#also me: but when will ben and joe fall in love with me? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aconites · 4 months

Text

happy 2024! as it's a new year, i thought this was the perfect time to post a plotting call for those who might be interested in writing with me! if you want to do threads with someone who will message you at the crack of dawn with random headcanons, musings and create graphics (manips, gifs manips, crackships, etc ) for our characters — look no further. i also have no triggers, am sm.ut friendly and i love to do multiple plots with the same partner. bellow the cut you’ll find a list of wanted faceclaims, opposites, ships and plots that i would love to do and if anything catches your interest please give this post a like and i’ll message you. this is for mutuals & non mutuals, so feel free to like this even if we have threads/plots happening already!

faceclaims i’d love to play! * melissa barrera** * greta onieogou* * ana de armas* * phoebe tonkin* * margot robbie* * camila queiroz** * sydney sweeney* * ayca aysin turan * hande ercel * alycia debnam-carey* * simone ashley * melisa pamuk* * adria arjona * anya chalotra * olivia cooke * kristine froseth * grace van dien * grace van patten * jessica alexander* * madelyn cline* * madison bailey * priscilla quintana* * meghann fahy * benedetta porcaroli * camila morrone * riley keough * suki waterhouse* * adelaide kane* * florence pugh* * crystal reed * sophia bush * ester exposito * lily james * lily collins * gabriella wilde* * sofia carson * josephine langford * danielle rose russell * danielle campbell * abigail cowen* * halston sage * camila mendes * brianne howey * gemma chan * eiza gonzalez * lindsey morgan * zendaya * sabrina carpenter * candice swanepoel * elsa hosk * jasmine tookes * emily ratajkowski

faceclaims i’d love to play against!

* all the ladies above * pedro pascal** * ben barnes** * joseph quinn* * joe keery* *christopher briney* * henry cavill * ricky whittle * casey deidrick* * jd pardo * jamie dornan * adam demos * richard madden * sam clafflin * carlos miranda * scott eastwood * garrett hedlund * drew starkey * clayton cardenas * jonathan bailey * jeffrey dean morgan * rudy pankow * felix mallard * dj cotrona* * charlie hunnam** * sebastian stan* * alex fitzalan * dylan o’brien* * nick robinson * manny montana * chris evans* * harry styles * jacob elordi * boyd holbrook

some ships i’d love to do! * any of the above fcs combined tbh. ( m/f or f/f ) * click here for full list since tumblr has a text limit.

plots id love to do! * this unhappily married dad/babysitter plot. * * this angsty/fluffy my best friend is having my baby plot. * * this zombie apocalypse/last of us inspired plot* but also any za plot. * celeb plots! especially this one. something like two super famous actors hiding their relationship or famous person/non famous plots?* * single dad/nanny plots! give me something cute and angsty. * * escort/client plot where she breaks the most important rule… don’t fall for your client* * grumpy ceo/soft assistant plots.* * royal plots! bridgerton esqued plots! * * f/f socialites plot… blair/selena/upper east side inspired muses but make it gay* * college professor/teacher’s assistant plot. * college professor/student plot. * crimey plots? sons of anarchy inspired? or maybe m.afia/m.ob/gang stuff?* * bodyguard/client plots bc i’m a sucker for them* * soulmates plot. i have a whole lore i’ve been wanting to write out for ages so * sugar b.aby / sugar d.addy plots * * best friends to lovers plots ( gimme angst) * WHEN THE M.OB PRINCESS MEETS THE M.OB PRINCE: forbidden love is always angsty so why not do that and add rival g.angs to the mix? muse a is the daughter of the head boss of the local g.ang and is sick and tired of having her life controlled by her overprotective father. so, to rebel against his wishes after an argument, muse a decides to go to a nightclub that her father had always forbidden her to attend. unknown to her, the club is run by the rival g.ang’s boss’ son, muse b, and not knowing who she is, can’t stop looking at her on the dance floor. they eventually bump into each other and after having a few drinks, end up at muse a’s apartment and they hook up. i was thinking they both never brought up their families and their true professions and maybe start to hang out/go on dates and then bam, the truth comes out and drama begins. especially when they can’t stay away from each other.

* MY BEST FRIEND IS A ROCKSTAR: (tw: death) muse a & muse b have been best friends since they were kids and grew up together. throughout their childhood, muse b had always told muse a about his plans to become a famous musician and as he grew older, became more and more determined to make those dreams come true. when they both hit their teen years, feelings eventually grew and the two were head over heels for each other but neither of them was ever able to admit it. they were both terrified that the feelings would be unrequited or that it would ruin their friendships so just imagine the angst of them seeing each other with other people and FGHDFG. anyway, when muse b finally turns twenty-one, he decides to move to hollywood to make his dreams come true, and muse a stays in their small hometown. they keep in contact with one another but as time went on, muse b becomes a huge rockstar with his band and their contact start to drift but they always had each other in their thoughts, wishing they were closer to one another. a few years pass and they still speak but it’s not like before. muse b was hugely successful and enjoyed the life he was now living but always felt like something was missing. that someone was missing… it’s not until he gets a distraught call from muse a telling him that her mother died does he rush on a private jet and comes home to her. after helping her arrange the funeral and being there for her through her grief, he suggests that she comes on tour with him and the band. wanting to run away from everything and everyone in her small town, she agrees. queue cute ass moments on the tour bus, traveling the world and falling in love like they did when they were young. add drama, angst ( because they’re both still dumb and won’t admit to their feels) stadium tours, TENSION!!!, groupies, etc, etc.

CLICK HERE FOR MORE BC TUMBLR HAS A TEXT LIMIT.

#indie rp #indie oc rp #indie bi rp #indie crime rp #indie smut rp #indie zombie rp #open rp #indie bridgerton rp #indie royal rp #indie celeb rp

19 notes · View notes

sometimesanalice · 3 months

Note

Hello, Alexa!☺️

How are you?

A bit of a random Q, but! I remember you saying that the first fanfic you wrote

was ‘Oh Christmas Tree' and I was just wondering if there was any other fandoms

you ever thought about writing for? Even if you don’t want to publish them! :) An even more general question, what other fandoms would you say you're into?

I know it's a little random, but I just love hearing about other people's interests/loves! 🥰

(I’m sorry if you’ve answered these in some way before)

Have a lovely weekend!

Hi Bo!! 🌟 I'm so good! I'm having the best afternoon with some coffee and a treat from Trader Joe's and working on a fluffy oneshot! I hope you're doing well! I love seeing you pop in my inbox!

The call of Bradley with a pine tree allergy and getting his best girl a fluffy pink one was too strong for me to resist! It was such a new thing for me that I wrote the whole thing on the notes app on my phone, it didn't even cross my mind to open a word doc for it, lol.

It's such a funny thing that for the years and years that I've jotted down ideas and dialogue that I never once thought of actually sitting down and trying my hand at writing fanfic until last year!

More for you under the cut!

My first foray into fandom and fanfic was when I was a nugget out there wilding on fanfic.net and shipping Clark/Lana from Smallville and Padme/Anakin from Star Wars. (back when I didn't even know what shipping meant, lol)

In college, I didn't have much time to read books because of all the school work, so I turned to fanfic again and got really into The Hunger Games. Dandelion Peeta had my heart, and all the modern AUs really softened the dystopian angst. That fandom had so many truly terrific writers, ones that I still follow even today.

Which is how I ended up becoming a big The 100 girlie. Some of my favorite THG authors started posting and writing for a couple of the main characters on that show and I was hooked. (it's been a lot of fun to learn that some of my fav TGM babes were also the 100 babes, so we've trauma bonded over it, haha)

And let me tell you, I need to be financially COMPENSATED by the CW for the chokehold this man had on me for like 5 years. (the hair! the gravely voice! the chin dimple! the biceps! the grumpy king with a heart of gold!)

If I was going to write for another fandom, it would be that one. Bellarke (bellamy blake and clarke griffin) still has my heart. At the height of it, I was spending hours every day reading fic for them. The chemistry between them was bananas and every week I was waiting on baited breath for any little interaction between them. It's funny now because the actors are actually married now, haha! The show gave us crumbs and went out with such a tragic whimper, but the fandom and the incredible talent there is probably why I was so invested and still read fics about them on AO3.

When I reread my favorite series The Winners Trilogy by Marie Rutkoski I fall DEEP into an Arin/Kestrel spiral. It's such an underrated YA series that I'm pretty sure I've read every piece of fanfiction that's out there (which isn't nearly enough) at least 5 times.

There was a brief Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen GOT era, but it was short lived.

I also like the Darkling/Alina dynamic from Shadow and Bone. I read the series when the books first came out before the show, and wasn't particularly enamored with them as a couple. But then they had to go and cast the pretty bearded attention whore that is Ben Barnes and I had simply no choice but to ship, lol.

I always joke and say that I don't pick the hyperfixations, that they choose me. But it's really true. The 100 ended in 2020 and I didn't have anything really capture my attention in the same way until TGM. This is the first fandom that I've really participated in, like getting to know other people and creating content! And it's been so wonderful!

Oof! Well, this got out of control quickly, lol. This was such a fun ask to get! I haven't been asked before, so I really went off the deep end here giving you my full life fandom history, haha!

#answers from alexa #inbox 💌#this got out of control very quickly lol #i am also very happy to rec fics to anyone if we have some of the same fandom interests!

6 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years

Text

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 12: The Atlantic Ocean] [Series Finale]

You are a Russian grand duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You live happily ever after.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Mentions of historical war and violence.

Word count: 3.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore @mellowfellowyellow @peculiareunoia @mischiefmanaged71 @fancybenjamin @anne-white-star @theonlyone-meeeee @witchlyboo @demo-wise

There are rumors that a grand duchess survived, of course—they are whispered into life almost immediately after the murders at Yekaterinburg and never quite disappear—although no one can seem to decide which one. Sometimes it’s Maria, sometimes Olga, sometimes me, most often Anastasia; and for years, decades afterwards there are women who periodically surface and claim to be my most undomesticated sister, and each time I know they’re not just by seeing their photograph in the newspapers. The only consensus that can be found is that surely the survivor is not Tatiana, as she never could have vanished into the anonymous ether of humanity, not with that striking, elegant, gem-rare sort of face. No, everyone agrees that the most beautiful Romanov daughter died in Russia; everyone, that is, but Ben.

