death to spare me that, I'm almost grateful."

Dell's head is throbbing. It's only seven thirty. "I'm going to make us all some coffee," he says, getting up.

---

The fact there is now sugary, junked-up coffee in her hands is currently the only good thing that's happened to April today.

Dell and his mother are on the couch. April is trying to remember if she had seen this woman yesterday, either in that glimpse through the door or in the parking lot. She can't remember. They all looked the same.

Janet Conagher, ne Ringbacker, is currently ignoring her coffee in favor of glowering at the way the dog has stuck to April's side. "Dell, baby," she says, making a point of turning to him, and with the most saccharine voice imaginable, "make Sheppie come see me again. I missed him."

Dell exhales and April is given a flash of an apologetic look before he calls to the dog. It at last seems that April has one ally, though: Shep pricks his ears, but does not move. Dell gives up after a second half-hearted attempt. "Oh, for heaven's sake," says Janet, rolling her eyes. "Shep! Sheppie, baby boy, come see mama!"

Shep does not move. At most, his tail thumps the ground once as Janet's cajoling ratchets up. "Bad dog," Janet snaps, finally. "Stupid thing."

"Don't call him stupid," April says.

Janet acts as if she does not hear her. "Honestly, Dell," she carries on. "I said you should get him trained! He's a working dog. He's not meant to lie around the house. Why, keeping him cooped up in this little apartment all day, he must go mad."

Dell does not, this time, look to April. "Actually," he says, "Shep lives with April now. She's got a beautiful stretch of property---"

"Oh," Janet says, flat. "Until you find a new house. I see."

"Well, no. He's been with her about two years now. Don't see a reason to uproot him again."

"Because he's your dog," Janet says. "Two years! Don't be silly. I got him to keep you company! A man ought to have a dog. You shouldn't be so alone."

Even when she can tell she's kicking the hornet's nest, April can't stand by for much more of this. "Shep is our dog," she snaps. It feels good to say it, surprising her: it's the truth, but neither of them had ever bothered to articulate the specifics. It feels almost as good as the next thing that leaps from her mouth: "And I'm Dell's girlfriend, so he's not alone, either."

That's a word she had never thought she would apply to herself. She's still not sure it belongs on her, but it stabilizes her in the wake of the awful morning.

The way Janet's lips curl would put a lemon to shame, and it's the first thing to lift April's mood all morning. She cannot, however, help but glance Dell's way after she says it, unsure of what she is looking for. He is---as he always is, under pressure---wholly unreadable.

"Dell," Janet says, "is this true?"

"I'm happy to say she's right."

Dell may be unreadable, but something confused and thrilled twists in her stomach at the way he answers: like it's plain as day. It almost distracts her from the sudden, fat tears that well up in Janet's eyes, or at least it does until the bitch begins wailing.

April is so completely unfamiliar with this sort of crying that all she can do is stare. It's the kind of crying she would associate with the sudden death of a child, or the news that the world is ending. It's such an overblown reaction to what was said that she finds herself combing over it again, trying to figure out if something else had slipped past her notice. But, no: Janet starts carrying on exactly as if she's been slapped. Through the blubbering April can get snatches of what she's saying: highlights include might as well be dead and stealing my baby and awful redskin.

April has been called just about everything under the sun by this point, and the insult is more irritant than anything else. She does not expect much else from someone who woke her up screaming about her choice of bed. Dell, though, very carefully sets his coffee down and gets to his feet. The flash of flint in his eyes sets April's blood cold; the last time she saw that was when it was pointed at her, in Coldfront.

But it is not her he turns to. "Mom," he says, all calm, unyielding steel, and even Janet cuts short her howling. "If I hear that word come out of your mouth again, ever, you will go to your grave and never hear from me again. That is a promise."

The whole apartment is still.

"I was only," starts Janet.

