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lindsaystravelblogs3 · 9 months

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Day 70 – Wednesday, 2 August - Gallipoli

We had a really great day today - far better than I expected. I am not a big fan of war and war memorials and all the jingoism that goes with that, but we did a tour of Gallipoli and I found it an unexpectedly moving day.

We were picked up at 6:15 am for our four-and-a-half hour drive to ANZAC Cove. It is about 320 kms from Istanbul, starting with a couple of hours of stop-start peak hour traffic, followed by about the same amount of time, (often) driving at a hundred kilometres per hour above the speed limit. The Turks seem to think that all the speed restriction signs are misprints, with the leading ‘1’ having been omitted - except those that already have the leading 1, in which case they imagine that the 1 should be a 2. They have lots of other vision issues too - like all the GURs (Stop signs) painted in red octagons. They seem to read them as ‘SLOW - 100’. And they usually only go one way in One Way streets too – whichever way they want to go. Surprisingly, their interaction with pedestrians is much less consistent. Sometimes, it is a race to run the red light, with an average of about twenty seconds after the light turns red that some think they should slow down - unless there are real pedestrians on the crosswalk, which is a trigger to plant the foot a little harder. But at other times, a pedestrian might be approaching an arterial road, when one of the thousands of vehicles will stop on the middle of the road to let them cross (even if they didn’t intend to) - and can you imagine the chaos that creates behind them? Notwithstanding, traffic flows a lot better here than in Australia and it doesn’t seem to be a big deal for drivers - just an occasional toot, but nothing even approaching road rage.

But I diverge……. Once free of the city, the country opens out into huge areas of cultivation - much of it being sunflowers. I wonder how many we saw - certainly many billions, perhaps even trillions - kilometre after kilometre after kilometre for hundreds of kilometres. We were also driving fairly close to the ocean by now, and we had some good views of the Dardanelles, with quite a few tankers and other cargo ships making their way both north and south.

One of many thousands of Sunflower paddocks.

We stopped for a restroom break at 10:30 and by 11:30, we were eating lunch a few kilometres further down the road. We thought breakfast was included but we had to buy our own. We both ordered gozlemes - one vegetarian, and one with meat. We were served two vegetarian ones and decided not to mention it - they were close to the same price anyway. We were just about to eat the last piece when they came running up, full of apologies, but we said everything was good and we didn’t want any more. Needless to say, within a couple of minutes, another whole plate arrived brimming with meat ones. We managed to eat one piece each and tried to give the rest away - but no, the little lady came back with a box and wrapping, and sent us away with a full doggy box.

Lunch was also more than we could eat and we got slightly dudded when we paid for our drinks that were not included. They only take Turkish lira and we didn’t have enough. Not to worry - we had some US dollars. They did what seems common practice here. They convert the bill in lira to euros and round it up – with a conversion rate that is just a bit in their favour. Then they convert the euros to dollars and round it up again - a bit more in their favour. So our almost $AU9 drinks cost us $AU13 - but maybe they need it more than we do.

Te real tour started from there. Back on the bus, we drove to most of the sights at Gallipoli. We had a really excellent guide – a Turk who only does tours for English speakers. I thought his comments were very fair, but I suspected a slight undertone of contempt for his own country’s efforts.

We went to all three of the Australian landing points – all within about a kilometre – and were regaled with many heartbreaking stories of incidents that occurred over the nine months our Diggers were there. And because our soldiers (and theirs) were tunnelling under the enemy lines for much of the campaign, our men got the nickname of Diggers – I never knew how they got the name before.

We heard about various landmarks: the most notable was probably the Sphinx – our Diggers had been fighting in Egypt before Gallipoli and a rocky bluff near their attack point reminded them of the Egyptian sphinx. I learned a lot about the whole campaign that day, much of it pretty heart-tugging. It made me even more disgusted than ever with the Brits who threw the ANZACs in, essentially to divert attention and make their (and the French) planned landing easier and safer a few kilometres south of ANZAC Cove. (Churchill wasn’t called Churchill the Butcher for nothing!) They had sailed their big fleet up the Dardanelle Strait a few days earlier, thinking they could just take over Istanbul and the whole of Greece without a fight – and lost more than half the entire fleet because the Turks had mined the narrowest point. How stupid could Churchill be, imagining that the Brits could do as they liked without any risk from the Turks? So he decided to sacrifice the ANZACs to avoid a further disappointment with the British landing – that he suffered anyway. The ANZACS were loaded into landing craft eight miles out to sea with the expectation that they would row in, but Churchill thought our boys would be too tired to fight after all that work - so the Brits towed the craft in to where they were still well out of range of enemy fire and cast them loose to row the rest of the way, while the Brits scurried away out of harm's way.

I also learned that on the very first day, the Australian forces got to within a couple of hundred metres of their high-point target before the Turks regrouped and pushed them right back to the shore where they had landed. The Kiwis did reach their target, but only held it a couple of days before being pushed back to the beach too. Ataturk was a great General and did almost everything right. The whole campaign could well have been over with an Allied victory on the very first day if the British officers had just thougt a little more carefully about their strategy.

We went to the Lone Pine cemetery where lots of Aussies are buried – in unmarked graves, but with commemorative plaques indicating who were thought to be there. Lone Pine has a single thirty-year-old pine tree. The original one was destroyed but some seeds were returned to Australia and new generations of trees were grown from it and a new tree planted there in the nineties.

The current Lone Pine and a typical gravestone identifying those believed to be buried in the Lone Pine cemetery.

We were shown where the respective front lines were at either end of the cemetery - a complete stalemate for months, despite a couple of temporary successful forays and setbacks during the time. We were also shown some of the trenches the soldiers dug and lived in – about twenty metres apart in that area, but in some places, as close as eight metres – and tunnelling and booby-trapping under the enemies’ lines was common on both sides.

But all was not violence and hatred. There was once a half-day truce between the two armies in the area, during which soldiers of both sides helped each other remove the dead and wounded from no-man’s land – and then retreated to the trenches and started shooting at each other again. And there were plenty of stories of soldiers throwing things to each other (apart from grenades) – at least cigarettes and the makings. The Turks had tobacco, but no papers, and the Aussies had papers, but no tobacco, so they would throw packages of each across the lines to each other.

We also visited the New Zealand and Turkish Memorials. Both were a little overshadowed by giant statues of Ataturk (Kemal Mustafa Ataturk, as our guide invariably referred to him), but there is no denying that he was a massive influence in the Turkish war and is rightly regarded as the Father of Modern Turkey.

Maybe the most compelling emotion I experienced on the day was fury at the very concept of war – and that campaign in particular. Many of the decision-makers (the officers, and especially the top brass) were utter morons, making stupid decisions that cost many hundreds of lives on both sides – and all for what? It was a pointless scrap over a pointless scrap of land that produced no positive outcome anyway. The Poms and Aussie officers were probably the worst, but we never heard much detail from the other side – although their decisions must have been somewhat better because the Allies never beat them at anything. The Battle of the Neck was perhaps the most stupid series of mistakes, bad timing and absurd decisions of any – but maybe too difficult to describe here. Six hundred Australians killed in less than an hour with no Turkish casualties due to ridiculous decisions by a Pommy Commander. He threw us in in four waves of 150 each, when he imagined that the reports he was given after each wave must have been in error. At least he was sacked and kicked out of the Army after an Enquiry - but far too late.

There were also stories of great valour and secret victories. Perhaps the one that inspired me most was during the withdrawal of the entire ANZAC force without a single casualty, because they set up automatic firing guns, cut-out figures, and other decoys to make the Turks think we were still there.

Overall, what a waste of human lives and resources for nothing. War is Hell for the participants (but not the Generals), as much as it is Hell for those left behind to wait and mourn. But worse still is that nobody has ever learned how pointless their silly games really are. Our trip this year has reinforced this as constant over the millennia – mighty powers have risen up, fought horrific wars, and created empires, but not one of them has survived for more than a few hundred years at best.

The area is now very peaceful but the horror of war and the folly of the warmakers is really 'in one’s face' when one is put so close to the reality of what it must have been like for the soldiers on the ground. They were there in 40-odd degree heat in the summer and still there, quite a few literally freezing to death in the winter, all fighting nobly to protect someone else’s ego. I was profoundly affected on the day and hold the ANZACs and the Turks in greater respect as a result. The Turks were in almost exactly the same situation as the Allies and they hold us in deep respect as much as we hold them in respect. I was talking with our guide as I was getting on the bus to return to Istanbul and said I felt like hugging a Turk – and he was more than happy to reciprocate – it was a very touching moment.

It was just as far back to Istanbul as it was to get to Gallipoli and it was about 9.30 before we arrived back at our hotel. Neither of us felt like eating much so we made do with what we had in the fridge and crashed into bed after a long but very satisfying, if disturbing, day.

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sterlinxglobal1 · 2 years

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Glossary of Normal Accounting Terms

Bling Language simplified

Today…again…I was scratching my head over an accounting wreck, for which the proprietor had paid a clerk numerous dollars over numerous years. How could it work out? In the event that you don't have the foggiest idea about the fundamentals, you are an easy target, old buddy. You know, bookkeepers do it intentionally. They utilize abnormal words to make you feel that they are more brilliant than you are. To keep you out of the loop. Or on the other hand, the less frightful ones simply know worse.

Great bookkeepers and accountants believe you should get familiar with the dialect. They need to assist you with making the bling, child! Along these lines, read and learn. Keep this glossary helpful as you work with your expert cash administrators. Use it to start your excursion to monetary education!

Bling Language - Glossary of normal Accounting Terms…

ACCOUNTING Condition: The Monetary record depends on the fundamental accounting condition. That is:

Resources = Values.

Value of the organization can be held by somebody other than the proprietor. That is known as an obligation. Since we ordinarily have a few liabilities, the accounting condition is generally composed…

Resources = Liabilities + Proprietor's Value.

ACCOUNTS: Business exercises cause increments and diminishes in your resources, liabilities and value. Your accounting framework keeps these exercises in accounts. Various records are expected to sum up the increments and diminishes in every resource, obligation and proprietor's value account on the Asset report and of every income and cost that shows up on the Pay Proclamation. You can have a couple of records or hundreds, contingent upon the sort of nitty gritty data you really want to maintain your business.

Creditor liabilities: Likewise called A/P. These are charges that your business owes to the public authority or your providers. Assuming you have 'got' it, however haven't paid for it yet (like when you purchase 'on account') you make a record payable. These are found in the risk segment of the Accounting report.

Money due: Likewise called A/R. At the point when you offer something to somebody, and they don't pay you that moment, you make a record receivable. This is how much cash your clients owe you for items and administrations that they purchased from you…but haven't paid for yet. Money due are found in the ongoing resources segment of the Accounting report.

Accumulation Premise ACCOUNTING: With gathering premise accounting, you 'represent' costs and deals at the time the exchange happens. This is the most reliable approach to accounting for your business exercises. On the off chance that you offer something to Mrs. Fernwicky today, you would record the deal starting today, regardless of whether she anticipates paying you in two months. Assuming that you get some paint today, you represent it today, regardless of whether you will pay for it one month from now when the stockpile house articulation comes. Cash premise accounting records the deal when the money is gotten and the cost when the look at goes. Not as precise an image of what's going on at you organization.

Resources: The 'stuff' the organization claims. Anything of significant worth - cash, money due, trucks, stock, land. Current resources are those that could be changed over into cash without any problem. (Formally, in the span of a year's time.) The latest of current resources is cash, obviously. Money due will be switched over completely to cash when the client pays, ideally soon. In this way, money due are current resources. Stock is as well.

Fixed resources are those things that you would have zero desire to change over into cash for working cash. For example, you would rather not offer your structure to cover the inventory house bill. Resources are recorded, arranged by liquidity (that it is so near cash) on the Accounting report.

Monetary record: The Accounting report mirrors the monetary state of the organization on a particular date. The essential accounting recipe is the reason for the Asset report:

Resources = Liabilities + Proprietor's Value

The Asset report doesn't begin once again. It is the aggregate score from the very beginning of the business to the time the report is made.

Income: The development and timing of cash, all through the business. Notwithstanding the Monetary record and the Pay Articulation, you might need to report the progression of money through your business. Your organization could be productive however 'cash poor' and unfit to cover your bills. Bad!

An income proclamation helps keep you mindful of how much money traveled every which way for any timeframe. An income projection would be a ballpark estimation at what the income circumstance will be for what's in store.

Assume you need to purchase another truck with cash. Yet, that buy will exhaust the financial balance and leave you with practically no money for finance! For income reasons, you could decide to purchase a truck on installments all things considered.

Diagram OF Records: A total posting of each and every record in your accounting framework. Each exchange in your business should be recorded, so you can monitor things. Consider the graph of records the stake board on which you hang the business exercises.

CREDIT: A credit is utilized in Twofold Section accounting to expand an obligation or a value account. A credit will diminish a resource account. For each credit there is a charge. These are the two adjusting parts of each and every diary section. Credits and charges keep the essential accounting condition (Resources = Liabilities + Proprietor's Value) in balance as you record business exercises.

Charge: A charge is utilized in Twofold Passage accounting to build a resource account. A charge will diminish a risk or a value account. For each charge there is a credit. Click here amazon fba accountants

DIRECT Expenses: Likewise called cost of products sold, cost of deals or place of work costs. These are costs that incorporate work expenses and materials. These costs can be straightforwardly followed to a particular work. On the off chance that the occupation didn't occur, the immediate expenses could not have possibly been brought about. (Contrast direct expense with roundabout expenses with get a superior comprehension of the term.) Direct expenses are found on the Pay Proclamation, right underneath the pay accounts.

Pay - Direct Expenses = Gross Edge.

Twofold Passage ACCOUNTING: An accounting framework used to monitor business exercises. Twofold Section accounting keeps up with the Monetary record: Resources = Liabilities + Proprietor's Value. At the point when dollars are kept in one record, they should be represented in one more record so that the action is proven and factual and the Accounting report stays in balance.