It is the last day of the October of 1918 when we board a ship bound for the New World. Ben, Joe, and I ascend the steps as Ben’s family—our family, now—waves us off from the dock: August, Kathryn, Opal, Leo, Luther, Ben’s mother…and Frankie, too. He arrived in London six days after our audience with the king, honorable discharge papers in hand and a perplexed yet grateful expression on his face. I don’t know if it was guilt, or a bribe, or one last favor to my father, or simple pure-hearted mercy once his shock and rage bled away, but King George V kept his word about bringing Frankie home. I never ask my uncle about it. I never ask him anything. I never speak to a member of any royal family again.

As we cross the Atlantic—the days shortening, the nights bitterly cold, bobbing dolphins chasing our iron walls, right whales breaching in the distance—Ben and I walk the decks like we did on that bleak journey from Saint Petersburg to London, but this time we do it as Benjamin and Lana Hardy. We married in a brief, uncomplicated ceremony in a tiny Russian Orthodox cathedral we found tucked away in North London; as a wedded couple, we will have a smoother passage through Ellis Island. We have also thought of a way to keep the Romanov jewels safe and undiscovered, as our luggage will almost certainly be searched upon our arrival: we’ve sewn them into our clothes.

Joe, predictably, makes many new friends onboard—Italians, Greeks, Turks, Spaniards, Poles, Russians, Hungarians, Jews—but he grows closest to an Egyptian named Rami. Rami, a Coptic Christian, fled Egypt to escape religious persecution…but not before falling in love with the daughter of a British archaeologist based there. He and Lucy are newlyweds too, always entwining their fingers and gazing into each other’s clear eyes and bubbling over with anticipation for their very own fabled American Dream to begin. Lucy is expecting their first child already, and as we chat away her hand often settles—unthinkingly, instinctively—on the modest swell of her belly.

At Ellis Island, we are pried at and interrogated and examined for any signs of defects, whether mental or physical or of the spirit. And as we are granted entry and rush down the staircase with our hands gliding over flaking metal railings—the same railings gripped by millions seeking new lives here—I remember my dream from the night before we were summoned to Buckingham Palace: water, metal, crowds, cobblestone streets, unfamiliar plants, a cold prickling drink that I will one day recognize as Coca-Cola, innumerable transparent bulbs of light. Perhaps that was more than a dash of intuition. Perhaps it was my parents letting me know it was alright to choose another path.

We find an apartment in Brighton Beach; between the five of us, we can afford to keep it to ourselves without squeezing in any additional boarders. That first night—after Kroshka has been placed in a rented stable stall down the street, after the luggage is unpacked, after we have eaten chebureki purchased from a street vendor, as the cracked and bare walls stare silently back at us—Ben sits down on the scuffed floor and covers his face with his hands, too exhausted to weep but drained and petrified down to the bones. “It’s the responsibility,” he says, and I know exactly what he means: it’s the weight of having to look after his family, Joe, our new friends, me.

The very next day, I get a job at a settlement house three blocks from our apartment. The pay isn’t much, but then again it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been paid for anything, and so that in itself gives me a great deal of satisfaction. I excel there; I am a proficient typist, I can read and write and speak a myriad of languages, and educated women fluent in Russian are hard to come by in Brooklyn. I teach new arrivals to speak English, I teach children to hold pencils, I teach adults how to find work, I teach women how to escape violent husbands and to prevent unwanted pregnancies. I clean faces and braid hair and look into eyes—shining, hopeful, thankful eyes—that remind me so much of my parents and brother and sisters that my heart aches, and then calms, and then opens wide to swallow up and engulf the abandoned people of this city, of this world. Little do I know that I will work at this same settlement house for fifty-one years, over half a century, longer than either of my parents lived.

Ben starts out at an afternoon daily newspaper company called the Brooklyn Eagle. In his spare time, he writes his own articles and shops around for publications that will take them. When we are in desperate need—when a storm shatters our windows, when the radiator breaks in the middle of January, when I catch pneumonia and need medicine and weeks of bedrest—Ben takes a few of the smallest jewels or a rope of precious metal to a pawn shop on the other side of Brooklyn and returns with a thick stack of bills with Alexander Hamilton’s face on them. Joe gets a job at a pizzeria in Little Italy so he can learn the tricks of the trade before striking out on his own. Rami works there too for a while before finding a position at a tailor shop owned by a Coptic Christian from Luxor.

Once they save up enough money, Rami and Lucy move into their own apartment in Astoria—where many Egyptian families are settling—and promptly fill it with fervently desired children. Joe marries a Sicilian woman named Christabella and moves with her to Little Italy. We see each other several times per week and I am present at each of Lucy’s births. Rami teaches me Arabic. I teach him Italian. Ben teaches me Old English songs from his childhood. Joe teaches us all to make pizza.

Sometimes—as I lay awake at night long after Ben has fallen into sleep, his breathing slow and serene—I wonder what became of the items I left at Buckingham Palace: the books, the scarf, the pillowcase. I wonder if they were lost, or thrown out with the rubbish, or kept by the Prince of Wales as some sort of strange memento. Sometimes I wish I still had them. More often, I am glad that I don’t.

I was a different person then. Perhaps it is better to make a truly clean start.

Within a year, and with the help of a sizeable contribution from me and Ben, Joe has opened up his own pizza shop in Little Italy called Signore Mazzello’s Pizzeria. It frequently has a line wrapped around the block during the lunch rush.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is 1925, and the nation is booming, racing, roaring. I am promoted to Assistant Director of the settlement house. Ben writes an article about his childhood in London and the New York Times buys it. When he sells them another—an anthology of the stories of the other immigrants who share our apartment building, many of them Russian by birth—they offer him a position as a full-time columnist. We stay in Brighton Beach but move to a townhouse on a quiet street with several bedrooms, a stable for Kroshka, and a small, fenced backyard. Ben sends word to his family in London that the time has finally come for them to join us across the Atlantic. They arrive on our doorstep one month later: Ben’s hushed mother, Frankie with his wife Althea, Luther with his fiancé Ethel, Leo with his poems, Opal with her paintings, Kathryn doting on the very slow and very grey basset hounds, August having grown into a singularly joyful and charismatic young man. The original plan was that they would stay with us only until they found their footing in Brooklyn, but as it turns out our home is always full; someone moves out, someone else moves back, it is a carousel of weddings and children and holidays and farewells and reunions. It is an undying warmth and fullness that I never believed I would experience again. It is heaven on earth.

Ben and I have two children, both explicitly planned. Each time he insists that I labor in a hospital, and each time he is in the room with me from start to end. We name them and we love them and we watch them grow like the flora of Central Park: eastern redbuds, blue mistflowers, scarlet beebalms, Carolina springbeauties, cinnamon ferns, calla lilies. Ben’s mother treasures our children and spends hours with them each day. They bring her a new purpose; they bring her peace. She says it is like being able to hold her own lost children again.

We make generous donations to settlement houses throughout New York City. When the aging owner retires, Rami takes over the tailor shop. Joe opens up three additional locations of Signore Mazzello’s Pizzeria throughout Brooklyn.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is 1936, and our adopted country is in the depths of the Great Depression. We help others float through the storm as best we can. At the New York Times, Ben takes on and funds several apprentices from working-class families. We volunteer at soup kitchens. We stock the pantry shelves at the settlement house. We teach our children about egalitarianism and democracy and compassion. We raise them to know nothing of my bloodline. They believe that I am British just as Ben is, and that we met as coworkers in London; we never mention that either of us ever set foot on Russian soil. This is a necessity: however unlikely, I am unwilling to risk the possibility of detection. Every once in a great while someone will give me a second glance, or narrow their eyes, or blink thoughtfully at me as if they have met me once in a dream…but it amounts to nothing. Even the Russian immigrants I work with rarely suspect anything. My accent and dialect are so far removed from theirs—so formal, so educated—that they can believe I learned it from a book. The last Romanov daughter is gone, buried like the rest of them. What is left is only Lana.

At Christmastime—a lean, humble Christmas—I read in the newspaper that David Windsor has abdicated the British throne and passed it on to his dull, dutiful younger brother. David left so he could marry the woman he loved, a woman forbidden to him, a divorced American named Wallis Simpson. As I sit at the kitchen table studying the lines of his face in the black-and-white photograph published on the front page, I wonder if any part of him was thinking of me when he announced his abdication to millions of British subjects via a BBC radio broadcast. I wonder if somewhere in the back of his skull lurked my shadow, my vanishing, my willingness to cut through the ties of royalty to embrace a life of my own choosing.

Rami and Lucy welcome their sixth child, a daughter they call Lana. Ben writes articles imploring the United States to accept refugees fleeing the rise of fascism in Europe. Joe has to close three of his pizzerias, but with a little help from Ben and me (and our stock of clandestine jewels), he is able to hold onto the original location through the worst years the American economy will ever see.

Some people sink, of course; there are always those who will sink. But we pull as many into the life rafts as we can.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is 1958, and Ben and I celebrate our 40 year anniversary with a trip to Australia. We see the kangaroos and koala bears and beaches and the vast, red wildness of the Outback, and while we think of Gwilym and Hazel Lee quite a lot we don’t spend any time at all contemplating the merits or failings of the British Empire. I have learned that it is futile, maddening even, to battle against things so far above my control; it’s like trying to fight the sea or the stars. I cannot set all things right across the globe, but I can improve the circumstances of thousands of souls. Surely there is no better way to repay the debt the Romanovs owed to the world. Surely my parents and siblings would understand if they could see me now…and sometimes, when I dream of them, I like to believe they can.

As I am leafing through a magazine one afternoon, I come across a photograph of David Windsor and his wife Wallis. They are at a polo match or a garden party or something like that—something frivolous, something regal, waving to the paparazzi—and before I can turn the page one detail catches my eye. Looped loosely around Wallis’ thin neck is the green scarf I bought in Moscow. The silver-thread bears are as bright and shimmering as I remember them. Wallis is flashing a wide, triumphant smile to the same reporters who had once maligned her as a conniving, lowborn whore.

He kept my things after all. Why would he do that?