"I think it's time you be headed out," Dell says, taking her coffee cup from her and placing it (delicate, firm) on the table. He takes her elbow, too, and April thinks he's a little less delicate and a little more firm when he pulls her to her feet. "And you're going to give my spare key back."

"I don't have it!"

"I know for a fact I locked that door last night."

"Well, maybe your girlfriend," and she sneers, and the light in the word that had come into it when April said it vanishes on Janet's tongue, "unlocked it after."

Nothing more comes from Dell. April watches, dumbfounded, as he not only marches his mother out the door but all the way out to her car; she stands on the threshold, hand tight in Shep's fur, and watches the two of them continue to argue right up until Janet finally climbs into her car and pulls away. The moment the car is out of sight she can see him sag.

---

The only thing Dell wants in the world is to go back to bed. Every step back to the door is leaden, and when he finally shuts it behind him something nags at him. "Gonna have to change the locks," he says, half to himself. "I know she took the damn key. Wouldn't be the first time."

The apartment is still silent. He looks up at last to see April standing by his small kitchen table, studying him like she's going to be quizzed in a moment. God, and he's got a lot that needs saying to her---

"No one's ever done that," she says.

"Huh?"

"No one's ever," and she breaks off, her brow a deep crease in her forehead. Dell fills in the blanks: no one's ever thrown water in my face, no one's ever screamed at me in bed, no one's ever called me a whore. He winces at each one. It makes the other half of the sentence all the more of a surprise. "I mean, I guess June kind of did once, but I think that was because I almost died."

This makes less sense than the rest. "What?"

"No one's ever stood up to someone for me like that," she says, gesturing helplessly, and she looks as surprised as he does.

Dell's heart was already weary with the night before, with the treatment of April by his own flesh and blood, and now it cracks. He checks the lock again, for all the good it will do, and crosses to her. His hands find her arms, warm and solid; all he can think to do is gather her close. It takes her a second, but she returns it, in time.

"I'm so sorry," he says, once, and then again. He's too tired to be angry that he's been put here, that April has been once again dealt a vicious hand and that she's so used to it that it was unexpected for him to defend her. That will come, he knows, but right now he's just---empty. "D'you want anything? Uh, breakfast? Or, the, the shower's---"

In his head he's anticipating her to brush him off, brush the whole thing off in her typical way of not reacting when someone has been monstrous to her; at best he's expecting that she might ask for his mother's head on a pike, and right now he's of a mind to grant her that. It's a startle, what she does ask for.

"Can we go back to bed?" she says by his ear, breath tickling the skin. "We can talk about it later. I think I just want to lay in bed with you."

Wonders never cease.

#hardwired #corgiwrites! #tias hardwired #HI SORRY IT TOOK ME A WHILE A LOT HAS BEEN HAPPENING

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Glitch in the Thought Process (standalone, lemon)

Summary: This, Stretch knew, was a horrible idea. But even bad ideas can have the best results.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Lemon Goodness, Fluff, Humor, First Times

Notes:  A short standalone smutty spicyhoney story for y'all, with an extra helping of bad ideas. But hey, even bad ideas can have the best results.

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

This was a horrible idea.

A horrible, awful idea. Terrible, no good, awful, dig out a thesaurus and go to town because it was so bad—

“oh!” Stretch whimpered, trying to muffle it with both his hands as Edge nuzzled at his pubic symphysis, his breath teasingly hot. A terrible idea, because his bro was downstairs, with Red and Sans and Papyrus, all of them gathered for what was supposed to be a little party. For their seven-month anniversary of meeting, according to Papyrus, and yeah, it was always fun to hang out at the Tale brothers house, movies and madness, that wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening.

Only, when the food started coming out, somehow Stretch ended up with a lapful of ‘whore devours’ as Red called them. He still wasn’t quite sure if it was the food or the plate that caused the mini-explosion, just that he was glad he only got hit by the edible part of the shrapnel.