You shouldn't be a specialist in Twofold Section accounting, yet the individual who is liable for making the fiscal reports better improve at it. Assuming that is you, revisit the book and spotlight on the 'dark' sheets. Concentrate on the models and perceive how the Twofold Section technique goes about as a check and equilibrium of your books.

Recall the law of the universe…what goes around, comes around. This is the embodiment of Twofold Section accounting.

Value: Assets that have been provided to the organization to get the 'stuff'. Values show responsibility for resources or cases against the resources. On the off chance that somebody other than the proprietor has claims on the resources, it is known as a risk.

Complete Resources - All out Liabilities = Net Value

This is one more approach to expressing the essential accounting condition that stresses the amount of the resources you own. Net value is additionally called total assets.

Cost: Likewise called costs. Costs are diminishes in value. These are dollars paid out to providers, sellers, Uncle Sam, representatives, good cause, and so on. Make sure to cover bills fortunately, on the grounds that it takes cash to bring in cash. Costs are recorded on the Pay Articulation. They ought to be parted into two classes, direct expenses and aberrant expenses. The fundamental condition for the Pay Proclamation is:

Incomes - Costs = Benefit

(You'll see a benefit in the event that there are a bigger number of incomes than expenses!…or a misfortune, in the event that costs are more than incomes.)

Keep in mind, all costs should be remembered for your selling cost. The client pays for everything. In return, you give the client your administrations. What an arrangement!

Fiscal summaries: allude to the Monetary record and the Pay Articulation. The Monetary record is a report that shows the monetary state of the organization. The Pay Explanation (likewise called the Benefit and Misfortune proclamation or the 'P&L') is the benefit execution synopsis.

Fiscal summaries can incorporate the supporting archives like income reports, records of sales reports, exchange register, and so on. Any report that actions the development of cash in your organization.

Fiscal reports are what the bank needs to see before it credits you cash. The IRS demands that you share the score with them, and requests your Fiscal summaries consistently.

GENERAL Record: Quite a long time ago, accounting frameworks were kept in a book that recorded the increments and diminishes in every one of the records of the organization. That book was known as the overall record. Today, you presumably have an electronic accounting framework. In any case, the overall record is an assortment of all Monetary record and Pay Explanation accounts…all the resources, liabilities and value. The report shows ALL the action in the organization. Frequently this posting is known as a detail preliminary equilibrium on the report menu of your accounting program. The detail preliminary equilibrium is my number one report when I'm attempting to track down a mix-up, or ensure that we have entered data in the right records.

Net Benefit: This is how much cash you have left after you have deducted the immediate expenses from the selling cost.

Pay - Direct Expenses = Net Benefit. At the point when this is communicated as a rate, it is call Gross Edge.

This is a decent number to examine every month, and to follow as far as rate to add up to deals throughout the span of time. The higher the better with gross edge! You want to have sufficient cash left right now to pay all your backhanded expenses regardless end up with a benefit.

Pay Articulation: additionally called the Benefit and Misfortune Proclamation, or P&L, or Explanation of Tasks. This is a report that shows the progressions in the value of the organization because of business tasks. It records the pay (or incomes, or deals), deducts the costs and sh

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sunfleurry · 3 years

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I. 360˚

Hi there! I am reuploading this fic and this time I want to actually try because tbh I didn’t give af about pacing, editing, etc. as harrymoncheri

I’ve decided to scrap the original plot and make this a prompt-based project!

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy part 1 (the intro) of personal trainer!harry

Disclaimer: I write stories and use Harry Styles as a face claim. In no way shape or form does my writing reflect how I perceive the actual Harry to be. These are my characters, the face is just a bonus!

Warnings: This story will contain mature themes.

The parking lot itself was intimidating. Eden’s eyes remained wide in wonder as she took in the cars that couldn’t have been less than a couple hundred thousand dollars. When she won the year-long membership for a five-star gym through a raffle at her uni, she hadn’t thought about what to expect. From the outside, the gym looked quite small but as she walked in, the first thing that welcomed her was a set of gleaming black stairs leading to an underground facility.

Her shoes squeaked on each step down. She kept her gaze low to avoid tripping and embarrassing herself in front of the tycoons in gym gear and teenagers working out in custom name brand sneakers.

The receptionist smiled upon seeing her, his veneers a stark contrast against his brown skin. “You’re the one I just spoke with on the phone, right? Eden?”

She smiled and shook his hand. “That’s me.”

After having her sign a few papers, he led her to an office–a small room surrounded by glass walls with a view of the elevators. She soon learned that they led to lower levels housing the spa, pool and basketball courts.

While waiting for the manager to start the consultation, they sat and talked for a few minutes. Eden learned a lot about the receptionist. His name was Luca and his father owned the gym. He was a couple years older than her and studied at the same university. She was positive she’d never seen him; she would have remembered a man as beautiful as him.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting,” Luca said while checking the minimalist clock hung on the only wall not made of glass. “I don’t know what’s taking him so long.”

She waved a hand as if brushing him off. “Don’t apologize. I’m sure he’s somewhere around here doing what managers do best.”

“My manager isn’t in, actually. You’ll be speaking to one of our personal trainers today.”

She furrowed her eyebrows but nodded all the same. “Oh, okay.”

Luca’s face brightened as something caught his eye over Eden’s shoulder and he stood up. “Speak of the devil.”

Eden turned in her seat and her breath hitched as her eyes landed on a man whose looks, she imagined, would take over her dreams at night from that day forward. He was dangerously handsome in the simplest clothing– grey cotton joggers and a black t-shirt she noticed every personal trainer was wearing.

Her gaze trailed to his strong jaw, then up to where his chestnut hair curled around his ears in the most endearing way. When her eyes met his striking green ones, she felt heat creep up her neck at being caught blatantly ogling him.

“Eden? Did you hear what I said?”

She didn’t miss the smirk on the personal trainer’s lips as her head whipped towards Luca. “Sorry, what did you say?”

He gave her a knowing look. “I said I’m going to go back to the front. Did you need anything else?”

“Oh, um, no. Thank you for everything,” she bit her lip, fully aware of the trainer’s heavy gaze on her. It was hard concentrating on watching Luca exit the office only to pretend like the suffocating presence of the walking wet dream was fictitious.

The door closed on its own with a click that echoed in Eden’s head. The realization that she was in a closed room with the attractive man dawned on her.

“Nice to meet you, Eden. I’m Harry.” His voice was raspy and deep, the cells of her body vibrating to each syllable he uttered.

“Nice– “she cleared her throat as the word caught in her mouth. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Eden sat in front of the desk. The sky-blue cushion on the seat at first glance appeared uncomfortable, but as soon as her bum touched the fabric, she decided it was the most comfortable chair she’d ever had the pleasure of sitting on.

She started to get nervous when Harry did not say anything, only studied her face for a moment, before nodding to himself and opening one of the desk drawers to pull out a notepad and a Montblanc pen.

“First thing I’m going to ask you is: What are your fitness goals?”

Eden opened her mouth then closed it. “Umm. I guess to just get fit,” she said stupidly.

But he only nodded in encouragement. “Can you think of anything specific?”

“Build strength,” she leaned forward. “Endurance.”

He smiled, and she wanted to swoon at the dimple that appeared on his cheek. “Do you have a history with sports or fitness?”

“I used to dance,” she perked up. “Ballet.”

His face gave away that he was impressed, and she wanted to pat herself on the back. “You must be really flexible.”

She flushed. “Well, it’s been a while. I doubt it.”

“I guess we’ll have to work on your flexibility too, then.”

Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his. It was a fairly innocent statement and within context. But it was the tone he used. Subtle, but she didn’t miss it nor the mischievous glint in his eye. She gulped soundlessly and looked down at her leggings, pretending to pick at a loose thread.

He broke the silence. “Before I ask any more questions, are you okay with me training you? Or would you prefer a female?”

Eden’s lips rolled inward as she pondered his question. A part of her was dumbfounded at the fact that she even had to think about it. Of course she wanted to choose him. However, she promised herself no more distractions. She was there to get fit and take advantage of this free opportunity, not put herself out there for the second time only for it to crash and burn again.

“Female,” she said.

If she wasn’t watching him carefully, she would have missed the hint of disappointment on his face before it disappeared and was replaced by a look of understanding.

The rest of the consultation went by with Harry asking her a few more questions. She was getting much more comfortable and they both seemed to relax into conversation the more time went by. Harry finished off the meeting by taking her body measurements, BMI and fat percentage.

Eden later met Yaz, her personal trainer. She was a kind woman with long black hair just like hers, but it was straightened to perfection and didn’t seem to have a single split end. Harry had given his fellow trainer all the information he’d collected from Eden, and she did not waste time.

Eden was guided to an artificial turf where horizontal bars hung over their heads with different TRX ropes suspended from them. Yaz had her do basic exercises to assess what they needed to work on, but Eden could barely focus. While Yaz kept her eyes on Eden’s movements, Eden kept hers on the mirror reflection of the man who was walking around the weight area, greeting everyone. He seemed well-loved in this facility. The men greeted him like he was a future business partner, and the women tried maintaining his attention with flirty smiles.

Yet, his attention was elsewhere. All he could think about was Eden’s thick waves and big brown eyes that gave away everything she was feeling. He wasn’t sure if she was aware of how easy it was to read her. The minute he walked into that office and laid eyes on her, he knew he was done for. Her red leggings and black sports bra left little to the imagination and he wasn’t complaining. He wanted to touch her, just to know what striking gold felt like.

Now, stopping in his tracks to watch her speak to Yaz, he caught her eye through the mirror and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. His grin only widened when she offered a shy smile back before giving Yaz her full attention, cheeks blooming red.

He knew then that he was fucked.

***

Part 2

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esperosisdoeswriting · 3 years

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Victory Pizza (500 follower cellebration)

Here is the ~3300 word story for the 500 follower celebration! The prompt being "Chaotic Villain group accidentally adopts child". I hope you all enjoy and thank you again for 500 followers!

"[Other Villian].... what the hell are you doing?" [Villain] hissed as they popped the cash register open with their crowbar. [Other Villain] just turned to look over their shoulder from their perch on top of the arcade's glass prize pannel.

"I'm robbing the place, duh." [Other Villain] said as they started to shimmy the mini go-cart from atop its perch.

"Of money! We are robbing the place of money! not dusty ass go-carts, why would you even want that?!" [Villain] hissed as they shoved bills and coins into their backpack. [Other Villain] scowled at them as if they had just said the most offensive thing they had ever heard.

"I have come to this place my whole childhood! And do you wanna know the one prize I had scrimped and saved and stole tickets to get for years!?" [Other Villain] violently pointed at their looted go-cart, "And do you want to know what prize I was never able to get, for years?!?!" [Other Villain] pointed even more violently at the go-cart.

[Villain] pinched the bridge of their nose, "Childhood vendettas are not the priority here! We need cash!"

"Why are you yelling at me anyway? [Dumb Villain] is looting a claw machine." [Other Villain] pouted, pointing their head at [Dumb Villain], who was currently prying a claw machine open with their bare hands.

"Those things have like a hundred dollars in quarters in them!" [Villain] defended them, before turning to [Dumb Villian], "good wor-" they cut themselves off as they saw [Dumb Villain] happily loading the plushies into their backpack. They dared not look at [Other Villain], already feeling the smug grin on the other's face.

"Just... Get anything valuable quickly and get it in the van. If we take too long, the pizzas going to get cold." [Villain] sighed, moving over to the next cash register.

"Victory Pizza!" [Other Villain] hooted as they jumped on the counter. Suddenly as they landed, the force of their body sent them crashing through the glass cover of the prize counter, topping them over among the candies and plastic toys. Alarms began to ring out around the store as the three villains froze and stared at [Other Villain].

"Whoops." [Other Villain] laughed nervously before [Villain] sprung into action.

"GRAB EVERYTHING WE GOTTA GO!" they shouted at their two companions as the three scrambled to pack everything and start running for the exit.

[Leader] groaned in boredom as they flipped through another page on their magazine, waiting for the others to get back. They wished they could be in there too, but someone had to be the getaway driver, and they had learned from their mistakes when they had appointed [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain] to the role the other few times. So here they sat, waiting in the back alley with the van doors open, being tortured by the smell of a pizza they couldn't eat.

[Leader] was about to let out another groan of boredom when the alarms started blaring. Their groan of boredom quickly turned to one of frustration. They knew this would happen, but it didn't make it any less more annoying when it did.

They watched out their rearview mirror as a minute later there three teammates burst out the back entrance into the alleyway, full-on sprinting into the van.

"Go go go!" [Villain] shouted, out of breath from the run.

"Shut the back doors first, and everyone buckle up. I'm not having people slamming into each other again." [Leader] sighed as they started up the van.

"But the heroes and police will be here-"

"In a couple minutes, we still have a bit of time. Now, buckle-" [Leader] pushed [Villain] into their seat, "-up."

After the van was started, [Leader] unlocked the brake and switched the van into gear but kept their foot on the brake as they called out, "Everyone buckled up?"

[Villain] groaned in the affirmative as [Other Villain] enthusiastically agreed, however [Dumb Villain] did not respond.

"[Dumb Villain]. Are. You. Buckled. Up?" [Leader] asked as they looked at [Dumb Villain] in the review mirror.

"Oh, uh... yeah." [Dumb Villain] replied, ripping their eyes away from the victory pizza they were staring at a few moments earlier.

[Leader] rolled their eyes, "Right then, here we go!" they said as they put the pedal to the metal, speeding out of the alley and onto the abandoned streets.

[Dumb Villain] looked at the seat next to them and couldn't help but feel something was wrong with what they were looking at. Usually, they just put the victory pizza there so that [Dumb Villain] could hold onto it during the escape, but today someone else was holding the pizza. Sat next to them was a small child, no older than eight, staring up at them as they slowly munched on a slice of the pizza.