I close the magazine, thinking of the strings that tie people together and then unravel and then come back together again in new designs. I think of how little each of us truly knows. Sometimes that’s a blessing, and sometimes that’s a curse, and sometimes we’ll never know which it is.

I am made Director of the settlement house. Ben is promoted to Deputy Editor of the New York Times. Signore Mazzello’s Pizzeria now has ten locations: four in New York City, one in Baltimore, two in Philadelphia, and three in Chicago. Joe has his sights set on Los Angeles next.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is 1963, and I watch as Walter Cronkite announces that President John F. Kennedy has been assassinated. His wife was right there in the limousine. The new president is sworn in as she stands beside him, shellshocked, embittered, her pink suit stained with her husband’s blood and brains.

Everyone is horrified, and everyone is sad, but my children don’t understand why I cannot stop crying, why I cannot sleep, why I cannot get the vision of a nation’s leader senselessly murdered in front of his family out of my mind. I sit in front of the television with tears leaking ceaselessly from my scarlet eyes, thinking of Papa, Mother, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Anastasia, Alexei. It’s like I’m back in Saint Petersburg. It’s like I’m learning they were slaughtered all over again.

Only Ben understands. He bundles me into his arms and presses his lips to my temple and whispers that I am safe, that our children are safe, that my family would be proud of me. It is the same way when Malcolm X is killed, and then Martin Luther King Jr., and then Bobby Kennedy. I am torn apart by the thought of their wives and children left bereft, left forever scarred by their murders. It guts me and leaves me bleeding for weeks.

We anonymously donate the last of the Romanov jewels to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There is fierce public debate for years concerning who came to possess them and how. Each time there is a newspaper article or a television broadcast about the jewels, Ben and I share a small surreptitious smile. Signore Mazzello’s Pizzeria restaurants stretch from the Atlantic to the Pacific and boast over fifty locations. Joe leaves the business to his children to manage and retires with his wife to Atlantic City, New Jersey. He spends his days sunbathing on the beach, playing blackjack, eating cannoli, and gossiping with other Italians.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is July 13th, 1985. There are photographs of the loved ones we’ve lost on the mantle above the fireplace: Willis, Cecil, Louise, Ben’s mother…and there are even a few of Kroshka. The house is full of my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, Ben’s siblings, our nieces and nephews and their children and their children, too. It is my great-grandson’s tenth birthday. His name—by pure coincidence—is Alexei.

There are children giggling and running through sprinklers in the backyard and basset hounds sniffing after crumbs of hors d'oeuvres and balloons everywhere. The living room is packed with people watching Queen’s performance at Live Aid on our single television, clapping along to Radio Ga Ga. Rami and Lucy arrive with the gift of a handmade sky-blue velvet suit. Joe and Christabella arrive with about twenty boxes of pizza. Ben and I and our two daughters are in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on Alexei’s birthday cake. It’s quite a challenge; Alexei loves dinosaurs, and the stegosaurus made of green icing has plenty of ragged edges to smooth out. Later, when Ben lights the candles, he will use a tarnished steel lighter with a bear carved into one side.

“Papa, Mum, have you seen this?” Tatiana, our eldest, asks. She holds open the pages of Time Magazine. “Some reporter based out of L.A. did a story on the Winter Palace. You know, where the Romanovs lived before they were deposed. He posed as a tourist and took a bunch of photos and smuggled them out of the Soviet Union, and now the Soviets are pissed. They don’t allow photography in the museum. And they definitely don’t want Americans capitalizing on their national historic sites. Anyway, check it out.” She turns the pages. Ben glances over at me. The butterknife has fallen out of my hand and onto the kitchen counter.

“Here, Mum, let me do that,” Louise offers. She plucks a clean knife out of the silverware drawer and resumes the meticulous sculpting of the stegosaurus.

“Amazing, huh?” Tati says, still flipping pages. They’re vivid, bright, in full color; they bring back memories I had forgotten I have. “There’s the Throne Room…the Malachite Room…the ballroom…the gardens…even the—”

“The private family rooms,” I murmur, dazed. “The bedrooms. The study. The dining room.”

“Yeah,” Tati replies. She’s still grinning, but her brow furrows. “Mum…are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” Ben says quickly. “She’s just tired. That stegosaurus has been giving us hell. I love the technique the reporter used here, opening with a vignette…”

Throughout the years, throughout the decades, as the century slips away from me, I have tried to avoid witnessing the calamities of my homeland: famines, purges, dictators, wars, censorship, rivalry, bloodshed and turmoil and insurmountable suffering. I barely recognize it at all; what was once Imperial Russia is now the Soviet Union, what was once Saint Petersburg is now Leningrad, what was once hope and the promise of a better future is now grim authoritarianism. I can still see my family in the Russian immigrants I helped settle here in New York City, but I don’t see them in the modern-day iteration of my birthplace.

But these pictures Tati is showing me, these memories…they are not from some failed, foreign land. They are the places where Papa puffed on his pipe and told us ancient folktales, where Mother read in her wheelchair, where Alexei played with his tiny toy soldiers on the rug in front of the fireplace, where my sisters and I stayed awake laughing and whispering until morning sunrays shone through our bedroom windows.

I reach out to touch the pictures with my fingertips. My hands are wrinkled, knobby, arthritic, just like Mother’s once were. Tati is still watching me, concerned.

“I know, it’s so beautiful, but so sad,” she says. “Knowing that the people who once lived there were murdered so brutally. Those poor kids. To have all this, and then to have nothing. It must have been a miserable last year for them.”

“They didn’t have nothing,” Ben tells Tati gently. “They had their family.”

“Yeah, but I mean…do royal families even really know each other? Don’t they just get together for polo games and tea parties and…I don’t know…arranged marriages?”

“The Romanovs knew each other.” Ben smooths my silver hair fondly. His hands shake a bit now, but they’re still strong, still perfect. His scars have faded with time; they are nearly invisible. It’s almost as if our pasts never happened. It’s almost as if we’ve always been the people we are now, here in the New World surrounded by friends and family and golden possibilities. “They were…a bit of an anomaly among royal families. Nicholas was very attentive to the children, very loving. And Alexandra was too, to the extent that she could be with her poor health. They did everything together. They went sledding and horseback riding and swimming, they told stories, they played games, they shared meals, they took care of each other. They hoped and they worked and they prayed. They tried to shield each other from the burdens the world placed on their backs. In a lot of ways…the Romanovs weren’t all that different from us.”

“Oh, wow,” Tati says, fascinated, awed. “I didn’t know that. They really must have been something.”

Ben looks over at me, smiling. “They were.”

51 notes · View notes

lillie98 · 9 months

Text

Heartstopper 2 Ramble (SPOILERS)

I just finished Season 2 of Heartstopper and wow. I had high expectations after Season 1, but I was not prepared for this emotional rollercoaster. The entire cast and crew poured their heart and souls into this project, and I am eternally grateful. I fear I won’t survive Season 3.

First of all, Imogen absolutely killed me. I wasn’t sure about her Season 1, but she won me over. Her reaction to Nick Coming Out was precious and awkward and completely sincere. Her monologue with Ben had me cheering at my little tv, and I actually rooted for her. I’m glad Alice gave Imogen another shot. She deserved it.

I was really worried about Ben’s storyline and how he would play into everything, but I’m SO glad they didn’t make Charlie accept his fake-ass apology. It dripped with manipulation tactics and danger. Good on Charlie for recognizing them and standing up for himself. Him essentially saying that Ben Sexually Abused him was difficult to watch but also so empowering. I’m still not sure if Ben is gay or not, but it really doesn’t matter to me. As Charlie said, Ben permanently broke his brain and he will live with the consequences for the rest of his life. You don’t get your happy rainbow, Ben, because you almost took Charlie’s away. Also, the Paris dinner scene was incredible. Joe Locke did not utter ONE WORD and yet you knew exactly what was going through Charlie’s head.

Speaking of Joe’s incredible acting, the fainting scene was immaculate. I loved the pre-fainting on the stairs and how Charlie ignored it, not wanting to freak out Nick, but it caught up to him quickly. I literally saw the light leave his eyes and his body weight pull him down. The use of the white border, double vision, and audio distortion made it incredibly realistic along with the way Joe let himself fall completely limp in Kit’s arms. You truly believed he was unconscious. My only critique is I wish we had seen him wake up and Nick reassure him he’s safe. Talking about Charlie’s beautiful blue eyes.

Charlie’s ED was handled with gentleness and grace by everyone, but especially Joe and Alice. It was a slow build that made sense and felt realistic without hitting you over the head with it. It’s beautiful to see this misunderstood community represented in mainstream media, especially when it comes to boys’ Mental Health. I loved Nick’s mom picking up on it, even if she didn’t fully understand. Good moms always know.

Tao and Elle were adorable and I loved watching Tao read the WikiHow article and then ask Elle out. Thank God they cut his hair, it was hurting. A lot. I’m glad Elle decided to go to Art School and pursue her dreams, it’s what she deserves. A place where she feels at home and accepted for who she is, where she’s surrounded by like-minded people who love and accept her.

I know Alice has tried to make Jane Spring more likable, but it’s not working for me. Sorry. If you don’t accept your child’s partner, you don’t accept your child. Period. She reminds me of Darcy’s mother. Jane Spring, I am in your walls.

The final scene broke me. It set up Season 3 perfectly while wrapping up the events of this season. Charlie looked so broken and lost admitting what he’d done to himself and Nick had no idea how to help him. So he did what he could, hold Charlie close and remind him that he is loved. Fully and completely. Watching Charlie walk home in Nick’s sweatshirt was like watching Nick carry him home—protecting him from the monsters in his mind. Also, the song that plays (the one that broke my brain) is from Wasia Project, Will Gao’s (who plays Tao) band. So, in a way, Tao was watching over him, too. The stark contrast between the Season 1 ending and this one is startling, but in the best way. Go back and listen to the lyrics of the final song, it will break your heart. “You’re the only one left, so please don’t go.” Nick is terrified that Charlie won’t make it and doesn’t know how he’ll handle losing his entire world. I can’t wait to see the GA’s response (those who didn’t read the comics). This is not the Heartstopper they thought they were getting. But for us who did read, it was nothing short of perfect. Thank you, Alice Oseman and team, you created a masterpiece.