Edge was supposedly helping him clean up, even offering to let Stretch borrow the pair of pants he kept in his inventory, and that was all. If Stretch could manage to squeeze his pelvis into the ass clamps that Edge liked to wear, anyway. Took a shimmy and a prayer, but he got them on, fly zipped and all. That should’ve been it, a couple minutes to clean out the nooks and crannies and they should’ve been back downstairs waiting to see what kind of damage dinner was gonna cause.

Only, when he finished struggling with the zipper, he’d glanced up, caught sight of Edge in the mirror and the look in Edge’s eye lights kinda took Stretch off-guard. Like glowing coals in the darkness of his sockets and when he licked his teeth, the bright crimson of his tongue against ivory pale, Stretch was already giving in, raise that white flag, captain, his self-control was calling for a surrender.

His fault, really. Probably Stretch should have thought it through a little before dropping trou right in front of Edge, all things considered. They’d been on a couple of dates now, all of them ending with lingering kisses and heavy breathing, but not much else, aside from some seriously wet dreams. Now they were in the Tale brother’s bathroom together, alone, and Edge was looking at him like he was gonna skip the appetizers and head right for the main course.

Edge was wearing dark fingerless gloves, the slender whiteness of his phalanges exposed, and he met Stretch's gaze in the mirror as he reached out with a single long finger to trace the broad curve of Stretch’s iliac crest peeking over that tight waistband, teasing the sensitive bone.

That was it, that one touch, and how that ended up with Edge on his knees in front of him, eager hands pushing his stained shirt up, Stretch didn’t know. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, and there was a palm resting flat against his rib cage, body-warmed leather against the sleek bones there and Stretch was quivering before Edge even had those damned pants open again, his magic already forming a cock, the shaft hard and eager for whatever Edge wanted to give him.

Stretch watched as Edge leaned in, sockets closed as he breathed in deeply, mouth open as if to taste the air between them. Stupidly, Stretch blurted out, “sorry, i probably stink, there was enough garlic in those things to give dracula a migraine from two streets away.”

“I don’t care,” Edge murmured, and he leaned in again, let the tip of Stretch’s cock brush his cheek bone and leave a pale orange smear of wetness behind, holy fuck, “and you don’t. you smell like you.”

“what do i smell like?” Stretch whispered. Lavender, maybe, from the soap Blue always bought, or sweat, he’d showered that morning but that was hours ago, the bitterness of his cigarettes, the sweet taint of his own magic…?

Edge’s grin was a slash of sharp white teeth, his voice the satisfied rumble of an old tom cat lapping up a dish of fresh cream as he said, “Delicious.”

Fuck.

Hot breath was a bare touch against the delicate bones of his pubis, ticklishly gusting along with the barest scrape of his teeth as Edge whispered, "Hold still."

And Stretch had to cram a hand against his mouth, holding it there with the other as he bit down on a bony knuckle. He hadn't known what to expect, tried not to consider what it might be like. He hadn’t jerked off thinking about it, even though he’d wanted, fuck, he wanted. But he sure as fuck hadn't thought Edge would be experienced.

And he was, had to be, no fumbling touches or uncertain flicks of tongue. Edge took his shaft in deeply, swallowed him down with only the faintest graze of sharp teeth drawing out a tantalizing shiver rather than a muttered protest. Stretch bit his finger harder, muffling the throaty cry that tried to escape as Edge sucked him, cheek bones hollowing as he drew Stretch into the hot wetness of his mouth.

The hands on his pelvis shifted, fingers spreading wider and Stretch dimly realized it was to hold him down even as he unconsciously strained against them, trying to push in deeper still. With a sharp breath through his nasal cavity, Stretch managed to relax back, sagging against the wall. He nearly moaned aloud as Edge hummed his approval, the vibration rumbling through his cock and straight up his spine. Oh, all the blessed days, there were times in the past when he’d thought sex might be the end of him, but he'd never dreamed it might happen like this. Standing here with harsh fluorescent lights overhead, reflecting off the gleaming white porcelain as Edge moaned eagerly while sucking him off.