[Dumb Villain] narrowed their eyes at the child, the feeling of something being out of place knawing at them. Was it because the child was eating their victory pizza? No, no, children like pizza, so that was perfectly reasonable. Was it the distant sound of police sirens slowly becoming closer and closer? No, no, they just robbed an arcade, so it was perfectly natural the police would be chasing them. So what was it...

[Villain] began shouting something [Dumb Villain] wasn't paying much attention to when they finally realized what the problem was.

"Safety first, kiddo." [Dumb Villain] smiled as they reached across the child and buckled their seat belt.

"Beleive me [Villain], I am perfectly aware that the police are on our tail!" [Leader] shouted as they swerved the car to the right.

"Would these help?" [Other Villain] helpfully offered, holding up two grenades.

"Why do you have those?!?!" [Villain] squawked as [Other Villain] laughed manically.

"I thought they might prove useful!"

"For robbing an arcade?"

"Every situation is improved with grenades!"

"No, it isn't, put those somewhere they won't explode," [Leader] barked at [Other Villain] who pouted but complied, "And [Villain]... do that thing where you make us invisible."

"I can try, but I've never done the whole van before!"

"I believe in you." [Leader] smiled confidently at them before looking back on the road and continuing, "Plus, I really don't want to be here when the heroes show up. Getting sent to prison for robbing an arcade... not a good look."

[Villain] sighed as they began to concentrate, their field of invisibility expanding and expanding before it encompassed the entire van.

"Amazing! You really outdid yourself this time [Villain]!" [Other Villain] marveled.

"Can't keep this up... for very long..." [Villain] gritted their teeth, sweat beginning to pour down their face, "Make it count!"

"Will do." [Leader] smiled as they made a sharp left, the now five of them disappearing into the night.

"Is everyone alright?" [Leader] asked once they finally parked the van in the underground garage attached to their lair. Everyone affirmed. [Dumb Villain] looked down at the child to find them nodding as well, satisfying [Dumb Villain].

"Good good. Alright, everyone, grab your haul, and [Dumb Villain] you get the pizza." [Leader] said as they put the car into park.

"Victory Pizza!" [Other Villain] hollered as [Villain] sighed.

"Sorry everyone, we're gonna have two fewer slices of pizza tonight. The kiddo here ate them on the way."

"Oh, ok, that's fine." [Leader] nodded for a moment before reeling back and yelling, "Wait, what?! What kiddo?"

"The kid." [Dumb Villain] stared blankly at their team as they pointed to the child sitting next to them, who also stared blankly at the rest of the team.

"How long have they been there?!" [Villain] cried out in alarm.

"The whole time."

"And you didn't see anything wrong with the kid being in the car with us?" [Leader] asked [Dumb Villain] desperately trying to find some logical reason [Dumb Villain] would let them kidnap a child.

"I did." [Dumb Villain] replied. After a long moment of silence, [Leader] frantically gestured around as if trying to summon the explanation from [Dumb Villain].

"They weren't wearing their seat belt, so I strapped them in." [Dumb Villain] grinned, proud of themselves. [Leader] deflated as they just nodded,

"Yeah... yeah, I guess I should have expected that."

"CAN WE KEEP THEM????" [Other Villain] suddenly shouted, startling everyone.

"I... No!" [Leader] yelled.

"Please! Pretty please! I swear I'll take good care of 'em!" [Other Villain] batted their eyes at [Leader].

"They aren't a dog! They're a child that needs to go back to their home and parents."

"I don't have any parents," the child spoke up for the first time.

"See!" [Other Villain] hoped on immediately, "They don't have parents to go back to, so that means we can keep them!"

"Still not a dog! And anyway, they probably have guardians or..." [Leader] trailed off as they saw the child begin to shake their head and pout.

"We have no idea how to take care of a child." [Villain] tried to reason, "We could never-"

"I'll be good!" the child cut them off, "I promise, I just don't wanna go back to the orphanage."

[Other Villain] scooted [Dumb Villain] out of the way and scooped up the child, holding them to their chest while giving [Leader] the biggest puppy dog eyes.

"You're not just gonna send them back to the orphanage, are you? That's no place for a child to grow up."

"But..." [Leader] trailed off as the child looked at them with their wide doey eyes.

"Please..." the child asked, both the child and [Other Villain] huddled together, batting their eyelashes and giving their best puppy dog eyes.

"I like the kid!" [Dumb Villain] added.

"Oh alright, fine!" [Leader] finally gave up. The child, [Dumb Villain], and [Other Villain] cheered while [Villain] looked at them in disbelief. "But you two are in charge of getting them into school, making them food, setting up their room, all that stuff, got it?"

[Other Villain] nodded enthusiastically, and the three hoped out of the car as [Villain] sat there, staring at [Leader].

"Are you really going to let them keep that child?" [Villain] whispered, horrified. [Leader] screwed their eyes shut and pinched the bridge of their nose for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"I mean... We kept [Other Villain]."

[Villain] just stared at the floor of the van, only nodding in response, before exiting the van. They really hoped [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain] knew what they were doing because they were not, I repeat, not going to help raise this kid.

"How was school today [Child]?" [Leader] asked as [Child] shuffled into the base.

"It was ok," [Child] shrugged.

It had been nearly half a year since [Child] had entered the picture. Even though [Leader] said they wouldn't, they wound up being [Child]'s primary caretaker after a week and a half of chicken nuggets, 3am bedtimes, and almost playing with various dangerous objects. To [Other Villain] and [Dumb Villain]'s credit, they did set up [Child]'s room and pick out their school, as well as take them to and fro. But ultimately, all the work that had to be up in to ensure [Child] wouldn't die of malnutrition or unfortunate accident was left to [Leader].

"Did something happen?" [Villain] asked, looking up from where they were reviewing the floorplan of their next big heist. [Child] merely shrugged in response as they shrugged their backpack off and sat down on the couch.

"Was it [Bully] again?" [Other Villain] asked, [Child] shrugging for the third time.

"Whose [Bully]?" [Leader] and [Villain] asked at the same time.

"Just some asshole ki-"

"Language! No swearing in front of [Child]!" [Villain] cut them off. [Other Villain] rolled their eyes before continuing,

"They're just some mean kid that likes to make fun of [Child]."

"It's fine." [Child] mumbled as they watched the tv, the news talking about another one of [Hero]'s victories over [Super Villain].

"We can take care of them!" [Dumb Villain] supplied.

"No!" both [Leader] and [Villain] shouted at once.

"I draw the line at fighting children. How old is this kid? Like nine?" [Leader] said,

"They're ten." [Other Villain] replied

"Whatever."

"Soooo...." [Other Villain] drew out, [Leader] already not liking where this was going. "Does that mean we can give [Child] some 'situation improvers'?"

"I don't care what you call them," [Leader] pinched the bridge of their nose, "You cannot give [Child] hand grenades."

"But we can give other weapons?" [Dumb Villain] asked.

"No! No weapons! no child murder, directly or indirectly!" [Leader] shouted.

"It's ok. It's not that bad." [Child] smiled at the team, "As long as I have you all, I'll be happy."

The team all smiled at their youngest member, feeling their hearts melt as [Child] smiled at them.

"We love you too, my little angel!" [Other Villain] grinned, scooping [Child] into their arms and hugging them tightly.

"Although I was wondering..." [Child] said into [Other Villain]'s chest, their words muffled until [Other Villain] loosened their grip. "When can I start training with you?"

"Training?" [Villain] asked, "What for?"

"So I can be part of the team!" [Child] replied.

"Right now!" [Other Villain] squealed at the same time as [Leader] said,

"In a couple years."

Silence descended upon the team for a few moments before [Leader] cleared their voice, "I know you want to be a part of the team, kiddo, but you're still very young. You should focus on your school work and playing games and watching tv for now."

"Ok..." [Child] mumbled disappointedly as they went back to watching tv. A few silent minutes later [Child] piped back up again.

"Some of the kids in my class are taking karate lessons. Can I take some too?" [Child] asked innocently. [Leader] couldn't help but smile at the transparency of [Child]'s intentions.

"That's a perfectly reasonable hobby to pick up!" [Other Villain] added.

"Plus, it would help with bullies, and it's non-lethal." [Dumb Villain] added as well.

[Villain] sighed and said, "As much as I hate agreeing with [Other Villain], they are right, it's a good hobby that keeps children active, teaches discipline, and [Child] can use it for self-defense if need be."

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to allow it then." [Leader] smiled and shook their head as [Other Villain] hooted in victory.

"Let's look for dojos in the area!"

"I think I know of one," [Dumb Villain] agreed, "I remember hearing about it on tv one time. I think because it was good."

"Then it's perfect!" [Other Villain] grinned as they grabbed their laptop. [Child] snuggling in happily between [Dumb Villian] and [Other Villain] on the couch while the three looked for dojos.

"Is this the place?" [Other Villain] squinted at the store's sign.

"The name matches the website." [Dumb Villain] replied.

"Good enough for me! hop out, kiddo, our appointment is in five minutes." [Other Villain] grinned as they hopped out of the car, [Child] bouncing shortly behind them, practically vibrating with excitement. The two of them entered the small storefront. They sat on the hard plastic chairs, both excitedly awaiting their meeting with the instructor.

"The instructor will see you both now," the receptionist said shortly after another parent and child happily walked out of the studio. The pair happily stepping into the karate studio, where they finally got the lay eyes on the instructor.

[Other Villain] immediately felt themselves go rigid as [Child] bounded up to [Hero], their maybe new instructor.

"Well, hey there kid, whats your name?" [Hero] smiled at [Child]

"I'm [Child], and this is [Other Villain]." [Child] smiled back. [Hero] looked back at [Other Villain], who at this point was sweating bullets and trying to act natural.

"Hello, it's very nice to meet... you..." [Hero] said, slowly trailing off by the end as they narrowed their eyes at [Other Villain].

"Nice to meet you too!" [Other Villain] replied nervously. [Child] looked between the two adults, somewhat confused before saying.

"I really wanna learn karate! Can you teach me, please?"

[Hero] snapped their attention back to [Child] and smiled, "Of course! That's why we're here, although today is just so I can get to know you and your..." [Hero] side-eyed [Other Villain] before turning back to [Child] "...parent. As well as assess your skill level and prior knowledge. Does that sound ok?"

[Child] nodded enthusiastically, and [Hero] finished out a pamphlet from their pocket, "Perfect! Now, could you start with reading this over? It gives you an idea of the kinds of things you'll be learning in the class. I'm just going to talk to your parent for a moment over here, ok?"

"Ok!" [Child] replied, happily taking the pamphlet from [Hero]'s hands and bouncing over to the other side of the studio while [Hero] guided [Other Villain] to the opposite corner.

"What the hell are you doing with that child?" [Hero] hissed at [Other Villain].

"I have no idea what you're talking about." [Other Villain] lied,

"Don't give me that. I know you're [Other Villain], and I know you don't have a kid!"

"I adopted them."

"Really?" [Hero] asked, disbelief and sarcasm dripping from their voice.

"Well, it was a... surprise adoption..." [Other Villain] averted their eyes.

"You kidnapped them." [Hero] scowled.

"The surprise was on us! They just climbed into our van while we were..." [Other Villain] coughed, catching themselves, "getting pizza. They were drawn to the scent of the pizza and hopped in too."

"And then you just... drove away with them."

"Well, we didn't know they were in the van!" [Other Villain] defended themselves.

"Did they hop in the trunk? How did you not notice an eight-year-old in your van?" [Hero] asked incredulously.

"Well [Dumb Villain] noticed but didn't say anything."

"Why."

"They... didn't think it was important at the time." [Other Villain] winced. [Hero] looked like they wanted to argue but then seemed to just deflate.

"Ok, knowing [Dumb Villain]... I believe that." [Hero] said, a bright ray of hope appearing before [Other Villain] before [Hero] squashed it with their following sentence. "That still doesn't excuse the fact that you just... kept them!"

"They didn't have anywhere to go! No parents, no relatives, they were just living in some slummy orphanage!" [Other Villain] pleaded, "We're giving them a better life, school, food, friends, a family [Hero]. Don't you want them to have a loving family?" [Other Villain] batted their eyes, trying to give [Hero] their most adorable puppy dog eyes. [Hero] just stared back at them, unamused, for a long moment for sighing.

"I'm going to talk to the kid. If even a single thing seems fishy, they're going straight back to where they came from. Oh, also, I will take them in as my student to monitor them. If you try to move them or take them out of lessons, I will take them from you so fast your heads will spin. Got it?" [Hero] scowled and [Other Villain] nodded vigorously. [Hero] let out a long sigh,

"If it was any other villain or group, I wouldn't even consider letting you keep them, but seeing as it's you lot and the kid seems happy... I'll let it go, for now." [Hero] side-eyed them before walking back across the studio and talk to [Child].

[Other Villain] let out a long sigh of relief as they watched [Child] smile excitedly at [Hero], the two talking about the [Child]'s future at the dojo, as well as some subtle inquires about their home-life.

"Did you have fun today?" [Other Villain] asked as [Child] and they left the dojo, [Child] waving goodbye happily to [Hero], who waved back.

"Yup! I can't wait to learn karate. It's gonna be so fun!" [Child] beamed.

"It sure will be kiddo!" [Other Villain] smiled back as they helped [Child] into the car.

"How did everything go?" [Dumb Villain] asked. [Other Villain] thought about it for a second before simply replying,

"It went great!" deciding to not tell the others about [Hero]. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them... probably...

#writblr #villain #villain group #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #chaotic villian #dumb villain #team writblr #esper writing #500 followers #villain child #villains adopt children #Leader: I don't want a child #Leader: Hi honey! How was school!#writing snippet

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ms-demeanor · 4 years

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You know what’s funny is whenever I make a tech post I get people going “this is blatantly untrue” and I get people going “this is really good information and everyone needs to know it” and the dividing line is how much time you spend with people who are tech literate.

Yep, I would tell my computer savvy friends where they could get keycaps and fix their keyboards; I don’t even have to bother telling my computer savvy friends how to run a fifteen year old laptop because we’re all pretty good at it.