#heartstopper #charlie spring #nick nelson #nick and charlie #tao and elle #alice oseman #heartstopper s2 #lgbtqia #mental illness #mental health #heartstopper spoilers #imogen heaney #pride #heartstopper netflix #Boys Get Eating Disorders Too

16 notes · View notes

crazy56u · 2 months

Text

Okay, the app is starting to become self aware, I feel…

Addison, cut your losses with Tom.

“Look, I gotta go, Ben needs me, he totally didn’t just black out from too much coffee.”

Plot twist: Herbicore is poisoning the pumpkins, that’s why Steve’s wife has that cough.

I technically called it!

“Look, Connie, I finally figured out what the plot is, this weed eater shit is gonna kill everyone!”

Oh, great, Peacock’s running ads now.[/joke]

“I’m Chet Barlow of Herbicore, asking you to come to Denver. We’re not Detroit.”

…why does your brother look like a sex offender?

Joe doesn’t even know what’s going on, he is drunk as shit.

Why is this two weeks in a row where puns are plot points?

If only ad blockers existed in the 1980s…

“Do you think Chet knows his weed killer is dangerous?” Ben, he’s a CEO in the 1980s. Sucker’s bet.

Ben, if you don’t say a name now, Connie is gonna drop this story.

“He called you on that pay phone, right? Late night when he needs your love?”

“There’s no such thing as a dead end.” I name at least five Looney Tunes cartoons that would disagree.

Oh, goody, an inside job. So, calling it now: Just like in “Roberto!”, that guy is fucking dead now.

Okay, now I feel bad about calling Robbie a sexual predator…

I have a sinking suspicion their boss might be in on this…

“We need to keep this between the two of us. Now, if you know any ghosts, they can get lumped in as well.”

I admire the fact that Robbie didn’t opt to just bail.

“Who says I’m afraid?” “Is it your brother?” “…” “Okay, so you are afraid.”

I love how they are openly having this loud ass conversation in public.

Now, how long until Ben draw the connection between “this is killing farmers” and “Steve’s wife has that cough”.

Oh, goody, Chet is basically Gideon. God fuck, can’t he go away…

“I’ve seen people disappear. Sometimes in bight blue glowing light, they get replaced with other people and they don’t remember shit!”

“Look, we tried, it’s not like the episode isn’t even half over yet.”

And Steve becomes plot important!

“Herbicrop? I love that stuff, I’m swimming in tumors!”

Steve, your wife is fucking hacking up a lung, and you act like they’re spewing bullshit.

“Everything’s gonna be alright.” Episode is half over, there is a shoe yet to drop.

Ben, never do that again.

Davidson is 100% in on it, that was too fucking coincidental.

And it’s gonna be Robbie’s car in 5… 4… 3…

We are now 100% “Roberto!”

Ben, Connie is experiencing PTSD, maybe calm down.

…Connie, I think we both know that’s not what actually happened…

“Rule three: Fuck this job.”

Connie, if you think Ben is gonna stop, you are sadly mistake . [And sound goes off.]

Ian and Tom, stop pretending Magic isn’t gonna be the one to lose their job, just because he was pissed off, it doesn’t mean he’s letting anyone else take the fall under the bus.

And Ian, rightfully, goes the fuck off.

[Sound goes on.] And it’s time to get crunk.

…it only now just hit me that Addison never told Ben that… it been like two fucking episodes!

“What happened?” “What didn’t?”

Ben, unless your unknowingly leapt into the guy that planted that car bomb, stop blaming yourself for shit.

Now, that just sucks for Robbie: him dying is the Canon Event.

…or Robbie just fucking hates cars.

“Hey.” “I thought I fired you.” “I love how you thought that would work.”

“Look, I don’t care if Robbie is still alive, I still fired you.” “We both know I ain’t accepting that, Connie.”

“Look, Connie, I also suffer from being depressed about my actions.”

[Sound goes off.]

“So, is this the end of Quantum Leap?” NBC, YOU ARE IN THIN FUCKING ICE NOW

Tom, even if I already know the punchline, you should be the one to go.

“I wish there was another way.” Tom, you dumb idiot, you basically just gave Magic the go ahead…

[Sound goes on.]

Cut to The Pink Hotel.

“…so, you’re telling me I blew up my car for fucking nothing.”

I love how Robbie was willing to leave the country despite knowing he could’ve ended the episode early.

Look, Robbie, sometimes you gotta “Scorpion and the Frog” this shit.

I also love how the pink lighting is making Robbie look more depressed.

This is now a heist movie.

“What do you mean ‘Leverage the door’?” It means grab a flat thing, and break the door.

I love how the key to saving the day is just breaking shit.

I love how Ski Mask is acting real fucking cool right now, as if Ben isn’t gonna kick his ass.

Ben, I hope to fuck you rolled a Crit Success on Fast Talk.

And now Wyatt fears God.

…and is probably gonna meet him face to face.

Ben just kicked cancer’s ass.

And Connie pulls the Columbo maneuver.

Chet is about to get fucked by a pumpkin.

“It’s you.” “It’s always me.” …annnnnnd now my brain is trying to craft a Quantum Leap/FNAf crossover.

And Ben dips.

[Sound goes off, fuck you Tom.]

“Look, Tom, be honest, we both knew Ben was gonna win out in the end.” “Honestly, same.”

And now, for the most obvious ending of the episode!

“Look, Tom saved our asses, but Gideon wants someone fired. And it can’t be Ian, and I ain’t firing you, and Addison wasn’t even in this subplot, so… … … (leaves)”

And we end with a dedication to Matt Dale. Watch as NBC promptly fumbles the bag, and cancels the show next week…

So, next week’s a two-fer, Magic is quitting, and Gideon is still fucking here!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

#the outsider #spoilers #quantum leap #Roberto!#Columbo #FNAF

2 notes · View notes

monmuses · 1 year

Note

💞 @ your favorite blog (if you can't pick just one, you must explain why each of your favorites is your favorite. 😈)

~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~

// *HOW DARE U MAKE ME PICK WHEN THERES SO MANY (jk jk)

// *ok so,,, i have a lot. mostly bc i have multiple friends on here that i've met over the years and new ones ive met so far! so, out of no particular order, i'll list them here

@nurturing-starlight - i met Star back in mid to late July last year when i moved back home from college and we have just hit off as besties really well. been through the roughest patches with her and others but i think shes AWESOME. @wonderalmighty also falls here bc Alpha is fuckin awesome and i love them both so much <333

@abundantiiia - ALSO one of my favorite besties ever. i met them around a month before through Fink in a discord server and i got to write with her muses. honestly? i LOVE Loke, ok? she's awesome and i think they're one of the closest friends i had bc she was with me during one of my lowest points in my life last year. love u Loke <3

@shermphibia - Fink is ALSO one of my besties. i met him when i added Xeno along with multiple other canon muses to my blog around May! that was when i started writing more muses other than just my OCs and started to expand on my writing skill. they added me on Discord and met a bunch of others through them. honestly? i wOULD NOT be here if it wasn't for Fink. i wouldn't have met so many lovely people because of him!

@redgentleengie - [points at you aggressively] YOU COUNT TOO, BITCH. u are one of my OLDEST mutuals since i started writing and u are honestly just as cool. i love all the interactions that we've had and honestly?? u are one of the few people that still stuck around, even after i've grown my blog since i started. ur awesome, Ben. >:0

@uponlove - i became moots with Joe about a month ago? but i got to talk to them on Discord and they're just as awesome! i love em a whole lot and they're super chill. i love them <3

@infinity-multi-muse - BEN NUMBER TWO!!! i love the ship we have w/ Emil and Octavia. i love chatting w/ u and all the world building you've done with ur OCs??? they're just so COOL! i love ur creativity and ur awesome <3

@lawain-dimensional-heroes - Maru is ALSO on the cool list. i love how much committment they have to their blog AND their OCs. the variety of designs, the art they do??? its SO MUCH AND I THINK THATS SO COOL???

@serpentine-rogue - MOOSE!!! i love u man <3 i love Soldan sm and u have been such a joy to talk to in DMs! we need to write more and im lacking on that still, and i SERIOUSLY gotta work on writing more. we need more ships >:0

// *i'd add more but theres SO many people i've talked to and it'd be too big of a list to include everybody. i love all of u! <3

#redgentleengie #✨{𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡; (𝔞𝔰𝔨 𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡)#✨{𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔞; (𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯)

8 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 8 months

Text

STORY: Ups And Downs

Average Joe

Who would ever have believed that I would end up where I am today? Certainly not me. I was just your average kid from a working-class American family—a mom, a dad, one brother, and one sister—in Columbus, Georgia. I was a good student in high school. I made good grades, but not good enough to win an academic scholarship, and even though I played several sports, I did not excel enough to win an athletic scholarship. That’s me: your average Joe. More accurately, your average Julius.

I hated that name. When I was growing up, all the kids made fun of me, calling me “Julie,” “Juicy,” and “Ju Ju Bean.” So, when I entered high school, I adopted the name “Joe.” So, yeah, I was just your average Joe—except for one thing. I’m gay. You might say I was “Closet Joe” because I took great pains to make sure that no one found out I was gay. That reality just would not have gone down well in a working-class family in Columbus, Georgia.

Fresh from my high school graduation, I had my future all mapped out. I would go to Columbus State University in the fall, get a business degree, and work my way up the ladder of my dad’s hardware business. Dad’s flagship store was in Columbus, but he also had stores in Macon and Decatur, just outside of Atlanta, and also in Auburn, Alabama. The potential for further expansion was looking pretty damn good at that point. Things really were looking up, and I didn’t want to do anything to screw up the plan.

My parents agreed to pay most of my tuition as long as I continued to work in the store to make up the difference. I would major in business management so that I could take on more responsibilities in the family business.

Even though my true love was not business, but the arts, I loved working in the hardware store. With all the hot workmen coming into the store along with super sexy soldiers from nearby Fort Benning, I never lacked for eye candy. I could barely keep my dick in my pants, and, to be perfectly candid, I didn’t always resist the temptation. On weekends, Dad would sometimes send me to help out at one of the satellite stores. I loved those trips because Macon, Decatur, and Auburn were all college towns, offering excellent opportunities to hook up with college jocks, frat boys, and nerds, all of whom were just as horny as I was.