With an effort, Stretch managed to pry his sockets open, squinting down and his struggle had its reward. Crimson eye lights, half-hidden by heavy lids met his own and Stretch could not be mesmerized by that gaze. Not when confronted with the sight of Edge's mouth stretched around his dick, long, flexible tongue curled around the shaft. He stared helplessly as Edge took him down in a deep, wet suck, watched the length of his cock slide between those teeth in a deliberate rhythm.

Cool air made him wince as he was abruptly released, but the automatic protest was cut off mid-whine and Stretch watched, sockets achingly wide as Edge playfully licked at the tip, tongue dipping beneath foreskin to tease, and he could never have imagined, not in the filthiest of never-confessed dreams. Another flick of tongue, lapping at the honeyed fluid jewel beading at the tip and wetting Edge's teeth, and then he was taken again. Deep into his formed throat, the hot, lovely slickness of Edge's mouth surrounding him, the curve of his tongue against the underside and Stretch had to close his sockets, had to concentrate on muffling the sounds that were being driven out of him because he could not, could not, be heard. If the others heard, the others would come looking and if they came looking, the others would see and Edge would stop, he would, and Stretch bit his own tongue hard enough to taste the sweet blurt of his magic because he couldn't, could not stop—

The problem with keeping quiet was Stretch had no way to offer a warning, nothing past a sharp, quick inhale as he shook and trembled and toppled over the peak into the exquisite pleasure that Edge's mouth was offering him. Dimly, he felt Edge startle, and then Stretch could feel nothing but the sweet pulse of coming over that soft tongue, any guilt fluttering off on pleasure-soaked wings along with whatever was left of his dignity, and oh, by all the little heavens, he could feel Edge swallowing around him, the quick flickers of tongue against him as every thick droplet was lapped up.

If his knees were truly as weak as they felt, then the only thing keeping Stretch from sagging to the ground was the hands on his hips, holding him firmly up. Between that and the wall, Stretch managed to keep his feet, offering only a soft whimper as Edge finally released him, offering a last tender kiss before tucking Stretch’s softening cock back into his too-tight pants even as he licked his come-smeared teeth clean.

Holy flying monkey fuck, Stretch needed a cigarette. Maybe a little nicotine would slow down his scattered wits enough for him to pick them up again.

It was only when Edge looked up at him again, a sly smile curving his still-damp mouth, that Stretch managed to find words, husking them out around his bitten tongue as he admitted, "so…uh…i don’t think i can walk right now. fuck, i'm trying to remember how to breathe."

Edge's grin widened, "And yet you’re still not at a loss for words. That would have been high praise, indeed."

"only because i can talk without permission from my brain," Stretch mumbled, wetting his teeth with a nervous flick of his tongue, "might have to gag me if you want me speechless."

A rough chuckle sent a gust of warm breath to caress his pelvis where his sweatshirt was still riding up around Edge’s hands curved around his pelvis. Those hands shifted, petting gently, "I’d be happy to accept that invitation."

"invi—" Stretch began and only then realized just what he'd said, "hey, wait a min—ute!" The word was bitten off as those supporting hands abandoned him and he promptly slid down the wall, straight into the lap of the skeleton who’d been kneeling at his feet. "erm, hello?" Stretch added, inanely, and again his brain abandoned him, left him staring dumbly straight on at Edge when only a moment ago he'd been looking down.

"Hello," Edge's voice carried that simple word, just a tiny, foolish greeting into a deep rumble that sent a shiver through Stretch and honestly, was he so easy that a single word seduced him?

Yeah, he decided, as Edge's mouth covered his own in an oddly tender kiss, stealing away any other idiocy that might try to escape. Yeah, he was pretty damned seduced, by the too-hot press of Edge's faintly swollen tongue against his own, by the sweet taste of his own come carried with it, by the heavy groan that was muffled between them, the kiss shifting from tender to eager.