But GODDAMN I just read a response to my “cheap computer season” post that claimed that it was totally reasonable to run a macbook from 2010 and

Look.

That’s not a reasonable thing to tell a student who needs a functional computer to do research and write papers. (have fun trying to find installation discs from when the OS was still named after cats and have fun trying to get a browser to get along with that OS)

You know why most people bring me laptops with missing keys? Because the key got ripped off by their two-year-old and damaged the soldering in the keyboard and I have no idea it’s going to be “oh, yeah, that’s a ten dollar fix” or “sorry, that’s going to be an hour and a half to disassemble and reassemble and we’ll have to order you a new keyboard specific to that model out of new old stock” and the thing is the second one is much, much, much more common in my experience than the first.

Do I think you need to replace a laptop when the bezel is cracked? No. I also don’t carry my laptop powered on in the bag with a flashdrive sticking out of the USB port. Customers do weird things that I don’t understand and when a customer tells me they want me to fix the bezel they think it’s a twenty-dollar snap-on repair because they have no idea how this works and then they get mad at me when I explain “no, you’ve gotta have this specific piece of plastic, these haven’t been made in five years, and you might be better off buying a used model online than trying to track down a new bezel.”

So here’s the thing: Can Macs get viruses?

There are three answers here.

“No, of course not, Macs are made to be virus-proof”

“Macs need antivirus protection because, while it is less common than infections for PCs, there are types of malware that can infect macs and it’s worthwhile to guard against that”

“tEcHnIcAlLy a virus has to be self-replicating and IOS’s file management system [or some other bullshit] prevents that so TECHNICALLY Macs can’t get viruses and what you need is anti-malware software if you need anything because you’re fairly likely to have security through obscurity”

I’m aware of the third position and voicing the second position to people who believe the first position.

YES TECHNICALLY YOU CAN KEEP A COMPUTER RUNNING INDEFINITELY AND YES IT’S TOTALLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAPTOP WILL LAST TEN YEARS.

“Well if you treat it right and run it well it’ll be in great shape for a long time”

YES THAT IS CORRECT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WHO DON’T WORK ON THEIR OWN CARS DRIVE AROUND WITH THE OIL CHANGE LIGHT ON FOR MONTHS?!?

Tons of people in the world today use computers. They use computers every day, they use computers at home and at school and at work.

Tons of people drive every day. They use cars for fun and for commuting and for their jobs.

That doesn’t mean that all (or even most, or even half) of the people using these things is any good at keeping them running, or even has the barest idea of how to start tracking down a problem.

Someone in the notes of that post described a green line on their screen and thought that was a symptom of hard drive problems. I don’t have the hours in the day to catch this person up to speed on why a display issue on a laptop isn’t indicative of hard drive issues.

Do you know how much people think it’s going to cost to get data off of a broken drive? Not “won’t power up” not “won’t spin” but “I dropped this and part fell off and now it won’t power up or spin and also the platter is chipped”? I’m going to have to send that shit to a clean room and the customer is *staggered* that it might cost more than a hundred dollars to get their data. “Outrageous, what kind of blackmail operation are you trying to run here, just plug it in and get my pictures.”

A year or so ago I was at Jiffy Lube (ew). I’d been shooting the shit with the mechanic when a parent and child rolled in in a panic. And they should have been panicking! They’d thrown a fucking rod because they’d been driving with no oil in the car for god knows how long because neither of them had had the oil changed in the two years they’d owned the vehicle.

*I* can keep a 30-year-old car running. I can put a belt back on an engine in a dark parking lot with a wrench and a headlamp. I can drop a gas tank and replace my fuel filter and thumb my nose at the mechanics who tried to upsell me on “replacing your old, worn-out air filter” the day after I’d popped a new one into my truck.

These folks couldn’t keep a new car running with three alarms telling them what was wrong.

*I* can power up my 2005 macbook running Leopard and use garage band to record a song or do some design work on my copy of Adobe CS3; I can kludge its FF3.5 browser into playing nice with the internet and accept that it’s going to be a slow piece of shit.

The lady who called me confused by the fact that the password to her email was different than the login information for her grocery store rewards account will not be able to function if she gets a pop-up that says she’s using an outdated browser and will think it’s a virus if her bank won’t let her log in on that browser.

And you know what, I’m kind of sick of this attitude.

I would *fucking adore it* if computers were actually easy to repair; I’d love it if you could run new OSs on old hardware (especially on macs because I think apple are kind of shitheads about planned obsolescence).

But you know what, no, most people *CAN’T* reasonably expect to use a ten-year-old computer and have pleasant experience of it. It’s going to run slow. It’s going to shut down when they don’t want it to. The battery is going to swell slightly with the heat and your touchpad is going to go nuts. Your USB ports will stop working. Standard wear and tear that most people don’t know how to protect against and don’t know how to repair is going to make it harder to use AND software requirements will outstrip the hardware capabilities of the computer.

If your old computer sucks it’s not your fault. If you can’t happily use a 10-year-old laptop to do your homework that’s okay, it wasn’t designed for you to use it that way and YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.

Because that’s kind of what a lot of these “well anybody should realistically be able to run a laptop from 2010″ responses comes down to: if you need new hardware you’re just not doing it right. If you have to replace your computer you didn’t make good choices when you bought it. If your battery dies it’s because you didn’t take care of it.

No. No. No. No.

This shit is A) designed to fail and B) actually really hard to keep running (hey how many blown capacitors do you think someone has to have on their motherboard before you say it’s not their fault for wanting to replace the laptop)

ALSO SOMEONE IN THE RESPONSES OF THAT POST LITERALLY SAID THAT IF YOUR BATTERY DIED AT THREE YEARS IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T DOING THE DRAIN CHARGE CYCLE RIGHT AND FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s discharge cycles and heat, motherfucker; they are going to fail at some point and people shouldn’t feel bad if their batteries stop working after a couple years.

UGH.

You shouldn’t have to be a mechanic. You shouldn’t have to be a computer technician. Yeah, your shit will last longer if you know how to take care of it but, fuck. Imagine you were still using internet speeds from 2010. Imagine all your devices still had USB 2.0. Imagine you couldn’t log onto your online bank because your hardware won’t run he software that your bank recognizes because the hardware manufacturer decided it won’t support the older hardware.

What I was trying to get across in that initial post was “computers fail, and they fail pretty frequently; your life will be better and you will save money if you plan on replacing them at a regular interval and have reasonable expectations in terms of cost and failure. So buy a cheap computer now because you’re probably going to need one at some point”

And now I’ve got to Do A Yell about how there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism and it’s unreasonable to expect tired, overworked, broke people to become experts in computer repair in order to do their homework or play the goose game.

FUCK THAT.

IT’S CHEAP COMPUTER SEASON MOTHERFUCKERS. LAPTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT THREE TO FIVE YEARS AND DESKTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT FIVE TO SEVEN YEARS. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE DISCOUNTS ON NEW COMPUTERS AND IT’S CHEAP TO GET AN EXTENDED WARRANTY.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER AND WORK ON COMPUTERS IF YOU WANNA AND PLAN TO REPLACE REGULARLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK ON COMPUTERS.

ALSO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING OIL YOU’RE PROBABLY DUE.

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css1992 · 3 years

Text

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X / Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

The last couple of weeks of May flew by, soon June arrived and with it even more sunny days and warmer temperatures. Peter couldn’t help but think that his life fell apart in the winter, and as summer approached, it was slowly getting back on track. He was able to save a decent amount of money every month, his apartment was coming together – he even had a dinner table and chairs by the second week of June –, he was taking on more responsibility at BFF way quicker than expected and he was happier, in general.

He felt comfortable enough to make plans again – with the steady money he was making, he might be able to give up porn in a couple of years and he would still be eligible to apply for some of BFF’s grants and scholarships, meaning he may be able to go to college at 23, after all. Money would be tight for a while, but it was doable. He could always work part-time to supplement his income as well.

Summer also brought some unexpected good news. On a random Thursday morning, he was bombarded with messages on Twitter and Instagram from people asking where they could find his videos now that Beck’s channel was down. He was confused at first, but when he went to check, the channel wasn’t there, it had disappeared from the site.

He gasped. For a total of five seconds, his mind went wild, his heart raced, and his eyes watered. For those five seconds, he felt a mixture of happiness, relief and confusion, knowing those videos weren’t out there anymore, couldn’t be found, couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be remembered. But it was only for five blissful seconds. When his brain turned back on and the first rush of excitement died down, he realized that probably wouldn’t last.

That had happened before, when they first started posting. People mass reported the videos and the channel until they got taken down, because Peter looked very young at eighteen. They had to send a picture of his ID to the website for check several times, it was months before it stopped happening once and for all. Peter assumed Beck was posting videos of his new boyfriend, who he knew looked very young, so it was probably just a misunderstanding and only a matter of time until he got the channel – and the videos – back up.

Still, he allowed himself to count that as a win and couldn’t help but feeling giddy all day, to the point where everybody noticed his good mood – Ned, MJ, people at BFF and Tony.

Tony, who didn’t disappear. As days and nights and weeks went by, Peter stopped waiting for it to happen.

“Someone is awfully cheery today.” The older man grinned at him from the driver’s side that night, as Peter sang along to Ed Sheeran, because it was his turn to choose the playlist. Tony had picked him up from BFF and they were heading to his place for a quiet night in.

“It’s a good day, Tony.” He shot back after the chorus of Put it All on Me and the older man beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“It sure is, kitten.” He turned up the volume and Peter sang even louder, causing Tony to burst out laughing.

At some point, he realized life was a little less complicated than he gave it credit for. He realized that if he actually gave things the precise amount of thought they deserved, not everything felt like the end of the world. The minute he decided to just let things happen the way they were supposed to happen, without overthinking every detail, life got so much easier.

He decided not to make the thing with Tony a big deal. Sure, when he thought about it for more than two minutes, it seemed like a huge fucking deal, he was basically dating Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, Iron Man himself, the man who had literately saved half the universe from extinction not even two years earlier. So, yes, that seemed like a big fucking deal, but–

But.

To him, he was just Tony. This charming guy who texted him daily to ask about his day and crack acid jokes about his business associates. This kind guy who sent him chocolates when he was feeling down and cooked him dinner every weekend and made sure to e-mail him easy and healthy recipes so he wouldn’t starve to death. This gentle guy who called him beautiful and touched him with such care that he forgot how many hands had left bruises on his skin before.

When he forgot everything Tony was supposed to be and just focused on everything that he was to him, what they had seemed so simple and pure.

He stopped worrying about labels, too. In the beginning, he kept stressing about what they had, what was expected of him, what he expected of Tony, but eventually, he decided none of that mattered. They made each other feel good, they made each other happy, they made each other better, all in all, whatever label he could put on their relationship wouldn’t make any difference, so he let it go.

Weeks later, Peter heard Beck had managed to get the channel back up, only for it to get taken down again in a few hours, then his Instagram and Twitter also disappeared. He wasn’t too surprised, and if he was honest with himself, it was fun imagining Beck losing his mind as he tried to fix it. After all, every day the channel was down, he was losing money. And his social media, specially his Twitter account, was where he promoted his content to thousands of followers, so losing that meant losing money as well, and if there was one thing Peter knew Beck loved, it was money.

He wondered what the fuck the man had done to piss people off like that, it was clearly a coordinated attack, but he wasn’t curious enough to try and find out what happened. He would rather watch from a distance, rejoicing in the satisfaction it gave him to imagine that maybe, just maybe, one of those days Beck wouldn’t be able to get the channel back up and would have to start from scratch, like Peter did. And maybe then he wouldn’t re-upload his videos – that part was a little harder to believe, but who knew, stranger things had happened.

When June came to an end, Peter was surprised with a notification from Tony on Just4Fans. He had almost forgot the man was still subscribed to his account there, they obviously never chatted on the app anymore, and when he opened the notification, his blood ran cold in his veins.

It was a tip.

A hundred thousand dollars tip.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. A tip? For what, a job well done? It wasn’t like Peter was – what did that even mean? Was Tony trying to say something with that, send some kind of message?

He decided not to call him right away, he was too – upset. The older man was picking him up later that evening for dinner, so he decided to wait. Whatever he had to say to him, he wanted to hear it in person. He wanted him to look in his eyes and tell him he thought he was his fucking wh–

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked as soon he got in his car, avoiding the kiss that came his way. Tony blinked in surprise, trying to understand why he got a phone shoved in his face instead of a kiss, and then he finally saw what that was all about.

“Oh, that–“ But before he could answer anything, Peter interrupted.

“I told you I’m not – Tony, why would you – this is so insulting!” He was honestly at a loss for words. They had been seeing each other for almost two months by then, things were going great, they met every week, they made apple pie together, for God’s sake, had he misunderstood all the signs?

“My God, Peter, that’s not that, I just thought – I mean, I’m a billionaire, you know this is pocket change for me, right?” Peter gasped, shocked, and Tony’s eyes widened when he fumbled with the door handle. “Wait! I didn’t mean – Jesus, okay, hold on a second, please!” Tony reached over him to shut the door before Peter could get out of the car. The young man turned to look at him with tears in his eyes and Tony looked incredulous when he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t just assume the worst, have I given you any reason for that?” He sounded hurt, which made Peter gulp. He took a few calming breaths and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Ok, good.” He actually sounded relieved at that. “I am a billionaire, Peter, and this is pocket change for me, which means –“ he raised his voice a little, predicting a reaction from him that didn’t come, “I didn’t realize this would be such a big deal. For me, it’s like giving you, I don’t know, flowers. I didn’t mean this as a payment for whatever you think this is, I just thought this would be a good help. You’re starting your life now, you have that list of yours that you don’t let me see, you’re saving up money, you have your plans for college, I just meant to help. I mean, if we weren’t together, I would have tipped you every month, so I thought –“

“But we are together, Tony, I –“ he was a little calmer then, because that was, in fact, a reasonable explanation and he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but next time you mean to give me flowers, just give me flowers! I believe you have the best intentions at heart, but it’s just weird for me. I don’t want this to be about money. I just – don’t want that, okay?”