Whenever Dad would go to Macon, Decatur, or Auburn to check up on the other stores, he would often leave me to lock up the main store at the end of the day, and after all the other employees had gone home, I would sometimes lure one of the hot customers into the stock room. I’m not bad to look at—maybe a little bit more than average in that department—so it usually didn’t take much arm twisting to get them where I wanted them.

One night when Dad was away and I was locking up the store in Columbus, I heard a tapping on the front door. Mr. Sullivan, a local electrician, practically begged me to open up. He said he just absolutely had to have a circuit breaker for an elderly customer who would be without the electricity she needed to run her ventilator if he didn’t get that part pronto. Mr. Sullivan was a regular in the store and also at our high school football games. His son, Jeff, was one of my classmates and a teammate on the football team.

Jeff was a real stud, wickedly handsome and built like a brick shithouse. Unfortunately, he was as straight as a board, but that didn’t keep me from worshiping him with my eyes in our team showers or fantasizing about him when I beat off every night.

It was very easy to see where Jeff got his good looks. His dad, Mr. Sullivan, had been a football player too—in college as well as in high school—and even in his mid 40s, he still struck a commanding pose. He was a nice man and a loyal customer, so I promptly unlocked the door and let him in.

Of course, Mr. Sullivan knew exactly where the electrical supplies were kept, but I led him to that department anyway, chatting along the way about his work, Jeff’s football scholarship to Clemson, and my plans for college. I tried in vain to keep my eyes averted from his impressive ass, especially when he bent over to pull something from the bottom shelf. And from the magnetic bulge in his work pants, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was as hung as his son. Did he catch me staring once or twice?

As we walked back to the register, I heard the front door open. Oh shit! I left it unlocked. Just as I was about to tell the two young soldiers entering the store in their army fatigues that we were closed, one of them threw his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Need some tooools,” he slurred. “Need ‘em baaad.”

At the same time, his buddy, also three sheets to the wind, stumbled his way toward Mr. Sullivan and practically fell into his arms.

“I’m really sorry,” I apologized to Mr. Sullivan. “I’ll get these guys out of here.” But the soldier with his arm around my shoulder started pawing my chest and then my crotch. As hard as I tried to suppress the boner growing in my pants, I just couldn’t, and Mr. Sullivan took note. I thought I would die of embarrassment, but Mr. Sullivan flashed me the biggest grin I have ever seen in my life, and the raise of his eyebrows told me that he fully approved of what he saw.

“These guys aren’t going anywhere right now,” said Mr. Sullivan. “They’re certainly in no condition to drive. I wouldn’t mind driving them back to the base, but they’ll be in a shitload of trouble if they show up like this. Do you have any coffee?”

“Coffee?” I asked. “Oh…uh…yeah, we keep some in the break room for the guys.” I wash the pot out every night, but I hadn’t gotten to it yet that night. Fortunately, there were several cups left in the pot when we managed to drag the soldiers into the break room. The java was no doubt stale and tasted like shit, but they were in no condition to notice, let alone complain.

Besides a couple of small round tables with chairs, the break room also had a large vinyl couch against one wall. Mr. Sullivan got the boys situated while I served up two cups of coffee. I also offered a cup to Mr. Sullivan, but he winked at me as he retrieved a flask from the pocket of one of the grunts. Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed the contents and nearly whiplashed.

“Whew!” he said. “That’s some potent shit.” He took a swig of the liquor and then surprised me when he offered the flask to me. I demurred, but he insisted, “Oh, come on, sport. You look like you could use a swig…or two.” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my being faced with the unexpected responsibility of looking after two drunk soldiers or the embarrassment I exhibited at being caught with a raging hard-on. Either way, I accepted the flask and took a swig. And then another.

Mr. Sullivan and I bent over the two soldiers and tried to coax them into drinking the coffee, but they were too unstable, so we squeezed between them on the couch, Mr. Sullivan tending to one of the guys while I focused on the other one. We propped them up while pouring lukewarm coffee down their throats. The couch was wide enough for all four of us, but just barely. The body heat from Mr. Sullivan on one side of me and the hunky soldier on the other side overwhelmed me, and my goddam cock betrayed me again.

I shifted my body, hoping that Mr. Sullivan would not see me tenting again, but that just made it easier for the soldier to zero in on the growing bulge in my jeans. “Tooools,” he mumbled, as he had at the front door. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he squeezed my cock through my pants. “Need tools baaad.”

At that, Mr. Sullivan, of course, looked over my shoulder and saw what all the excitement was about. I wanted to crawl under that couch and hide, but Mr. Sullivan just roared with laughter. Putting one hand on my shoulder, he assured me that my condition was nothing to be ashamed of. But then he said something about how uncomfortable it must be, and before I knew it, he had opened my fly and freed my raging dick, to which the soldier beamed and then dove for like a Kamikaze. Despite my six and a half inches (a little above average in that department too), the guy swallowed the full length and buried his nose in my plush pubes.

All the while, the other soldier had been all over Mr. Sullivan until the electrician, my teammate’s dad, stood up, dropped his pants, and shoved his stiffening cock down the kid’s eager throat. I don’t know if I was more shocked at being spontaneously blown by a complete stranger, being exposed and popping a boner in front of my friend’s dad, or seeing that same man face fuck the young soldier next to me. In short course, though, I forgot about all of that and just surrendered to the pleasure surging through my cock and balls.

When Mr. Sullivan pulled out of the soldier’s mouth to let him catch his breath, I got the answer to my earlier question: the man was indeed as hung as his son Jeff, if not more so. Seeing me gape at his monster cock, Mr. Sullivan flashed that captivating smile again and took a couple of steps to the side until he was standing directly in front of me, his weapon bearing down on my face.

I looked up at him in wonder, and when he nodded his encouragement, I took his big dick in my hand. As much as I wanted to swallow it immediately, I first needed to just relish the feel of it. I caressed it slowly and thoroughly, simultaneously massaging his giant balls with my other hand. I leaned in, brushing my cheeks against his manhood and taking in the musky aroma that he had built up from a long day of hard work. The smell was overwhelmingly strong, but intoxicating, like a stiff inhalation of poppers.

The sweat under his balls tasted bittersweet, and I loved the manliness of it.

From there, I licked my way up the shaft until I reached the tip. At that point, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I swallowed that muthafucker…well, as much of it as I could. I had never seen a cock that big, let alone sucked one like it. It must’ve been at least eight inches long and thick enough to choke a horse. All the while, the soldier next to me never stopped sucking on my dick, and the other grunt, not to be left out, alternated between helping his buddy lick my popsicle and licking Mr. Sullivan’s balls as I sucked his cock—giving new meaning to the term “servicemen.”

I knew that Mr. Sullivan was about to shoot because I felt the palpitations in his dick. I had every intention of swallowing every drop, but my own dick burst open with such force that I threw my head back reflexively, and while the two soldiers fought over the juice gushing from my tool, Mr. Sullivan exploded all over my face. And man, did he explode! I had never seen so much cum in my life.

Once the two Army boys had lapped up every drop of the white goo from my rod, they lunged at my face, licking up every drop of Mr. Sullivan’s spunk. They even thrust their tongues into my mouth to shovel up every drop that had landed in there. Then, they turned to each other and slurped the residual baby batter off of each other, swapping it back and forth several times before finally swallowing it. Exhausted, the four of us collapsed on the ugly green couch.

Despite the caffeine we had poured into them, the soldiers zonked out. Who knows what other adventures earlier that evening had driven them to exhaustion.

As our surprise guests slept, Mr. Sullivan and I talked. He told me that he had had his eye on me ever since I joined the football team but didn’t dare do anything until I was 18. I expressed surprise that he would be interested in guys since he was married. “I’m bi,” he said. “We both are…Emily and I. We enjoy sex with each other, but we also like a little variety now and then. Sometimes she goes out on her own, sometimes I do, and sometimes we hook up with another couple or two—sometimes with the person of the opposite sex, sometimes the same sex. It’s all sex, and it’s all good.”

I was stunned. “What about Jeff? Does he know?”

“Of course,” Mr. Sullivan replied. “We have always been very open with Jeff about sex. We don’t interfere when he has girls over, and he doesn’t interfere when we have other people over.”

I was speechless. I couldn’t imagine such a thing.

“You’re welcome to join us sometimes if you’d like,” he offered.

“What? Me? Oh, fuck no!” I blurted out in shock. “I love dick. Pussy is not my thing.”

“OK,” he allowed, “but what about joining me and some other guys sometime?”

As that thought raced through my mind, Mr. Sullivan walked right up to me, stared lustfully into my eyes, wrapped his strong, muscular arms around me, and kissed me. It was such a loving kiss that I nearly melted. The only part of me that didn’t go weak was my dick, which shot up like a rocket. Mr. Sullivan was holding me close enough to feel my hard-on, and he responded by grabbing my ass and pulling my crotch into his. I obviously wasn’t the only one with an erection. He continued to kiss me lovingly and then passionately. I had never been kissed like that before. When he finally let go, I said breathlessly, “Holy fuck!” And hoping to break the spell he had cast over me, I jokingly complained, “Look what you’ve done. Now I’m gonna have to jack off again.”

“Oh, there’s a better way to handle this situation,” he laughed. I wasn’t quite sure what he had in mind, but he looked over at the two soldiers just as they were beginning to stir again. I still wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but I was beginning to get the idea.

Though they were still drunk and still half asleep, both soldiers were sporting woodies. Mr. Sullivan reached over to one of them, not the one he had face fucked, but the one who wouldn’t let go of my cock. He rubbed the soldier’s rock-hard dick through his camos, and the kid purred like a kitten. Mr. Sullivan promptly untied his boots and removed them before unbuckling his pants and removing those. With that prompt, the other insatiable soldier plopped over and began sucking his buddy’s stiffie.

Mr. Sullivan looked at me and then nodded toward the soldier who still had his pants on.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” I replied, realizing what he was instructing me to do.

“So, you’re just gonna stand there and let him suffer? He’s gotta be in pain with his dick trapped like that.”