Stretch supposed he could forgive himself for that much. He figured most people would be seduced by any one of those things, never mind them all mixed together.

With a mouth over his own, any sounds that might bubble up and out were effectively blocked and Stretch gave into a long-held wistful urge, cupping Edge’s head in his palms, running shaky fingers over his skull as if he could read the future there.

Even if he’d been a fortune teller, the only fate that interested him just now was how the night was gonna end, and the firm shaft he could feel straining against the front of Edge’s own too-tight pants told him more than any little bumps under his fingertips.

"we…we should…" Stretch began, a touch breathlessly, struggling for words between kisses. They should go somewhere else, somewhere that every little sound couldn't be heard and known and teased about later. They could hardly manage more in a damned bathroom and—

"bro?"

From through the door and both of them froze, Stretch's scream of frustration never made it past his mind. That was certainly a voice he knew and had it been Sans or Papyrus or Blue or any other damned person sneaking in from the streets of Snowdin, he would have suggested a hasty shortcut. But this name was Wednesday’s child full of woe, ‘cause Red was not one who would give up a search, not when it came to his brother.

From the low, vicious curse Edge let out, he was thinking the same thing and he pushed Stretch hastily to his feet, the both of them fumbling to straighten their clothes. If Edge gave Stretch's crotch a quick brush off with rough fingers, then Stretch's hasty scrub of his sleeve over Edge's mouth was probably more acceptable than leaving any stray smears of honey-orange behind.

They were both more or less presentable when heavy boots gave the door a pointed kick and Stretch snapped off the overhead light, hoping that the dimness would hide anything they missed as the knob slowly turned.

"there you are," Red grunted as he shouldered through the door, "why the fuck are you two lurkin’ in the dark? trying to roll for backstabbin’?"

“think that’s more your skill tree,” Stretch said, relieved to hear he sounded mostly normal, and he really hoped Red left it at that, ‘cause the real reason they were hiding in dark corners would probably get them at least a years’ worth of ribbing. Possibly literally.

"Did you need something?" Edge asked impatiently, teeth gritted and at least his annoyance was a decent disguise.

"yeah, blue’s kickin’ up a fuss about servin’ up the main course. told ‘im i’d find ya," Red shrugged, oblivious to the smoldering heat in Edge's glare. "i'd tell ‘em yer both alive and kickin’, but they might wanna look-see themselves if ya don't come on down.”

Edge heaved a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nasal cavity with his thumb and forefinger, "Very well, tell them I—"

"oh, there's ain’t no hurry, little brother," Red interrupted. His jacket creaked as he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall. "i'll just wait for the two of ya to finish your chat and we can head back together, the three of us."

Yeaaaah, that was a knowing look, wasn't it. Stretch looked very firmly at the ground, ignoring the high heat rising in his cheek bones. He risked a glance up and found Edge and Red engaged in a very impressive, silent contest of glaring and wriggling brow bones, with Edge's fury ever hotter and Red's equally unimpressed.

A loud sigh from Edge was his only clue as to who finally triumphed, and Edge's hand was gentle at the small of Stretch’s spine as he gathered him up.

"Come on," he grumbled, casting a last angry look Red’s way. The shorter skeleton offered a sharp grin in return, gold tooth flashing, and the three of them started walking back downstairs, following the merry sound of laughter, and if Edge’s stride was a little stiff, Stretch really hoped they attributed it to those pants.

"next time, ya might wanna wait to sneak off after dinner," Red murmured, "they’ll miss ya less, just save some room for dessert.”

“Thank you ever so much for the advice," Edge ground out and if glares and sharp words could wound, Red might collapse to dust right at their feet.

“couldn't have gone back without ya, bro,” Red offered calmly. "if it’s gonna piss ya off, don’t give me a reason to come lookin’ again.”