He gazed at the older man as he gaped at him, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out for a while.

“I just thought – I mean, people usually –“ It was unusual to see Tony speechless like that, but the man shook his head and looked back at him, almost embarrassed. “I just want to help you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter poked him in the arm, trying to lighten up the mood in the car. “You’re teaching me how to cook. Yesterday I made an omelet and I only burned one side, I’m getting good at this. That’s a big help.”

Tony didn’t laugh at his joke, like he usually did, he just gazed at him with an unreadable expression, before leaning in to kiss him, which Peter gladly reciprocated.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he whispered, then, resting his forehead against his.

“And I’m sorry I was rude. It won’t happen again,” he promised, and he meant it.

After that night, he removed Tony from his Just4Fans, which came as a blow to the older man, who pouted and whined for about a week, only stopping when Peter showed up at his place one Saturday wearing Iron Man lingerie under his clothes – it was supposed to be a joke, but it worked surprisingly well for Tony.

By July, it became impossible to keep sneaking around Ned and MJ, as the dates became more frequent. Peter decided to tell them that he had met someone online and that they were getting to know each other. He told them it was nothing serious yet and if it became serious, they would meet him.

He did have to throw in a few lies to get them off his back – he definitely had to lie about Tony’s age to avoid certain comparisons, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it, if he ever got to it. He wasn’t sure if or when he was going to tell them the whole truth, but for the time being, he felt more comfortable keeping that relationship to himself.

He and Tony didn’t go out much, but when they did, it was always to fancy and discreet restaurants with private rooms; Tony was, after all, a celebrity for all intents and purposes, and at if the press got a whiff of them there would be no secret left to keep.

But staying in with Tony was far from boring. They cooked together and the older man taught him all of his grandmother’s secret recipes – Peter could never replicate them by himself at home, but it was still fun trying. They spent almost all of their time down in the workshop, though, where Tony had him do menial tasks, like screwing bolts or reaching for a part inside an Iron Man suit. He said his tiny hands were useful for his projects.

He knew he wasn’t really that useful, but he loved when Tony included him and asked for his help, even though he didn’t really need it. He was fascinated by everything the older man taught him in those moments and in turn Tony always looked proud and pleased when Peter put his lessons to use.

He didn’t mind keeping him company when Tony was focused on projects he couldn’t help with, he stayed there anyway, reading a book or watching TV on the tiny couch – Tony kept saying he was going to get a bigger one, but he didn’t believe it, he knew the older man enjoyed the fact that the only way they could fit comfortably on it was if Peter was lying half on top of him.

So after several weeks, they established a little routine of their own. Since Tony had a busy schedule and Peter was still trying to keep Ned and MJ somewhat in the dark, they didn’t meet that often on week days, but they always talked on the phone before bed. On Thursdays, Tony picked him up after his shift at BFF and he spent the night at his place. They had breakfast together on Fridays and then they met again every Saturday after lunch, and finally Tony dropped him back off home every Sunday evening, so he could have dinner with his friends.

In August, for the first time in his life, Peter had two birthday celebrations. One with his friends, when the three of them went bar-hopping and he got home so hammered he had absolutely no idea how they managed to climb the stairs, and another with Tony, when he decorated the workshop with balloons and put party hats on Dum-E and U.

“Surprise!” He yelled lamely, throwing confetti at Peter when they stepped into the workshop. The younger man laughed, delighted, as Tony hurried to the kitchenette and came back with something in his hands. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I promise it tastes good. Probably.” When Peter looked down, he noticed it was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday, kitten’ written on it in bright pink icing. It looked so ugly, but it was so beautiful at the same time. “What did I do now?” Tony frowned, face falling.

He blinked a few times and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m just – really happy.” He grinned, pulling the older man’s face to give him a kiss. “Thank you.”

It was late October when Tony told him he had to go on a trip to China for two weeks, and even though it wasn’t his first work trip since they started dating, five months earlier, it would be by far the longest one since then, so it was kind of a big deal. Still, he didn’t expect to feel so affected, but on the days leading up to it he was so upset he couldn’t hide it.

They spent their last Sunday together wrapped up in each other doing absolutely nothing. They slept in, Tony brought Peter breakfast in bed, which was rewarded with a lazy and sloppy blow job, and they spent all day in bed, only getting up for essentials, like food and water. They didn’t even turn on the TV, they didn’t even talk much. They just held each other and exchanged slow, tender kisses until their bodies were too warm to stay under the sheets.

Tony ran a bath for them and got in the tub – it was big enough for eight people, but Peter made a point to sit in his lap, clinging to him like a koala. He felt Tony’s arms encircle him gently, as he rested his chin on top of his head.

“I’ll be home before you even have time to miss me, kitten.” He whispered, and those were the first words either of them had said in at least a few hours.

Peter didn’t tell him that was impossible since he already missed him, instead he just held him even tighter.

After the bath water went cold, they climbed out of the tub and Tony insisted on drying him, before dressing him in one of his own T-shirts, even though Peter had a multitude of spare clothes in his closet. He sat in bed, watching Tony pack a huge suitcase that reminded him just how long he would be gone for. He sulked a little – just a little – and that earned him a little kiss on his forehead, which was enough to undo the frown between his brows.

Finally, in the evening, Tony parked his car in front of Peter’s building, turning to look at him with an almost pained smile, before leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whispered against his mouth and felt when Tony’s lips stretched into a small smile. He pulled away a little, just enough to look into his eyes, and cupped his chin in his hand.

“I’ll miss you too, but I won’t be long, ok? It’s just a few days.” He pecked Peter’s lips one more time for good measure and the younger man nodded.

“Call me if you have time.”

“Of course, kitten, every day.” He leaned in for another kiss, this one longer than the previous, and Peter’s heart fluttered. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, containing the urge to say those three words that had been trapped in the back of his throat for weeks.

“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land.”

“I will, baby.”

Peter got out of the car and waved, watching as it disappeared down the street. He sighed and his heart ached, he already missed Tony and it had only been a few seconds, how was he going to survive fifteen whole days? It seemed impossible. It was crazy to think how far they had come since March, when they talked for the first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He turned to go inside, but froze in place when he heard a familiar voice.

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, huh? How rude.” He turned slowly to the left, only to be met with Beck’s cocky, arrogant smile, just a few feet away from him. “I tried calling, I tried texting, you’ve blocked me everywhere, I can’t even e-mail you anymore, it appears.” Beck walked slowly and leaned against the rails of the stairs to Peter’s building and the younger man curled his hands in fists, trying to control the urge to just run. “Long time no see, Petey-pie.”

He was paralyzed, muscles rigid, but to his own surprise, it wasn’t fear that he felt, or sadness. It was pure anger.

“I wonder why,” he answered quietly, but firmly. Beck’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, before the smile was back in place. “How did you find me?” He demanded, because Beck had never cared to ask where Peter was going to stay after he kicked him out, so how in the hell would he know where to find him?

“Wasn’t easy, I have been following you on Instagram, some of your morning run routes seemed familiar, so I–”

“You stalked me?” He frowned, taking a step closer to the other man, who looked at Peter with indignation and hurt. He shook his head, softened those baby blue eyes and placed one hand over his chest, right above where his heart would have been if he had one.

“I just wanted to see you, is all.” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to stare at his own feet, and Peter wanted to roll his eyes. It was so weird watching his whole act now that the spell had been lifted.

“What do you want?” He asked, making the older man’s head snap back up, a little surprised by his cold tone.

“I just told you, I wanted to see you. I missed you.” He took a few steps towards Peter, who in turn walked backwards to keep his distance

“You missed me?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Where’s your new boy-toy, you put him away so you could come play with me?” He cocked his head to the side and, for a moment, he could see the shock crossing his features.

“Pete… Why are you acting like this, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore...” His voice broke and he looked away, pretending to wipe away a tear. He wondered how the hell he used to fall for that.

“You don’t, Quentin. I’m not a lost little boy anymore, you should go back to your boyfriend. Or is he smarter than me and dumped you already? Is that what this is all about?” He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and Beck’s mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe his words.

“I made a mistake, Pete. After so many years, I took you for granted, I couldn’t see what I saw the first time I met you. I couldn’t see how beautiful you were, how caring and loving you were, how loyal and reliable and – I don’t know, I was blind. I was so stupid, I shouldn’t have left you.” His eyes were wide, earnest, shining with unshed tears. His face was open, even his body language screamed honesty. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad about falling for his act – Beck was good. “Don’t you miss me, baby? Don’t you miss us?”

Peter snorted, shaking his head, he couldn’t believe the nerve of that man.

“You made a mistake, huh? So you dumped your new boy, right? If I were to go home with you right now, he wouldn’t be there, waiting for you, like a fucking plan B, in case this doesn’t go your way. Right?” It was his turn to take a few steps towards the older man. “Like I was your plan B while you waited for him to turn 18?”

“Peter, c’mon–“

“Is he there, Beck? Just answer me that. Come on, if he’s not, I’ll take you back right now, we can go home together.” He insisted, looking into the older man’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just sighed. “Of course he is. If I said yes, what would you do? Tell him to pack his things in the middle of the night and leave? Would you keep all the money he’s made you and tell him to fuck off? Would you leave him broke and lonely and fucking lost in this world? Would you tell him that he wasn’t good enough and dispose of him like he’s fucking garbage?” His voice grew louder and louder, and when he came to himself, he noticed he was in Beck’s face, their chests almost touching, so he took a step back. “So to answer your question, Quentin, no, I don’t fucking miss you. You fucking ruined me!”

“I saved you!” And just like that, the good guy act was gone. His whole demeanor changed, the soft baby blues widened, his mouth was set in a sneer, he puffed out his chest to intimidate him, but Peter stood his ground. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember who you were before me. You were a fucking loser! An orphan, no family, no friends, no future! I took you in, I took care of you, I gave you a profession – don’t fucking roll your eyes, what the fuck are you doing now, huh? Rocket science? ‘Cause it seems to me like you’re still doing porn, and now you’re clearly branching out into prostitution, would you look at that!”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” He placed his hands on the man’s chest and pushed him away when he got too fucking close for comfort. He held his breath when he realized what he had done, afraid of the man’s reaction, but he just kept his distance.

“You know what? Fuck you, Peter. I was wrong about you, I thought I knew who you were, I thought I missed you, but you’re just a disgusting fucking whore, after all. You’re a dirty little bitch in heat who likes to get this loose hole of yours fucked by old perverts, I don’t know why I’m surprised, I mean, that’s why I dumped you, you were enjoying those videos a little bit too much for my taste. You weren’t even satisfied with two cocks up your ass, one in your mouth and a line of men waiting to fuck you. You disgust me.” He started walking away, and Peter wanted to say something, he wanted to yell at him and defend himself, he wanted to tell him he didn’t fucking enjoy it, he wanted to tell him that it was all his fault, he threw him to the lions, he let those men fucking–

Fuck!

He rushed inside the building and ran upstairs, eyes clouded with tears. He tripped and fell knees first on the steps, but he didn’t even feel pain, he just got up and kept going, kept running, trying to put as much distance between him and Beck as he could, even though it was irrational. Beck was gone, he walked away, he left him, he left him again, he wasn’t coming back–

“Ned?!” He knocked urgently on his friends’ door. He didn’t have his spare key, it was upstairs in his own apartment, but he couldn’t trust himself to go all the way up there and down again without having a full on panic attack. “MJ?! Are you guys home?!” He was really trying not to sound too desperate, he didn’t want to scare them, but it was hard controlling his emotions when his heart was hammering against his chest and he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Peter?” It was MJ who yanked the door open. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, her hair was wet, and Peter felt guilty, but she took one look at him and quickly pulled him into a hug. “My God, Peter...” She whispered into his hair when he started sobbing uncontrollably on her naked shoulder. “Come on in, c’mon.” He heard the door closing behind him, but he didn’t let go of her, he felt like if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that she should go finish her shower and change, but he really, really needed her right then. She sat down on the couch, pulling him with her and he promptly laid down, burying his face in her legs. He couldn’t stop crying and sobbing and no matter how many times she asked him what was wrong, sounding increasingly more worried, he couldn’t get his feelings under control enough to give her any answer.

He was there for what felt like hours, when at some point someone lifted him from MJ’s lap and enveloped him in such a tight hug he couldn’t breath for a second, but he sighed in relief, it was right what he needed. Ned’s arms felt like home, it calmed him down almost instantly – his voice whispering that it was fine, everything was going to be okay helped a lot, too.

“I hate him, I hate him so fucking much,” he mumbled into his shoulder, God knew how much time later, and his friend just hummed, patting his back. “I hate that he made a mess of me and I let him.” He couldn’t hold back more tears when he said that, because it was true, it was so fucking true. He let Beck do whatever he wanted to him, he let him ruin his dreams, his future, his fucking personality, until he was nothing but a shell of what he used to be.

“I know, Peter, I know,” Ned soothed him, rubbing his back, even though he probably had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. It’s over”

“I made tea.” MJ’s quiet voice sounded somewhere from his right and when he turned to look at her, she was already dressed, wet hair up in a bun, with a mug in her hands, which she extended to him. He accepted it but didn’t dare to take a sip, he was positive that if he did, he would throw up, his stomach was all kinds of fucked up at that moment. “Peter, what happened? Did Star – uh, did your boyfriend do something? Did he hurt? ‘Cause I swear to God–” Just the mention of Tony being the cause of his distress made him sick, so he cut her off.

“Beck was here.” He sniffed, looking at the mug to avoid their eyes when he heard both of them gasping.

“Beck? Beck was here? Fucking Beck?” MJ screeched and he nodded.

“He was waiting for me outside.” He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gather enough energy to have that conversation.

“What did he want?” Ned asked calmly, while MJ paced the floor, furious.