I don’t know if I succumbed to the silly logic or just wanted an excuse to proceed, but I took the bait and stripped that soldier as Mr. Sullivan had done with the other one. We didn’t stop with the pants, though. We stripped them completely, and, man, was I glad we did. They were both buff from all the training they had obviously been through—broad shoulders and chests, ultra-thick biceps, and ripped abs. One of them was as smooth as a baby’s butt, and the other one had a thick coat of black fur that tapered into a treasure trail that nearly drove me wild. I wanted to lick them both all over.

Mr. Sullivan went down on his captive and sucked him like a pro, and I did the same with mine.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any lube,” Mr. Sullivan paused long enough to inquire.

“Not here,” I replied.

“No problem. We’ll just improvise,” and with that he resumed sucking until the guy dumped a heavy load into his mouth. But Mr. Sullivan didn’t swallow the juice. Instead, he flipped the guy over and spit the spunk into the guy’s ass, thus lubing him up. Then, he spit some on his own dick and lathered it good before inserting it into the soldier’s ass. He pressed slowly at first as the soldier grimaced, but once the kid relaxed, Mr. Sullivan started pumping harder…and harder…and harder. I couldn’t help but think, Damn! What I wouldn’t give to get fucked like that.”

I loved watching Mr. Sullivan fuck. It was so powerful and such a turn-on, but my own cock was begging for relief, so I sucked my stud’s dick until he dumped his load into my mouth. Then, emulating Mr. Sullivan’s technique, I flipped him over, spit some cum into his ass, and used the rest to lube up my own cock. Like Mr. Sullivan, I eased in at first, but once the guy started to relax, I picked up the pace until I was matching Mr. Sullivan’s rhythm. Of course, any fuck is good, but this one was special for me because I was sharing it with someone—and not just anyone, but a real stud of a man. Gawd, he was hot.

Mr. Sullivan was very verbal. He not only moaned a lot as he fucked, but he talked too. “You want my dick inside you, don’t you, kid? You want me to fuck you harder, don’t you? You want me to fuck you so hard that my cum squirts out your eyeballs. Brace yourself, soldier. I’m about to blast my bazooka so far up your hole, you’re gonna see stars.”

And he talked that way to me too. “Oh, yeah, kid. Fuck the shit out of that soldier. Show him who’s the real man here. Fuck him hard, stud. Breed that fuckin’ bastard.”

I don’t know if the kid enjoyed Mr. Sullivan’s dirty talk, but it drove me wild. Part of me wanted him to pull out at the end so I could watch him shoot, but I loved the way he drove his cock even deeper when he came, shooting his load far into the soldier’s guts. He screamed so loud that I was never so glad our store was set on a large lot with no other businesses or houses within shouting distance.

I held out as long as I could because I didn’t want to miss the show playing out next to me, but when I heard Mr. Sullivan scream—along with the man he was fucking—I could hold back no longer. I shot my load and never felt such a rush of accomplishment. I certainly didn’t feel average any longer.

(to be continued)

2 notes · View notes

forsty · 2 years

Text

random Forest facts because I adore him so much

- his actual name is Ole Skog. When he came to Virginia City people had so much trouble pronouncing “Ole” that he earned the nickname Forest, which he ends up just going by. BUT... the norwegian word for Forest is.. Skog... so his name is just Forest Forest

- Couldn’t ride horses until he was... 19 maybe? He LOVES horses and isn’t scared of them, but learning to ride horses was just never a thing until Joe decides it’s time.

- Has 2 horses... how does a guy who previously couldn’t ride suddenly end up with 2? WELL LET ME TELL YOU

- Cleopatra is an old appaloosa mare with a heart of gold and the softest and kindest personality you’d ever see on a horse (especially a mare??). After Forest learned to ride, the Cartwrights brought him to a horse auction where he was supposed to find himself a strong and young riding horse. Instead he picked Cleopatra. A retired circus horse who can’t really be ridden much anymore. Forest just decided that he wanted that sweet old lady to live out the rest of her years in comfort. He never rides her, he just takes her for walks and lets her graze and do her thing.

- Askeladden (named after a Norwegian fairytale hero) is a norwegian fjord horse stallion who’s a good boy but also extremely mischievous. He was a gift from Joe to Forest. Somehow (with good connections I assume) Joe managed to find a fjord horse breeder/importer and bought one of the foals. Forest went BONKERS. Ask is a good horse, but has ALOT of personality. You never see his eyes, it’s always covered by his fringe/mane and he’s always munching on some grass.

- The type of person who accidentally wanders into trouble... his head is often in the clouds daydreaming about stuff (mostly about kissing Joe HEHEHEH)

- Became good friends with Joe really early, they’ve been friends since they were 13 (Joe 14 since he’s one year older). Joe took one look at this introverted new norwegian kid (who could barely speak english) and decided HE’S MY FRIEND. Brought him home to the Ponderosa and showed his new friend to Ben like “CAN I KEEP HIM, PA? PLEASE?”

- He falls in love with Joe very gradually over time... probably realizes it himself when he’s around 17 and then 10 long years of pining for his bestfriend in secret begins...... Joe doesn’t fucking realize anything cause he’s oblivious AF, but he’s a bisexual roller coaster

- Obsessed with fairy tales and folk lore and things like that. He loves telling and drawing things from norwegian folk lore. He once managed to convince Hoss that trolls existed and Hoss spent a few weeks thinking trolls were after him (Joe thought it was hilarious)

- Hopeless romantic and way too passionate for his own good... He’s the type of person to sit under a tree in the woods pulling petals off a flower and going “He loves me...... he loves me not...... he loves me......”

- Obsessed with animals... he has a raccoon who shows up at his home that he sorta trained and named Francis (Francis being Joe’s middle name in case you didn’t know). He loves to venture into nature to sit down and sketch some animals and Joe often accompanies him (both to keep him company but also to make sure Forest doesn’t get eaten by a cougar or a bear because Forest WILL get so lost in the art sauce and forget that THOSE ANIMALS GO BITEY IF YOU COME TOO CLOSE)

- Was scared of Adam in the beginning, and sometimes still is. (He has tremendous respect for him)

LISTEN I JUST LOVE MY BOY SO MUCH

#bonanza #western #FORSTY RAMBLES ABOUT FOREST ONCE AGAIN #my sweet boy #my bonanza oc my beloved

6 notes · View notes

joelockescoffee · 2 years

Note

I just rewatched Heartstopper after a while and I think we should talk a bit more about how talented everyone in the cast is. First, both Bash and Cormac are amazing actors because although they seem like lovely people in real life, I get the urge to punch them in the face the moment they appear on screen. Their roles seem like probably the hardest ones to me to play and I wish someone would ask them in an interview if it was difficult to say and do all they did (if they've already talked about this, please tell me where). Also, Will and Tao are so different I always forget they’re the same person. Corinna's monologue from episode 6 where she's crying makes me want to cry every time too. Tobie's facial expressions throughout the whole show are priceless. And obviously Joe and Kit, but they are both so good I don't even know what to say. I rewind their scenes all the time, often just because of the way they say certain lines. I really hope all of them will have successful careers

Everything you said 💯 I fall short of words when it comes to describing the acting in the show, the whole exceeded everyone's expectations and brilliantly portrayed their characters, each one of them did an amazing job. I agree Bash and Cormac are really sweet and down to earth, I've listened to Bash's podcast that was released weeks after hs, but I don't recall him being asked such question? I'd also like to know about his experience playing Ben, I read somewhere Cormac said in an interview that he was scared he will get too much hate because of the character he plays, he thought of staying away from social media after hs release, then he said he was wrong, fans have been really kind towards him, and have appreciated him for his acting.

#j coffee answers

9 notes · View notes

ridiculousimplicity · 2 years

Text

Heartstopper Ep3

Oh, so her name's Imogen! Hehehe.. She clearly has a crush on Nicholas. 😊 Those purple hearts were adorable.

OMG! He asked Charlie if he'd accompany him to the party! 🤩

I feel sorta sad for Tao because he really wanted to hang out with his besties tonight & sadly two of them couldn't make it. Aww..

Haha.. Charlie & Nick looking for each other in that crowded party was heart poundingly cute!

Okay, seriously, that Harry needs to take a chill pill.

ATTENTION: Charlie don't go. Do Not Assume Nick Likes Tara. Do. not. Assume! 😥

Aww.. Okay, so now Nick knows Tara is a lesbian and has a girlfriend too. Gods, Tara and Darcy are sweet too. Hehehe..

Aww.. considering that Nick has finally accepted that he feels much better around Charlie, it goes without saying that Charlie is his best friend. :D

Harry, you little -- dumbass.. I have never understood why people make fun of someone’s feelings/crush on someone. Recently, I watched this movie called A Whisker Away (you can catch it on Netflix. Lovely animation and a sweet story) and **spoilers ahead** it had a scene where a classmate of the female lead snatched her letter (which she’d written for her crush) and read it out loud in front of the whole class, including her crush and kept laughing in between. It was truly nerve wracking and painful to watch it. The female lead says in a broken voice to not “make fun of her feelings.” And that truly was heartbreaking. You could see the subtle way the insolent boy reacted to her words (he must’ve felt ashamed) but still went on to ask the male lead (the crush) how he’d respond to her confession. **spoiler ended**

Anyway, that scene reminded me how fucking cruel people can be when they don’t have anyone to teach them compassion and kindness.

And this scene where Harry is making fun of Charlie’s supposed crush on Nick is disgusting. It makes it even worse because he assumes that everyone will laugh, nod and agree with him about how pitiful Charlie is just because he’s gay. I am furious!

Well, that was valiant of Nick and truly remarkable of him to walk out from there. We shouldn’t tolerate such disgusting things either, guys. Harry must’ve been feeling like he’s on a pedestal, thinking he’s joking while he really was being downright cruel.

Onto lighter matters, it’s so sweet to see this bond between Tao and Elle. (somebody give me tissues *tearing up*) I agree with Elle.

“Sometimes change is a good thing.”

EXCUSE ME! Okay, people, listen! If anyone ever comes to you and says

“I’m sorry about what happened. Have you finished sulking about it?”

then you have the right to get the fuck outta there like the hellhounds are on your tail! Alright?

Like Joe says to Mia in Princess Diaries “ Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

You. Have the right to feel. What you feel!

If the other person is sane and courteous and compassionate enough to approach you properly, basically way better than how Ben does to Charlie, then you know you can have a decent discussion to sort out what’s going on. Otherwise, NOPE!