"we won't," Stretch said, softly, and both brothers paused, eyeing him, though Red's look was considering and Edge's bordered on stricken. "i mean, we'll…be more careful. next time."

"good to hear," Red said heartily, and matched it with a slap on the ass that nearly sent Stretch sprawling and earned him a low growl from Edge. "now, let’s get back before your bro comes lookin’. brothers can get kinda protective when they ain’t sure what their bro is getting up ta.”

"You would know," Edge sniped and only got a chuckle for his spite.

A horrible idea, Stretch sighed mentally as he followed them, pasting on what he hoped was an innocent smile for his brother, or, lacking that, at least a sheepishly apologetic one. A terrible, no-good very bad idea.

Yeah. He really couldn’t wait to see what other ideas Edge came up with.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #lemon goodness

[mulletcal]

flowers, maybe daisies, might relieve the gloom. - an a.i blurb

a/n: i lowkey blame @sexgodashton​ for starting this whole mini series of boomer!ash things, but i also adore this because boomer!ash is soft as hell.  and also a lil d*ddy but we don’t need to talk about that.  title is from wait by sweeney todd bc i love it.  alternative title was gonna be from L.G. FUAD by motion city soundtrack

word count: 

warnings: ashton irwin being a thirst trapping, lemon stealing whore. i’m kidding it’s just a solo ash fic w no smut but some mild ash thirst trapping.

-----

‘ashtonirwin started a live video.’

Ashton didn’t often go live on Instagram, but this shelter in place order had left him ultimately bored - writing a song every day before noon, sure, but anything after that was a blur.  Occasionally he would have interviews or live-streams with the band, but on days without that he was left alone with his thoughts, and his thoughts weren’t always the safest place to be; so talking to fans it was. 

It was going well so far, simply asking fans how their quarantine was going - bringing some of them into the livestream so he could talk to some face to face.  One girl in particular had caught his attention when they began to discuss hobbies she had picked up during the time she’d spent at home.

“Yeah, I’m learning to garden.  I have a tomato plant that is just starting to sprout actual tomatoes, so that’s kind of exciting,” She had said, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Well, I would hope that your tomato plant is sprouting tomatoes, it would be a little concerning if it was growing something else,” Ashton replied with a chuckle, the girl giving a small shrug but still laughing along with him.

“You should look into it if you’ve got the room at your house, I bet it would feel rather rewarding to be able to cook something with your own fresh vegetables.”

“Would save me quite a bit of money too.  Can I grow yeast? I’d like to learn how to make my own bread but here in L.A. you can’t find yeast anywhere.”

The conversation continued like that for a few minutes more, Ashton taking only a couple more fans into the livestream after that to talk to before he decided he should probably do something else productive with his day.  Something like learning to garden. 

It surprised Ashton the things you were able to order online during this time - soil being the main thing.  He also read that saving coffee grounds would help, and he was excited at the idea of his insane coffee habit wouldn’t be completely useless.  He ended up buying seeds for tomatoes, mint, sunflowers, lemongrass, and zucchini.  The lemongrass and mint was specifically for Calum, realizing he would be able to dry the plants out once he had harvested them so he could make the man his very own tea.

When his package finally arrived, Ashton spread the packages out, sliding them across the table as though he was some card dealer in Las Vegas.  Thinking the fans would find it amusing, he took a picture of the spread and added it to his story with the caption of ‘pick a card, any card…’.  Maybe it would only be funny to him, but it did prompt a fire reaction from Michael.

It seemed as though the reaction from fans were positive though, them taking to Twitter to let him know their excitement about his new endeavour.  That’s where his weekly livestreams began.  He would show everyone the progress he was making with his plants, and just in general him chatting with fans.  Ashton never really thought of how refreshing it could be to just talk to the fans, without the worry of time restrictions or anyone’s personal safety in the way; in fact, it left him rather inspired, loving their fans even more if it were at all possible.