“I don’t know...” He shrugged, wrecking his brain to try and figure out what his motive was. “His channel got taken down a few weeks ago and he couldn’t get it back up. I heard he had to start over.” He hadn’t been watching that closely, but he knew something was wrong, even his Twitter and Instagram accounts kept getting taken down almost monthly, it was impossible he was making any money over the past few months. “He said he wanted to get back together, probably because he thinks us making up would be a big hit or whatever. I said no, of course. He didn’t like the answer.”

“Did he hurt you?!” MJ strode back to him until she was standing right in front of him, looking into his eyes. He was almost intimidated by her.

“No, he just… Said some pretty shitty things, is all,” he answered sheepishly, because he hated that that man could still make a mess of him with just a few hurtful words.

“Oh, dude. He’s just mad he’s lost control over you. Whatever he said, he just wanted to hurt you, it doesn’t mean anything.” Ned placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Peter rested his head against his, sighing.

“I know. He was always like that, you know,” he whispered, as flashes of memories crossed his mind. “When I didn’t bend to his wishes, when I didn’t do things his way, he fucking–“ He squeezed his eyes shut, furious, because he had fallen for that again. “He tries to charm me and when it doesn’t work, he attacks me. But the thing is, he really knows what to say to destroy me. It just sucks. But it’s fine. I just need a moment, I’ll be fine.” He sat up straight and looked both of his friends in the eyes.

“Yes, you will. You most certainly will.” Ned patted his shoulder one last time, getting up from the couch. “Why don’t you lie down for a second, huh? I’m making dinner, I’ll even try one of those recipes your mystery boyfriend taught you.” Just the mention of Tony made him breathe a little easier, even though he wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.

“Okay.” He nodded, smiling softly. MJ took Ned’s place on the couch and he lay down, placing his head on her legs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed contently and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. He was close to drifting off when he heard Ned gasp.

“Oh my God,” He breathed quietly from the kitchen and both Peter and MJ looked at him curiously from over the back of the couch.

“What?” She didn’t look too worried, but Peter was concerned about how pale he was.

“Ned, what’s wrong?” He frowned, watching Ned’s horrified expression looking at his phone like it was a murder scene. He raised his eyes and gulped.

“Peter is trending on Twitter,” he whispered, after a while.

“What?!” They both hurried over to the kitchen counter, and the first thing Peter saw when he looked at his phone was a picture of him and Tony in his car, kissing. As Ned scrolled down, more pictures showed up, but not only that, clips of his old videos were all over Twitter, people knew his full name, his real name, and they were making all sorts of comments. Iron Man, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, sex worker, prostitute and porn were trending.

The room was completely silent for a whole minute, before MJ turned on the TV.

“… appear that Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and retired Avenger, was seen kissing a young man in his car earlier this evening. The person in the pictures seems to be one Peter Parker, a twenty-one year old porn actor, who is also said to work as a prostitute…”

Peter’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his vision blurred and he felt bile rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and got up from the couch, ears ringing, as he rushed to the front door. He heard his friends yelling something, but he couldn’t make out their words, and he just couldn’t deal with all that right then and there.

“I, uhm, I gotta go,” he called from over his shoulder, slamming the door shut on his way out.

As he ran upstairs, vision blurred by tears and chest hurting, begging for oxygen, he couldn’t help but remember his life fell apart in the winter. And fall would be over soon.

-x-

So... It appears that someone has lost the ability to write short chapters...

Anyways, only three more chapters to go! 🥳

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list): @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker @ whyisthisathingcb

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

Text

Podcasting "Self Publishing"

This week on my podcast, I read my latest Medium column, “Self-Publishing,” an essay about the structural shifts in the publishing industry over the past half-century and how and why that has driven people to try self-publishing.

https://doctorow.medium.com/self-publishing-41800468bcfe

The tale starts with the rise of Big Box stores, after Reagan’s deregulation got Sam Walton to take Walmart national. This concentrated the “mass market” — the huge, variegated world of pharmacy and grocery and cornerstore spinner racks that were the cradle of genre fiction.

The big boxes demanded a single national distribution system, and hundreds of local distributors — whose unionized Teamsters stocked the spinner racks based on long territorial experience — collapsed to a handful of database-driven decision-makers.

The number of titles for sale fell off a cliff. Writers who had a single underperforming book were no longer welcome in the big boxes and thus no longer economically viable (remember all those established writers who switched to pen-names? They were trying to beat this).

Monopoly begets monopoly. The predatory discounting of the big box stores put the squeeze on chain bookstores and indies. The chains merged and merged into a duopoly, while the indies underwent a mass die-off.

Publishers were caught in this squeeze: the two national bookstore chains and the big box stores demanded extra co-op payments, preferential discounts, and more generous credit and return policies. The publishers merged and merged, down to six (now four).

This also happened with trade distributors (who sold to bookstores, not the mass market) — the industry collapsed into a duopoly (today, it’s a monopoly, run by Ingram).

This is a familiar pattern across all monopolized industries.

As David Dayen described in MONOPOLIZED, this neatly parallels the monopolization of health care: pharma monopolized and gouged hospitals, who monopolized in self-defense and gouged insurers, who monopolized in self-defense.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

Both monopolistic trends had the same end-point: after all the companies had finished monopolizing, the disorganized group of suppliers and workers were the only ones that the monopolies could strong-arm. In the case of hospitals, that’s health-workers and patients.

In publishing, it’s workers and writers. If you work in publishing and your resume is rejected by four companies, it has been rejected by every major publisher. If you’re a writer whose book is rejected by four publishers, then you’ve been rejected by every major house.

That’s why writers are now expected to give up graphic novel, audio, world English, and other valuable rights for the same advances — with fewer companies bidding on books, the likelihood that one will pay more or demand less goes down.

In the 2000s and early 2010s, some writers hoped that they’d be able to sidestep publishing by allying themselves with a different monopolized industry, locking themselves to Amazon’s platform. But as competition from publishers dwindled, so too did Amazon’s largesse.

The authors who shackled themselves to Amazon now face tens of millions of dollars in wage-theft. The solution to unfair treatment at the hands of giants isn’t to ally yourself with an even bigger giant and hope for its ongoing generosity.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/03/somebody-will/#acx

A more promising sign is in the wave of mid-sized houses that have snapped up the workers shed by Big Publishing during mergers as well as the promising new publishing workers who are surplus to the Big Four’s needs.

These presses punch way above their weight, thanks in part to the number of great books that just don’t fit into the publishing needs of four giant houses. But as great as this is, it’s intrinsically precarious.

These mid-sized houses can’t stand up to the might of one distributor, one national bookseller, four big box stores, and one giant ecommerce monopoly. Earlier mass die-offs in indie publishing (like the American Marketing Services horror story) show how fragile this is.

Which brings us to self-publishing. There have never been more sophisticated tools for making polished, professional books on your own — Lulu.com, Smashwords, Bookbaby — and (thanks to layoffs) it’s never been easier to find publishing pros to help with that process.

But that’s not “publishing.” As Patrick Nielsen Hayden once told me (paraphrasing), “Publishing is identifying a work and an audience and doing whatever it takes bring the two together.” In other words, how do you convince people to give a shit about your book?

This is an incredibly hard problem. It’s the hard problem of advertising, religion and politics. There’s no established method for it because the attention wars are a race against adaptation — what worked yesterday won’t work today.

https://locusmag.com/2018/01/cory-doctorow-persuasion-adaptation-and-the-arms-race-for-your-attention/

If you want to self-publish, you need to observe books like yours, identify how they are discovered by their audiences, formulate a plan to do the same, execute the plan, measure your results, and change the plan and do it again, and again, and again.

Publishers don’t just have systems and experts — they also have multiple data-points, a stream of books where they get to try different things, refine their successful tactics, and try again. You have a data-set with one point in it: you.

It follows that if you’re not prepared to work as hard (and well) at marketing, sales and promotion as you did at writing, you probably shouldn’t self-publish. Doing those things won’t guarantee your success, but without them, failure is all but assured.

That said, the one area where self-publishers can sometimes outdo publishers is accessing (parts of) the mass-market. The vast majority people aren’t “readers” (in the sense of being people who regularly buy books, go to bookstores, etc).

Every mega-bestseller is just a book that succeeded with a tiny sliver of nonreaders. And you might know more about a community of nonreaders — a faith group, fandom, subculture or political movement — than anyone in publishing.

If that’s the case, and if you are both diligent and lucky, you might be able to successfully market you book to that group and even leverage that success into a publishing deal that brings your book to “readers” — whom a publisher knows more about than you ever will.

I published by first book in 2000. Since then, I’ve published a couple dozen more, everything from novels for adults to YA novels to a middle-grades graphic novel to a picture book to essay and short story collections to book-length nonfiction.

I’ve published many books, including multiple bestsellers, with one of the Big Four publishers, and I’ve also published with several mid-sized boutique presses (some of which have merged with bigger publishers since).

I’ve successfully self-published, including a $267,000, record-smashing Kickstarter campaign. I’m a recovering bookseller and I’m unhealthily drawn to great bookstores, which are doing surprisingly well (thanks partly to Libro.fm and Bookshop.org).

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/doctorow/attack-surface-audiobook-for-the-third-little-brother-book

Despite all this, I’m keenly aware that runaway consolidation makes my position as a worker in this system intrinsically precarious. The wonderful people in big publishing love books and treat me very well, but they can’t fix the system.

I’ve met sincere, talented people at Amazon doing their best to support publishing, but they can’t fix the system either. Neither can James Daunt, a true hero of bookselling who has come to America to transform Barnes and Noble.

Monopoly begets monopoly. If any part of the supply chain is allowed to monopolize, the rest will follow in self-defense, and it will always be the workers — the writers and staff — who struggle to push back.

That’s why the current resurgence of both trade-unionism and antitrust are so important. In a world whose outcomes are more determined by power relationship than by good intentions, the only way to secure workers’ futures is to make them stronger and make business weaker.

The essay is here:

https://doctorow.medium.com/self-publishing-41800468bcfe

The podcast episode is here:

https://craphound.com/news/2021/07/05/self-publishing/

The MP3 is here (hosting courtesy of the Internet Archive, they’ll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_396/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_396_-_Self_Publishing.mp3

And here’s my podcast feed:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

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milstrim · 3 years

Text

Strong Words of Encourage-Mint!

"Okay, you win," Tony conceded, pointing an accusing finger at the kid walking next to him, "This is the best sandwich I've ever had. But don't let it go to your head."

Penny took a bite of her own sandwich, polishing it off and throwing the wrapper at the nearest trash can where it landed perfectly in the hole. She flashed him a cheeky grin, "Never. Nothing goes to my head. Ever."

"Uhuh."

Tony took another bite, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. Today, they served more than the purpose of carrying around his own personal badass AI, but actually blocked the bright New York summer sun that bounced and glared off the windows of buildings and nearby cars. Heat passed through the crowd like a dusty wind, hanging onto him and letting go just as quickly as a new wave took its place. He licked his lips at the heat, hoping that whatever Penny's trip through the city had planned was prepared for a water break.

"So, where to, kid?" he asked, throwing his own wrapper in a trashcan, though he begrudgingly admitted that it was much less cool than the kid's shot, "'Cause I don't know if it can surpass the best sandwich in Queens."

"It's gonna be great, Mr. Stark!" Penny chirped, ignoring his comment and bouncing forward a little. He smiled. "There's this really cool tunnel thing that turns into an arcade. It just opened last week and the graphics are so good, it's like it's actually real! They also have an escape room if we wanted to do that too. It's supposed to be the hardest one ever, no one's cracked it yet!" Tony smirked. Between the two of them, it'd be done in ten minutes tops, "Oh! And there's this cool, like--it's like a superhero store? They have a bunch of really cool Avengers merch and there's this life size Captain America plushie that's like three hundred dollars and it has the funniest sayings ever. You've got to see it!!!"

"Sounds like a full day," Tony commented, wondering when life had ever become this carefree. He was spending the day discussing afternoon plans with his intern, just for fun... No, not his intern. More like his kid. He couldn't help himself as he gave the girl a fond look. It'd been two years since they'd met, she was almost eighteen, and she changed so much, yet her bouncy childish joy still hung in a bubble beside her. Tony took a breath, surprised to find his breath taken away with the thought of how much she'd grown, "So, where to first?"

"Where do you wanna go first?"

"Nope. Your day."

She bumped into him playfully, sticking her tongue out at him. He blew a raspberry in her direction, dragging a delighted, crinkling giggle out of her.

"The arcade is closest," she said.

"Cool, let's go do that first. Which way?"

"Um, it's a couple blocks over," she started, stopping, much to the chagrin of the bustling crowd. She stepped away from the stream of traffic. Tony followed, "We can take some shortcuts, though."

"Y'know, you're pretty impatient," he teased.

"No! I'm just showing you my amazing street cred of knowing the streets."

"Okay, Underoos. Lead the way."

She shot him a look, but still led him through the alley. And then another, and then another. The first two were completely fine. No surprises, no boogy man jumping out of them. Nothing other than the toxic smell of a dumpster. By the third one, everything went downhill.

Now, Tony didn't have a 'spidey sense' or whatever she and her friend called it, but the moment he stepped on the street, the feeling of wrong overtook him. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was the way Penny had slowed down, her body language reeking of fear. Almost against his will, he took a step further, reaching out for Penny in an attempt to pull her back.

He'd barely reached her by the time something clattered at their feet. It was small and round, barely bigger than a bouncy ball, a sickly gray color shining dully in the darkened alleyway. Before any movements could be made, it stretched, revealing a clear vial.

Smoke began dispensing from the ball, billowing in thick clouds. Extremely thick for how small the thing was. Tony's breath shortened immediately, and before he clamped his mouth shut, stuffing it into the crook of his arm, he shouted to Penny, "Don't breathe, kid, just run!!"

Surprisingly unaffected, he moved forward, gripping Penny's hand as he did, but he was stopped short, almost falling with his cut short momentum. He whipped around to stare at Penny, his eyes widening with horror.