Imogen is really pretty. I like how her eyes shimmer in those disco dancing lights!

What?! OMG!! Yes! Considering the title of the episode I thought (yes, wishful thinking *rolling my eyes*) that maybe Charlie and Nick might share a kiss, no matter how small, doesn’t have to be on the lips either. I’m even more happy to see Tara and Darcy embracing the party and finally feeling free enough to share a kiss here, among the crowds! Oh god! It was so utterly sweet too!

Also Nick witnessed that moment and felt happy and a sort of admiration for them showed how maybe it’s not too bad to discover and embrace new things about himself.

Yes! Nick found Charlie finally! Ohohoho.. You know the minute Charlie mentioned Ben, you can see Nick’s face fall. Like he is scared that Charlie will slip away. Ahhhhhhhhh..

Bro, how big is this house?!?

OMG! I love snarky Nick! :D

First of all, I loved how Nick is so vulnerable and open with Charlie and the questions leading up to the kiss were so soft spoken and even more softly answered. And the kiss! Sweet lord, I held my breath all through it, because this nasty part of my brain kept saying someone will interrupt this beautiful moment and ruin it with their disgusting opinions and whatever reactions and Charlie’s heart will be broken and Nick will heartbroken too and then there will be a much bigger chasm for the both of them to find their way back to each other!

Thankfully, whatever I expected didn’t happen and I was so glad that they kissed again! Their little pinkies intertwining was such a small detail but a meaningful one! And Nick went on to hold Charlie’s hand and I felt my heart soar at that!

BUT! Harry literally broke the trance. That little shit!

God, the way Nick got up as if he was burned or afraid of being walked in on, gave my second hand flashbacks of Charlie sort of going through the same with Ben. Ugh... This fear has got to stop!

Oh god! Charlie’s overthinking and assuming things again. (T_T)

Waaaaaaa--- Nicholas is here?! (0.0)

4 notes · View notes

illfoandillfie · 4 years

Text

Celebration Day

BxRxJ Masterlist

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello x Reader

Summery: Ben's birthday gift is as much a surprise for you as it is for him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral sex (m receiving), nothing especially kinky,just some good ol’ fashioned birthday/reunion sex

Words: 2164

A/N: This wasn’t really planned. I knew I wanted to do more brj but I didn’t have any solid plans for it. And then the other day, while I was writing something else entirely, I had the sudden urge to do this piece. Technically this is for Ben’s bday but like well late lmao

Taglist: @laedymoon @dtfrogertaylor @ezmina98 @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @supersonicfreddie

It was two in the morning on the second of January when the text came through.

Joe: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BENNY 💕😘

Ben reached for it automatically, making you groan when you were forced to pull away from his chest before you’d finished the hickey you’d started. “Y’know if you’re not interested I can always go to sleep,” “Thought you said you were too tired to sleep,” Ben said distractedly as he typed a reply. “Well maybe I’ll just go watch Netflix then,” you pushed yourself up, swinging your leg back over Ben’s hips and making to slip out of the bed. Ben’s arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you back onto his lap as you squealed, “No need for that, I promise I’m very interested. You were saying something about a present?” “Finished flirting with your boyfriend then?” “I can flirt with him and make out with you at the same time, see, I’ll prove it,” with one hand he opened the camera on his phone as his other cupped your face and pulled you towards him. You giggled at the snap of the camera, letting Ben break the kiss to examine the photo. That’s how the last month and a half had gone, texts and emails and Skype sessions. It wasn’t easy but you made it work, kept up the habit of checking in with each other so you knew how everyone felt. Regular date nights happened over websites that let you sync up movies and telephone calls on speaker. One time Joe went to the MoMA and kept you and Ben on video chat the whole time, showing you everything he saw. It made the distance easier to bare though it couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. “Joe’s gonna love it,” he said softly as he sent it off, “or at the very least he’s going to be insanely jealous and come back sooner.” From outside the bedroom you heard a text alert. “Did I send it to you accidentally?” Ben asked, looking back down at the screen. “My phone’s right here,” “Well, shit. I wanted it to be a surprise.” Both you and Ben whipped your heads around at the sound of Joe’s voice, finding him standing in the doorway, his phone clutched in one hand, Ben’s spare key dangling from his finger. “What are you doing here?” “Who cares Ben, as long as he’s here.” Joe dropped his bag where he stood, letting the key and phone fall on top before rushing to the side of the bed. You wriggled out of Ben’s grasp, almost throwing yourself at Joe and kissing him hard. He sighed against your lips, hands falling to your waist and then sliding lower still. Ben cleared his throat behind you, “excuse you but I believe it’s my birthday,” “Sorry, honey,” Joe mumbled as he let you go. There was a half second pause as you stepped back and then suddenly Joe rushed forward and threw himself onto the bed, making Ben yell as all of Joe’s weight landed on his lap. “Still as clingy as ever,” Joe laughed before wrapping his arms around Ben’s neck and leaning in to kiss him too. You couldn’t stop smiling as you walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in beside them.

“Seriously though,” Ben said, looking more than a little dazed, “What are you doing here? When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell us?” “I’m here because I missed you both too much to stay away any longer. I got back about, um, maybe an hour ago, bit longer I guess. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get you a birthday present and I figured this could be it. I expected you’d be asleep when I sent the text, so I was going to crash in the other room and surprise you in the morning but then you replied. What are you both doing up so late?” “We might have spent most of the day sleeping off a couple of hangovers,” You said slyly, leaning your head against Ben’s shoulder. “I did wonder how you’d go today, both of you looked pretty plastered in some of those photos. Didn’t realise Lucy and Rami would throw such a rager.” “Yeah, it was fun,” Ben laughed, “but god today, yesterday rather, was awful.” “Not so awful now though?” “Definitely not.” “Good, especially since I seem to have interrupted something,” Joe pressed his finger against one of the marks you’d left there moments before. “Y’know, Joe, if you’d given me some warning you were coming home I could have prepared something special for both of you.” “Oh?” Joe looked at you questioningly, “You mean like a cake or something?” “Uhh, not quite,” Ben cocked an eyebrow and looked toward you, “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” “What? What’s she talking about?” “Well you have to admit this seems like the sort of occasion that would warrant…that kind of thing.” “You’d do that with us? I didn’t think you’d be into it,” “If you’d asked me a few months ago I would have thought the same thing but, I don’t know, guess I’ve been thinking about it a bit lately,” you shrugged, “but only if I had time to like get ready first.” “If one of you doesn’t explain soon I might just fuck off back to the US,” You laughed and shook your head, “double penetration, Joe, that’s what I was talking about.” Ben let out a bark of laughter at the sight of Joe’s stunned face, “So you were talking about what I thought you were talking about, good.” “Two things. Firstly,” Joe held up one finger, “Is this whole understanding each other with half a sentence to go off of thing something you’re going to be doing a lot? And two,” he put up a second finger, “Y/N, I love you.” “Well, like I said, it’s not happening right now,” “Doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re incredible for even suggesting it.” “There is something else I can do for you now though,” You pushed yourself up on your knees and shuffled to the end of the bed, holding out your hand to Joe in invitation to take the spot you’d just vacated. He obliged, glancing at Ben as he settled against the pillow, both of them smiling as you settled back on your knees. It was nice seeing them both again, back in the same place, the same room, the same bed. You took a breath to steady yourself, the pure joy of the moment threatening to overwhelm you. When you felt you’d calmed down enough you moved closer to them, between their legs, reaching forward to undo the fly of Joe’s pants. He was quick to kick them off, eager after so long away. For a moment both boys watched you, eyes glued to your lips when you let a string of saliva drip down, to your hand as you began pumping it over his shaft, spreading the spit from base to tip. Their breaths were shallow and audible. “Christ,” Joe groaned, head falling back against the pillow when you finally took him in your mouth, going slowly. Ben chuckled and propped himself up, “On any other birthday I’d complain about you getting more attention than me. But I think I can let it slide today.” Joe’s own laugh was muffled as Ben kissed him. You pulled up, one hand stroking Joe’s thigh softly, “Don’t worry Benny, haven’t forgotten you.” Ben groaned and broke the kiss as you pulled the waistband of his joggers down, much quicker to wrap your lips around his head. Joe took the opportunity to lift his shirt off over his head, grabbing the hem of Ben’s as soon as he was done. You brought one hand back to Joe’s cock as you took Ben a little deeper, listening for their groans and sighs of pleasure as their lips met once more. Alternating between the two of them, you bobbed your head over one and your hand over the other, taking them deeper each time, until the room was full of their moans, muffled by each other’s tongues, and your gags. Each time you came up for air and to switch, you would steal a glance at them, smiling to yourself at the way the looked when wrapped up in each other, their hair mussed, eyes closed, fingers grasping. If you took too long though one of them was sure to blindly reach for your head, pushing you back down. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to ignore how wet you were to focus on them instead.