A particularly warm day in L.A. left Ashton wondering if he should go out to the garden that day - but it was the day he would normally livestream, and he was excited to show what he was up to that day.  Ashton wanted to plant another tomato plant, and also the lemons on his infamous tree had enough for him to make some lemonade so he was going to go through that as well.

Clad in some cut off jeans, or as Calum so affectionately called them his jorts, and a white tank top, he pulled up the live option on Instagram and waited for the people to begin to filter in before he started to speak.

“Hey guys! Just gonna wait for more of you to filter in before I actually head outside, but I thought that since you guys love my lemon tree so much, I’d make some lemonade.  Fuck, I sound like a YouTuber.  Is that gonna be my next career, is just YouTube tutorials on how to make shitty lemonade?” Ashton laughed to himself, slicing the lemon so he could juice it, ignoring the comments he saw about murdering his lemon children.

It didn’t take him long to make the lemonade, making mild conversation with the fans while he stirred in a little bit of sugar and some cheat mint he had ordered while waiting for his own to grow.

“Alright, now that I’m waiting for that to cool, probably best we go outside and check on those tomatoes, hm?” 

It had been weird at first, talking to himself; but he quickly realized that he talked to himself anyways, even without the phone in front of him, so it couldn’t have been too weird for anyone who could overhear him.

“So I wanted to plant another tomato plant today, because everyone can use a friend right now, you know?” He looked into the camera, a smile spreading across his face when he saw the flood of cute little emojis that followed.  “M’gonna be like the Bob Ross of gardening. No mistakes, only happy accidents or whatever it was he said.”

Ashton began to work away at his garden, building up a sweat in the process.  It wasn’t until he leaned back, glancing at his phone did he see a text from Michael flash across the top.

‘Mate, Crystal said stop thirst trapping the fans.’

Ashton’s brow furrowed, unsure of what the text was saying, “Okay so I just got a text from Michael - what’s thirst trapping? And am I currently doing it?”

Of all the comments that followed, he noticed one that said ‘I mean… I’m not gonna say either way but take a look at yourself and get back to us’.  Another one told him that it was when someone wears something in order to provoke risque texts, or gain attention from someone.

Ashton pouted, looking down at his appearance.  He was kind of sweaty, but he didn’t think that the fans would mind him being covered in dirt and sweat, it’s not as though they had to smell him.  Though, he would admit that he needed a shower. 

“Well, since my tomato plant has been… planted next to its’ friend, and I’m apparently thirst trapping you all, I should probably go shower and clean up.  Is me mentioning a shower thirst trapping as well?” Ashton rubbed his face over his hands, a small huff leaving his lips, “I don’t know… Fellow youths, tweet me and lemme know.  Also, may hold a poll later on what to name these guys.” He flipped the camera around, struggling for a moment, to show the sunflowers that were starting to sprout, “M’thinking of naming one Denise.  Just seems like a Denise.”

After his small speech was over, he ended the stream, grinning to himself.  He hadn’t meant to show off his body in such a way, but it was funny to know that even with him hardly doing anything but be himself they still lost their shit.

Glancing around at his garden, he felt himself swell with a mild sense of pride.  He was still a ways off from seeing any fruits of his labour (literally), but it made him feel good knowing he did something with his time at home, instead of slipping further into his mind which wasn’t always the kindest to him.

Ashton realized that when he was gardening, it was similar to songwriting in a way where all of his self doubts and fears went away and he could just pour himself into it - the reward being well worth the risk in the end.

Once his shower was done, he sat outside in his backyard, sipping his lemonade and enjoying the sunshine - realizing that having to stay home wasn’t all too bad, if it meant he could reset his mind, and do some small part to help how he could during that time.

tag list:  @haikucal​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @boyfriend-cal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​  @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @mantlereid​ @inlovehoodx​ @irwinkitten​ @n-ctarinenga​​ @g-l-pierce​ @thecurlsofgod​

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