She was rooted in place, her eyes dreamy and droopy, as if she was nothing more than a vacant shell. She swayed. Her legs shook. She fell.

The man rushed forward, barely managing to catch her, and feeling like someone would have to catch him soon as well. His vision swayed dizzily from the lack of air, and Tony couldn't stop himself from taking a breath in at the sudden movement. He expected something bitter or tasteless, and for him to faint immediately if it had already taken Penny out so quickly, but instead, he was fine. Nothing happened save for the burning of peppermint on his throat and burning his nose.

Peppermint.

He cursed. Penny was dangerously allergic to peppermint, a fun little gift from her spider powers. Whoever had done this hadn't come for him. They wanted Penny, and they knew just how to do it.

With that horrifying thought, Tony ran. Or, well, he tried to run.

Scooping up Penny, he began to stumble out of the alleyway, only to be met with a wall of people. There were three of them, all with guns in hand. Waiting. He turned on his heel, only to discover the other end was surrounded with three men as well, as dangerous and formidable looking as before. He spotted a red octopus on their jackets.

He hugged Penny tighter, and held out a gauntlet covered hand. His glasses lit up, Friday already calling a suit.

A man took a step closer, his gun held aloft. Tony took a step backward, his eyes dancing around and looking for an escape. Penny couldn't stay in this cloud of peppermint for long. As if hearing his thoughts, a rack of coughs shot through Penny, who buried her shaking form into his shoulder. He had to get her out.

"Hand over the girl," demanded the closest man. The group closed in, but remained wary of the weapon gripped onto his palm.

"Not happening," he snapped, "I think you know what happens to people that mess with me. So why don't you just go ahead and keep moving?"

"You know it's already too late for that."

"I don't think it's ever too late for anything."

"I do," the man responded, and that was all he had to say.

The men rushed forward all at once, a tidal wave. Tony fired immediately, but was only able to fire out one shot before they were on top of him. He kicked out violently, but was horribly unbalanced by the girl he held in his arms, limp and unaware of the world.

A punch landed to his face, knocking him backwards and the glasses off of his face. Assumingly distracted, he felt arms grip around his kid, tugging painfully at her, but he managed to cling on. In his desperate attempt to keep the kid with him, however, he found himself defenseless.

Another fist. Another kick. Tony felt his nose snap and his arms bruise beyond belief as he was rammed against the dumpster, arms worming between his, digging and tugging and tearing. But Tony refused to let go, unable to do anything else. All he could do was shield Penny from being hurt and taken.

But all he could do wasn't enough. Tony's legs wobbled, his body shook, and Penny was torn away. He reached out immediately, struggling to force himself up only to be met with the butt of the gun against his face. He went down like a rock, his head tearing against the concrete painfully.

Tony Stark had never been one to give up though, and this was a moment he was determined to not let pass by. Even if it killed him.

The sound of a car screeching to a halt is what managed to stir him to his feet, throwing away the dizziness that faced him and instead running towards the group of kidnappers. No longer encumbered with a child in his hands, he held out his wrist gauntlet. The first two missed, but the last hit the man holding Penny. He dropped to the ground just outside a gray van, Penny tumbling with him.

Another took his place, hooking arms underneath the limp girl and attempting to herd her back into the van, but he rushed forward. Anger burned in his eyes and leapt from his palm. Now close enough, he hit the man picking up Penny, forcing him to stumble back, and knocking him down with a swift shot.

Tony couldn't stop to make sure Penny was okay, instead swerving back to face the rest of the group, who were sprinting forward and redrawing their guns. The first slammed up to him, clicking his gun and ready to fire. Tony grabbed his wrist as he approached, clumsily twisting and placing his armored hand over the barrel, only just able to stop the metal that bounced against his hand painfully.

He took in a wispy breath, adrenaline pumping. He threw the man into the next one, forcing them to tumble to the ground, not that it would keep them down for long. He turned to the next one, firing two quick excessive shots that blasted the gun out of his hand and sent it clattering on the pavement. Tony punched him, his metal hand swiftly knocking him out.

Three down. Three to go.

The two he'd shoved to the ground earlier had stumbled back up, and now all three surrounded him, guns drawn and pointed at him. Tony pointed his gauntlet, gasping for air and refusing to move from where he stood over his kid protectively.

"Give it up, Stark," the tallest man demanded, a trickle of blood running from a cut over his eyes. Tony glanced around harriedly, desperately searching for an escape, for something to use. The sound of whooshing let him know he didn't have to.

"I've never been known for that," he snarked back, ducking and swerving for Penny just as the suit clanked down in front of him. Tony didn't even have to watch the fight, though he would've preferred to see the way their faces widened and whitened with fear, instead kneeling beside his kid.

No longer in direct contact with the peppermint bomb, the swelling had receded, and, when he placed two fingers to her neck, he was relieved to discover her heart was beating normally. Her breaths were a little shallow, but she'd live.

Penny blinked awake, her eyelashes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked lost, unfocused and unseeing, before they shifted and locked onto him. Immediately, a look of trust washed over her, and it made Tony equally terrified and fond. He'd barely saved her, yet she still held out a hand and gripped his fingers as though he would protect her forever.

He would try.

"Are you o'ay?" Penny mumbled, her words heavy as she began to regain control of her body. Tony wanted to scoff, but he was sure he looked like a bruised and horrid mess. His eye was bruising, his nose tender and broken, and trickles of blood escaping from given cuts.

"I'm great, kiddo," he responded instead, "But I think our little playdate is over, so why don't we go home?"

"I wanted you to see the Captain America doll."

"We'll go another time," he assured.

"Really?"

"Really."

#female peter parker #tony stark #peter parker #spiderman #Iron Man #irondad #spiderson #irondad and spiderson #kidnap tw #febuwhump 2021

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pynkhues · 4 years

Note

PLEASE turn the handcuffed together thing into a proper fic

Hahaha, I might, anon! I haven’t really decided yet! I’ve just been messing around with it for the last couple of days. You can have a little snippet of what I wrote today though if you like!

And just like that, Phoebe’s gone.

Or not gone, but out of the car at least, locking the door behind her as she crosses the parking lot, her long, skinny legs practically springing off the bitumen as she yanks her cell out of the back pocket of her pants to no doubt call - - well. Whoever it is she answers to, Beth thinks, swallowing thickly, her hands balling into fists at her thighs.

Or maybe not that either, because suddenly her arm’s being yanked sideways, and Beth yelps as she’s dragged across the back seat of Phoebe’s car. She flails out the hand not attached by the wrist to Rio’s just enough to grab at the car door on her side, as Rio tries to open the one on his.

“Can you just - - stop,” she hisses, her arm bent awkwardly as he tries to use both hands to fiddle with the clearly locked car door, apparently totally unbothered by her being half draped over him. When he ignores her, Beth glowers, the metal of the cuff already making her wrist throb, and it’s just worse somehow, with the heat of his lanky body beside her. “You’re not helping.”

At least that’s enough to make him twist back to look at her. To give her the space to yank their joined arms back in her direction, to sit better, more comfortably, again in the seat.

“Oh, I’m not helping?”

And of course he accompanies it with that look. The one where he drops his chin forwards, raises an eyebrow, looks at her like she’s the one who got them cuffed to each other in the back of a fed’s car, but y’know what? This one wasn’t on her. He was supposed to meet her at Boland Bubbles, not at Paper Porcupine. And even that was supposed to be business as usual – the drop of the real dollar bills, and the take of the fake tens – not Rio showing up with new plates for twenties, fifties, hundreds.

Beth sets her jaw, is about to say yes, when Rio cuts her off.

“See, I think not tellin’ the boss your little friend back there was a fed might’ve been less of a help, yeah?”

Which, okay, to be fair, Phoebe had been eating take out with Beth in the backroom of Paper Porcupine when Rio arrived, but that was only because Beth, Ruby and Annie were trying to do better than they’d done with Turner. Let Phoebe think they trusted her, that they bought her terrible-undercover-act or whatever it was she was doing, while they fed her false information with the plan to get Rio arrested again, but - -

The point of that plan was Rio cuffed in the back of a squad car.

Not Beth cuffed to Rio in the back of a squad car because Phoebe only had one set on her.

She scowls, and at least this time she expects it when he pulls his arm back to the door, and god, he can’t be trying the handle again, and she’s about to tell him that when suddenly the door springs open, and she thinks it’s someone on the other side only - - no. It’s just them.

Beth reels, blinking wildly back at him.

“How’d you do that?” she asks, before she can think better of it, and Rio just starts to slide out across the seat, which - - no. Beth grabs her door handle again, anchoring them in place.

At the motion, or rather – the lack of motion – Rio turns back to face her, rolling his eyes.

“Practice,” he says finitely, then adds: “I’d ask if you were coming, but seein’ as we’re a package deal right now, you ain’t really got a choice.”

Which - -

Well.

Beth flushes, jerking her arm to her chest. Or she tries to at least, because this time Rio doesn’t let her pull him with her (and god, she hadn’t even realized he’d let her before), leaving her to chafe her wrist against the cuff instead. She stares at it, then back at him.

“We can’t just leave,” she insists, because they can’t, because Phoebe’s FBI and they’ve been arrested and she’s out there right now calling her boss, whoever that might be, but Rio just shakes his head.

“She’s callin’ her buddy, not her boss. None of this right now is on paper yet, and she ain’t actin’ above board, so we can do whatever we want, or... huh,” he looks at her, then back at their wrists, snorts. “Whatever I want, and see, me? I’m out, and you’re comin’ with.”

#my fic #welcome to my ama #what is this horrible baby?#i don't know!#hahaha #beth x rio #Anonymous

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justsassysworld · 4 years

Text

Grief Makes Bad Decisions

Grief Makes Bad (Or Maybe Not So Bad) Decisions

Beetlejuice x f!Reader

Word Count: 1823

“Gertrude, Eustace, I’m home!” you call, entering your house.

You're roommates are a lovely, but incredibly odd couple. They're ridiculously sweet, horribly in love, and over a hundred years dead.

Over a hundred and twenty years ago, they were killed by some random intruder, leaving them unable to move on from the place of their murder.

You were beyond freaked out the first time you saw them, the day after you moved into their old home. Apparently, most people don't see ghosts, but you are a strange and unusual type person. It took awhile to see past their bloody and gruesome appearances, but you've grown so used to them now that you don't even notice their bloody clothes and bullet wounds anymore.

A sense of wrongness overtakes you as you notice an envelope on an end table. It’s addressed to you.

Darling Y/N,

It has been lovely these past six months. You’re such a sweet girl who has been so good to us. We hope you will look back on your time with us with fondness, but our time has come.

We were obligated to spend one hundred and twenty five years in our home. Today marks the end of our purgatorial sentence. We had wanted to prepare you for our departure, but the exact date slipped our mind, and was upon us before we could act.

I am truly sorry we are unable to give a proper goodbye, and wish you nothing but happiness for your future. We will always appreciate the loving care and consideration you have shown us.

Wishing you a joyous and love filled life,

Eustace and Gertrude Mayford

Tears prickling your eyes, a sob wrenches from your chest. You hadn’t known them long, but you were closer to them than anyone.

The next few hours fly by as you process the loss. You find yourself seated on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand, an old flyer in the other.

You’d come across it less than a week after moving in. it was for something called a “bio-exorcist.” When you showed it to Gertrude, she rolled her eyes.

“He’s a conman. After he was caught tormenting a couple who had just died and the family that moved in after them, he was forbidden any contact with the living world for twenty years,” she looked quite annoyed, obviously not liking the man. “The sentence ended a few years ago and he’s been nothing but a nuisance ever since.”

Both Eustace and her had warned you off summoning him, even for fun, multiple times, but you’re feeling lonely, and the tiniest bit inebriated, and you need to talk to someone who might understand, at least someone who knows about the spirit world.

Steeling yourself, and sending an apology to your departed friends, you say, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” as quickly as possible.

Seconds roll by, leaving you disappointed. Out of nowhere, the couch shudders and quakes, making you hold on for dear life. Your eyes squeeze shut until the ride comes to an end.

A maniacal laugh and a hand on your leg has your eyes snapping an eye open. You let out a startled scream, jumping up from your spot, wanting to get some space between you and the...man?

“Who-who the hell are you?” you stutter, logic refusing to make itself known.

He gives you a huge grin, mossy teeth glittering in the low light, “I’m the ghost with the most, babe.”

“So, you’re Beet-” you’re cut off, physically unable to finish.

Eyes wide, you take in his satisfied smirk and his wagging finger, letting you know he’s responsible. “Uh uh uh, babes. We won’t be using that name again tonight.”

You bolt up, pacing the floor. Experimentally, you try to speak, “So,” you sigh in relief. “You’re the...person the Mayfords warned me about? I was expecting someone scarier.”

“Scarier?” he looks at you like you’ve got two heads.

“Well, yeah,” you say, beyond blunt. Nerves making you lose all tact. “I mean, you’re hardly intimidating. You’re not that much taller than me, you’ve got a bit of a gut, and honestly, you’re more gross than scary.”

Your pacing is brought to a sudden halt by a shockingly strong pair of hands. He pushes until you’re pressed against a wall, his arms bracket your head, trapping you. Something odd grips your wrists and ankles, spreading you out before him.

You’re suddenly horribly aware of your lack of clothes, in just your pajamas, a paper thin tank top and tiny pair of shorts. His hands still by your head, he gives you a long look over, his gaze almost tactile.

Except it’s not just his gaze that’s touching you, he seems to have grown a third arm out of his chest, which is running down your body, from just south of your breasts to just north of your shorts.

“Well now, babes,’ he growls in your ear. “I could do anything I want to you, there ain’t a thing you can do to stop me. You still think you I’m not intimidating?”

Swallowing hard, you decide to press your luck. “Intimidating? Not really. Dominant and sexy? Fuck yeah.”

A coy smile crosses your lips as his jaw drops. As what you said sinks in, an evil grin splits his face.