And then Joe moved, slipped out of Ben’s reach, behind you. You pulled off of Ben, taking note of the fucked out, slightly stunned expression on his face as you turned to find Joe. “What’re you doing?” you half laughed, his fingers tickling your thighs as he pulled your pants down your legs slowly, “you didn’t finish yet.” He pulled you back against his chest, breath against your ear sending a shiver down your spine with every word, “As much as I love what you’re doing, and believe me I love it, I’ve been thinking about your pussy for weeks now. So, if you don’t mind…” he plucked the hem of your underwear. “S’pose I can accept that,” you turned your head so he could see your smile, which only got wider as he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth and then a few more along your jaw. Shaking your head to bring yourself back to earth, you made to lean forward once more, intending on finishing what you’d started with Ben. Except that Ben moved too, pushing himself to his knees in front of you. His hands found your tits, squeezing them as Joe’s fingers slipped into you. Before you had time to register the changes, you were caught between them, three of Joe’s fingers pumping into you as Ben’s hands wandered over your body. “Ready?” Joe asked, receiving only a whine in response. He chuckled, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and then you were holding onto Ben’s shoulders as Joe pushed into you, slowly working himself deeper. You’d known you missed Joe but feeling him like that, his breath coming in pants against the back of your neck, his hands holding you tightly, his hard length buried as deep in you as he could possibly get, you were hit by the sudden realisation of you how much you’d missed having him in this specific way. He held you differently than Ben did, fucked you differently. It wasn’t better or worse but it was different and you’d missed it so much. “You okay?” Ben asked softly, catching sight of your face. “I’m fucking wonderful,”

As soon as you told him to move Joe brought his hips back and then snapped them forward once more, building up a quick pace. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, back arching towards Ben as he plucked at your nipples. It was a far cry from the slow steady way you’d blown them. Distance had made Joe desperate and needy, fucking you fast, making you moan as he did everything to prove that time and space apart hadn’t made him forget what you liked. His fingers danced over your clit as he rammed into you. Not the slow, romantic night of passion you’d perhaps envisioned when you thought about Joe’s return, but still perfect in its own way. You came with a cry, Joe still rubbing your clit, though somewhat less consistently, as he finished too. You could feel his seed dripping out of you as he pulled out, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss you deeply. You almost bit his tongue as you felt Ben push his cock between your legs, both of them working to adjust your position slightly to make it easier. You ended up with one leg draped over Joe’s arm, their steady support the only thing keeping you from collapsing on your slightly shaky leg. Joe moved his mouth to your neck, leaving marks down to your shoulders, occasionally pausing in his path to whisper dirty words into your ear. Ben’s thumb took over rubbing your clit until you fell over the edge again, swearing as you became too sensitive under the circles his thumb was making. He shifted his hand to your waist, holding you as he thrust into you, his own orgasm approaching. You clenched around him, unintentional, caused by Joe biting down on that particular spot, but it was enough to have Ben grunting through his release.

They let you go gently, making sure you were okay as you crawled up the bed and collapsed against the pillow, Ben stealing another kiss from Joe before they both joined you, Joe in the middle where both of you could reach him.

#my writing #ben hardy x reader x joe mazzello #ben hardy smut #joe mazzello smut #bxrxj #me: relationship who?#also me: but when will ben and joe fall in love with me?

201 notes · View notes

nevermindirah · 3 years

Text

Yitzhak!

is a character! who Gregadiah What-Is-Math Rucka gave us almost no information about!

I've gone through Tales Through Time #6: The Bear and #1: My Mother's Axe with several magnifying glasses and done a lot of googling and taken my copy of the Tanakh off my shelf for the first time since (well, since the last time I needed to read Torah for TOG reasons, which I think was Booker Passover headcanons) and here's the best I can come up with.

In The Bear we meet someone who goes by the name Isaac Blue:

Read on for a lot of comic panel analysis and historical research and Jewish flailing!

So what do we know about this Isaac Blue person?

He's Lorge, he's got curly hair, he's basically a taller version of Joe as drawn by Leandro Fernández (ie an antisemitic stereotype why the fuck did they approve this character design?? and then why did they double down and copy-paste it to Yitzhak??):

He's got a mezuzah on the doorpost of his house in Alaska!

I screamed about the mezuzah way back in January in this post where I (very reasonably) assumed this character was Joe and spun myself a tale about how Booker is still Joe's brother so the mezuzah stays up even though Booker isn't welcome in that house for a century. Bottom line: the mezuzah is a tradition with origins in the commandment from Deuteronomy 6:9 to "write the words of G-d on the gates and doorposts of your house" and evolved over the course of the Rabbinic period into the modern mezuzah we see here.

I did unnecessary levels of google image search to glean absolutely no useful information about Yitzhak’s origins from this panel:

I've decided the variant cover of TTT 6 is Yitzhak because of a panel in My Mother’s Axe, shown here, and what's likely an unnecessarily deep reading of Exodus, discussed further down:

The person at the right of the bottom panel is wearing the same clothes as in the TTT 6 variant cover and has the same shoulder-length curly hair and hairy forearms.

Left to right, the people in this panel are Lykon (I'll never get used to him being white in the comics), Andy, Noriko (I think? why doesn't Andy mention her by name here?), and Yitzhak. Andy's robe has a stereotypically Greek design on the sleeve cuff, and I had to stop myself 10 minutes into a Wikipedia rabbit hole because Gregorforth doesn't think that deep about this shit. The solid clues as to timeline that we get in this panel are:

Andy's iron axe

the presence of Lykon, who Andy first met in 331 BCE

So all we know is that Yitzhak is an immortal, he was a contemporary of Lykon, and he's Jewish.

Isaac is the most common Anglicization of Yitzhak (which in turn is the most common Anglophone transliteration of יִצְחָק‎), and Greg always uses the (transliterated) Hebrew when he refers to this character. Yitzhak is the long-awaited child of Abraham and Sarah in Genesis, the child who G-d commanded Abraham to sacrifice but spared at the last minute. I see what you did there, Gregory.

Why Isaac Blue? This is where I pulled out my Tanakh. According to the New JPS translation, blue is the first of three colors of yarn listed in Exodus 35:6 among the gifts requested of the Israelites to construct the priestly garments for the Tabernacle and later the Temple. Then in Numbers 15:38 the Israelites are commanded to "make themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner."

And now for sandbox timelines party! Gregadiah gave us ALMOST NOTHING to go on, so I'm gonna make my own fun.

I, like many modern Jews, think the stories in the Tanakh are foundational mythology that are valuable because of how they've shaped our people but that contain some fucked-up shit and either way aren't meant to be a record of historical facts. Modern scholarship generally agrees that the community we now call Jews emerged as a distinct group of Canaanites sometime in the late Bronze Age (cw this video's host says the Name of G-d aloud despite being a religious studies scholar who knows that is not a name anyone but the Temple priests are allowed to say). The first non-Biblical written record of the people Israel is from an Egyptian source c. 1200 BCE, and the Biblical kingdom of David and Solomon was probably an exaggeration of whatever really happened during the Bronze Age Collapse. We start getting into historical-fact territory a few centuries into the Iron Age:

588 BCE Solomon's Temple destroyed, Babylonian exile begins

538 BCE Cyrus of Persia allows Jews to return to Jerusalem

515 BCE Second Temple construction complete

332 BCE Alexander the Great At Something I Guess conquered Judea, beginning the Hellenistic period of Jewish history — 331 BCE Andy & Lykon find each other

167 BCE another jerkface Greek king desecrated the Temple and basically outlawed Judaism

164 BCE recapture of Jerusalem and Temple rededication during the Maccabean Revolt

70 CE destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans, beginning of the Rabbinic period of Jewish history that we're still in now

What if... and hear me out... what if immortals come in pairs, and the pairs are:

Andy & Quynh

Joe & Nicky

Booker & Nile

LYKON & YITZHAK

What if Yitzhak was a priest of the Second Temple? What if he and Lykon killed each other just like Joe and Nicky would in the same city around 1300 years later, but instead of enemies-to-lovers speedrun with an absurdly long happily-ever-after, when Lykon died permanently Yitzhak decided to separate from Andy and Noriko and become the hermit we later see in Alaska?

We don't know how old Yitzhak is compared to the others, only that he was a contemporary of Lykon at a time when Andy was using an Iron Age version of her mother's axe. Other plausible origins for him:

a Jew of the early Rabbinic period, maybe a child or grandchild of people who were still alive before the Second Temple was destroyed

a Judean of the Second Temple era under the Romans or Greeks or Persians, maybe a priest, maybe not

an exilee in Babylon, maybe of the generation who got to return, maybe of the generation who was exiled (he doesn't look like he was 50 at his first death but who knows, he could've been mortal for both)

an Israelite of the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah, maybe a priest of Solomon's Temple or again maybe not

an Israelite wandering in the desert with Moses

THEE Yitzhak, ben Avraham v'Sarah, our patriarch who was brought up for sacrifice and then spared, and then spared again, and then spared again, and again, and again...

or! he could also be a Canaanite or other Levantine who predates the people Israel, who at some point in his very long life chose to join our mixed multitude, who like Andromache before him (and like Avram and Sarai would in this case do after him) took a new name to reflect the magnitude of influence this people has had on him

Why do I keep saying Yitzhak might have been a priest? It's thanks to the one detail in the artwork I could plausibly connect to solid research without getting a PhD real quick. Take a look at the gorgeous detail on the opening of his robe in the TTT 6 cover. He's dressed in rags, holes and dirt everywhere, rough stitches probably from hasty repair work — except for the neck opening. Compare that to this description from Exodus 39:23 of the construction of the priestly garments for the Tabernacle: "The opening of the robe, in the middle of it, was like the opening of a coat of mail, with a binding around the opening, so that it would not tear."

The next verses describe the intricate designs for the hem of the priestly garment. Yitzhak's ragged garment looks like the hem was torn off entirely.

Am I overthinking this? Yes I am! You're welcome!

My friend and historical research hero @lady-writes is in a Discord server with Gregadiah and asked the man himself some questions about all this. He clearly thinks he's being sneaky?? No shit Yitzhak is Jewish, dude, I want DETAILS!

I will not be giving up my Jewish Booker headcanon, I've put too much thought into it by now, the internalized shame of antisemitism explains Booker's depression too well for me, and it just adds so much richness to Booker/Nile both being children of forced diasporas. Fortunately (for him, not me, bc I'd do it anyway!) Gregothy supports fan headcanons even when they're not in line with his own:

One last thing before I close like 100 research tabs and go back to writing historical fantasy and/or porn! I love that, despite that atrocious caricature of a face design, our canon Jew and our fanon Jew are both Lorge and Soft and Kind, flying the face of the antisemitic stereotype of Ashkenazi Jewish men as small and weak, but also not falling into the New Jew / Muscle Jew stereotype that Zionism created. (I am trying SO HARD not to talk about Israel/Palestine for once ughhhhhhhhhh) Anyway here's a (US-centric but very good) primer on both these stereotypes of Jewish masculinity. Is this why I'm forever projecting my transmasc diasporist feels onto Jewish Booker the service sub? 🤷🏻‍♂️

I’ll reblog a second version of this with full image descriptions so that there’s a version accessible for folks who need IDs as well as a version accessible for folks who get overwhelmed by walls of text.

#TOG POC Love Fest #yitzhak #jewish booker #tales through time spoilers #tales through time #tog meta #tog #jewish things #mine #antisemitism #hi i'm an antizionist jew no i don't really want to talk about it

158 notes · View notes