“Oh, babycakes,” his lips are a hair's breadth from yours. “Game on.” His mouth crashes against yours; lips, teeth, and tongues battling for control.

Your fight is half hearted at best, wanting him to be in charge. Out of nowhere you’re released, falling into his waiting arms. He carries you to the couch, placing you how he wants you, naked at crouch level, clothes melting away.

You bite your lip, looking at him with fluttering lashes. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Juice.”

“Fuck yeah there is,” he purrs, fingers digging in your hair. “I want you to play with your pretty little pussy while I use your mouth as my own personal cock sleeve.”

You wrinkle your nose, about to remark on that comment, when he opens his pants, pulling out his cock. Tilting your head, you take it in.

It’s as pale as the rest of him, around average length, but really fucking girthy, perfect for sex, but it was going to be hell on your jaw. You’re up for the challenge.

Starting to lean forward, you’re surprised when he stops you. “Uh uh uh, I’m captain of this cruise.”

He pulls you up to kiss just under his belly button, before having you kiss your way to and down his shaft. At the head, he commands, “Lick it.”

You do, treating it like your favorite lollipop. Feeling mischievous, you manage to give it one quick suck before he pulls you away. “Naughty girl.”

He gives you a wink that you return.

The tease lasts much longer than you would have thought, his stamina shocking you. He reminds you that you’re supposed to be providing him with some visual stimulus, so you run your hand down to your aching clit.

Jas you start to pleasure yourself, he lets you take him in your mouth, slowly. Stroking in and out, more of a tease than anything. Every time you try to take him deeper, he pulls back or pulls you away.

You’re starting to get frustrated, when he starts to thrust, slow and easy, allowing you to get used to his girth.

“Two inside, babes,” he pants, confusing you until you realize what he wants.

Hand slipping lower, you slip your middle and ring fingers into your pussy, surprised at just how wet you are. Using your palm to keep pressure on your clit, you keep pace with him the best you can. As you both grow closer, your breathing turns into pants, moans, and groans.

“Cum for me,” he commands, a growl deepening his voice. “Cum all over your hand.”

Unable to resist, you do, thrashing and screaming around his thick pulsing cock. This triggers his own orgasm, sending a spray of surprisingly pleasant, viscous cum. You swallow every drop.

You try to lean back, but he stops you, flipping you over the back of the couch.

His hands caress your ass, occasionally dropping sharp slaps, making you gasp. One hand slips to feel just how wet you are.

“What a dirty girl.”

You feel his breath against your heated flesh, seconds before a ridiculously long tongue buries itself deep inside your core. It wiggles and worms, finding every crevice, every pleasurable nook you never knew you had. Trying to move, wanting more, he holds you tight, keeping you right where he wants you. Using his tongue and fingers he draws two more explosive climaxes from deep inside.

He then repositions you. Laying on your back, you catch your breath as he settles between your spread thighs.

You whimper, “BJ, I’m too sensitive.”

His grin is less than reassuring. He drapes himself over you, planting another lingering kiss on your lips, cock brushing against your screaming clit. “Good,” he growls, “I want you cummin’ all over my dick.”

You try to jerk away, body refusing anymore pleasure, but Beetlejuice is having none of it. He pins your arms above your head, starting to thrust into you. Grinding and twisting, he’s buried deep. Against your wishes, your legs wrap around his hips, drawing him tighter.

Nibbling your neck, he sets a breakneck pace. A blinding light over takes you as another screaming orgasm tears through you, then another, and another.

Finally, when it feels like you’re about to pass out, you feel his cum spurt deep inside, hearing him growl low as his teeth sink in your shoulder.

“Beetlejuice!”

Minutes pass, or hours, or maybe even days, as you regain your senses. You’re surprised to find yourself in your bed, even more to realize it’s not your body pillow you’re cuddling, but an actual body.

Looking up as much as your sore muscles will allow, anger shoots through you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hey, babes,” he grins down at you, cigar in one hand, glass of wine in the other. “Mornin’”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Yes.”

A minute passes, “Well?”

“I told you, ‘Yes,’ answering your question.” The glimmer in his eyes telling you he knows what you want, and he’s enjoying your frustration.

Taking a deep breath, you grind out, “Is there a reason you’re smoking a cigar in my very much non-smoking home? Also, what possessed you to pour yourself the last glass of my fifty dollar wine?”

He just gives you a shit eating grin, refusing to answer.

Shaking your head and sighing, you drop your head back on his chest, lacking the energy to argue.

“Goodnight, BJ.”

“Goodnight, roomie.”

You’re just about to drift back off, when your eyes snap open, “Roomie!?”

#keatlejuice #keatlejuice fic #keatlejuice smut #sassy writes #keatlejuice x reader #beetlejuice #beetlejuice smut #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice x f!reader #fem!reader

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citrineghost · 3 years

Text

Humans Are Historically Known for Being Terrible

Hi I’m here with an opinion today. Let’s see how many words it will take for me to adequately get it across on this very fine 15th of January

I personally believe canceling things from the past* is fruitless, pointless, and accomplishes about as much as censorship does

*We aren’t talking about shit like nazi Germany, let me elaborate further

So, as I occasionally do, I have seen a post on my dash today criticizing something historical that people are ‘problematically partaking in.’ That thing today was the wellerman sea shanty due to its ties with colonialism, slavery, and so forth.

I’m not going to dive into this specific example, because I don’t know enough of the details and am not interested in going to find them out because I’m not planning to defend it or its history, so there’s no point. I learned what I needed to know from said callout post and it’s enough to work with.

To me, it is important that we remember that people, in general, have been historically pretty terrible.

There’s colonialism, there’s slavery (of all kinds, including chattel), there’s thievery, murder, genocide, sexism, the murdering of queers. There’s lying, manipulation, propaganda, and so many more things that I couldn’t possibly list them all. I’m not saying that everyone was equally shitty. I am aware that, especially in the most recent couple hundred years, white people, especially Western Europeans and Americans, have been pretty Shite.

Am I excusing them for their actions? Absolutely not. I think it is always important to bear in mind the way they played a part in cultures’ growth, death, and, ultimately, development from one year to the next.

The reason I’m pointing this out is because the result of people being historically shitty is that most, if not all, of our historical content, our history, is steeped in horse manure.

There is not one thing you can enjoy from centuries - even decades - passed that is not here because of something inhumane, unjust, or otherwise terrible.

The only thing keeping us from canceling every other historical thing that we enjoy is our lack of awareness of how each thing ties into the whole mess.

So, we’ve learned that wellerman was sung by slavers and thieves and colonialists. What about that nice little folk song from uh, idk, Ireland or something? Let’s take this metaphorical song and ask the question, “who wrote it?” The truth is, for many folk songs, we just don’t know. There is a very very good chance that 90+ percent of nice, soft folk songs about lying in the grass or feeding chickens or baking bread for your spouse were written by racists, sexists, abusers, homophobes, and so forth.

Does that make it wrong to enjoy that song about lying in the grass and looking at the stars? I don’t think so. No one is profiting off of you listening to it, regardless of who wrote it. It’s hundreds of years old. Do you even know the name of who wrote it?

Remembering that times were different may not absolve something of its wrongdoing, but it does provide us context.

We have to allow ourselves to admit that most, if not all, historical things, came from or benefitted from atrocities or injustices that we would not stand for today. That’s just how human progression works. Frankly, if people 200 years from now don’t look at US, CURRENTLY, and think we’re terrible assholes, I am actually very concerned by that.

The nature of humanity is to get better and better over time and to build a world and a society where we don’t feel the need to be controlled by greed or to consume unethically. The problem is, it takes time. It takes lots and lots of time. Would it take less time if certain people weren’t terrible, terrible people? Yes it would. But they are, and so it doesn’t.

The fact is, human progression and improvement will never reach its end because, as things improve, our perception of our past actions will change as well and we will begin to realize that what we were doing wasn’t acceptable and is no longer necessary nor excusable.

Hate Jeff Bezos? Look around and see that 90% of people still buy from Amazon, because it provides the only affordable source of many products for people who don’t make enough money under capitalism to buy from a small business.

Hate Bill Gates? How many of us are willing to switch to Linux to quit using Microsoft? Speaking of Microsoft, they own Minecraft. Do we stop playing Minecraft?

Think Steve Jobs is a terrible person? Why are people still buying iphones, ipads, and macs? Why don’t we stop buying those so that he and current CEO, Tim Cook, quit making billions of dollars?

These are just a tiny amount of examples, using big names. We also must consider, if you have 100 books on your bookshelf, how many of the writers of those books are racists, homophobes, sexists, or abusers? I guarantee you it’s a non-zero answer. The thing is, an author who’s relatively nobody is not someone who gets canceled. No one knows anything about them but that they wrote a neat work of fiction and it’s a good book.

The question is, should we be expected to quit buying, consuming, and enjoying things made by problematic people?

In some cases, the answer should be yes. If someone is currently profiting massively from people consuming their media or products and people are ignoring their atrocities, that person could end u making millions or billions of dollars despite being terrible, which is something that undoubtedly affects all of us, economically.

In the other cases, the answer should be, do you want to? If you’re not comfortable with something, you should, of course, stop consuming it. If you can ignore the thing, you might not need to bother. And, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re excusing it.

If we look at all of humanity, even in the present day, mathematically speaking, 50% of people are more bigoted and terrible than the rest. There’s no other way for it to be. Less than 50% would be a mathematical fallacy. Does that mean we only consume content from the better 50%? Does that mean we rigorously research producers and creators and their personal lives only to decide it’s not worth the risk of ‘contributing’ because they have no trace online except for a private Facebook account? Is them having a Facebook account enough of a ‘sin’ that it’s not worth it to buy their book?

This brings us to the censorship point

If you know your history, you know that censorship is a nasty thing. When one person decides who or what is unethical to consume from, they sometimes seek to get rid of that thing so that no one has a choice - so that no one is Allowed to consume that thing.

This has led to book burning, the destroying of decades and centuries of research about sexuality and gender. It’s destroyed religious texts. It’s destroyed content created by women that painted any single man in a bad light. It’s destroyed progression.

“But I only want to get rid of the bad thing that everyone agrees is bad!”

It doesn’t matter. If you open the door to censorship for yourself, those who wish to use it for worse reasons will become just as justified, in their own eyes, to do the same. You’ll have Christians saying it’s okay to get rid of gay content because it’s objectively wrong according to the bible. You’ll have conservative parents burning books with complicated topics like abuse and assault because they don’t want their children to have access to anything controversial or complex like that.

You cannot open the door to censorship for one group without opening that door for everyone. And that is why we do not censor things.

The question then becomes, but what of the people consuming that media? Even if it’s not censored, consuming it still makes someone bad, right?

Not necessarily. People consume problematic stuff all the time - things considered objectively bad. However, people don’t always consume said media because they support it being normalized in the real world. For example, fanfiction or books with rape in them may be something a victim reads to cope with their own past or present. A book with abuse depicted may actually make a young teen aware that what they’re going through is abuse. Content largely seen as ‘problematic’ can often play a part in solving the problem it portrays.

Then there’s historical, problematic media. Now, this is an area where I feel things have actually been OVER complicated.

Because everything historical has some tie to injustice, there is no ethical way to consume it.

There is no ethical consumption under passed time.

So, how do we judge whether something should or shouldn’t be consumed? It is my opinion that something historical should stop being consumed and become shunned when its meaning is well-known enough and its message is still pervasive enough that it is actively causing problems.

For example, we generally try not to consume content when it is made by someone who is a known nazi. This is because nazis are still a problem in our society, presently. We have antisemitism all over the place. Therefore, we cannot let the message become that it is okay to be a nazi by way of us treating nazis like normal people and allowing them to succeed in society without consequence.

However, there are certain problems that are no longer particularly prevalent or which are agreed to be terrible on a large enough scale that consuming the content does not necessarily imply you believe it is okay. For example, if you look at literally any media from the 1800s or which is placed in the 1800s, you will see a lot of casual sexism and gender roles. Should we despise that time period because sexism was readily available at every turn? Should we refuse to enjoy 19th century fashion or culture because it had problems? I think not. I think it would be pointless to refuse to consume, read about, or otherwise engage with the 19th century. It wouldn’t change the past and it isn’t going to somehow undo the progress we’ve made on women’s rights.

As a matter of fact, if someone merely suggested that perhaps the people of the 19th century were right for forcing women to wear long dresses and darn socks all day, they would be laughed into oblivion and called a shitty, sexist incel (which would be correct).

Does enjoying media from or placed in the 19th century mean you support sexism? I certainly hope not, since I enjoy it very much and know a lot of progressive people, women especially, who do enjoy that kind of thing. It is common sense enough, at this point in time, that people don’t generally believe that the sexism of the 1800s was acceptable. I am not going to see someone watching a period drama and assume they desire for our present-day social laws to be like what’s portrayed. That would be a ridiculous assumption. However, I could not assume the same about someone I saw watching openly antisemitic content. I would quickly wonder if they’re an antisemite/nazi/white supremacist.

So, what about that one thing I heard had a sordid past?

Listen, if we’re being honest here, most things from history have a sordid past. Sea shanties? You bet. But then when we talk of sea shanties being steeped in colonialism, we have to look at the bigger picture. What about pirates? Pirates were, by and large, a huge contributor to slavery, theft, colonialism, and murder. Does that mean enjoying media with pirates is glorifying or contributing to slavery, theft, colonialism, and murder?

(I’m about to talk a lot about pirates but this can be applied to anything that was historically bad but is no longer prevalent)

Pirates of the Caribbean is only a movie, but pirates did once exist and they did kill people. They did raid ships of merchants and tradesmen and they killed them and stole their goods. They took many good men from their families and even killed working children aboard the ships. Does that make enjoying pirates in media a contributor to these things? No. It doesn’t. We are looking at a dramatised, cleaned up version of the original piracy. I think most people are aware that pirates, in the real world, are bad and harmful and should not be supported. That doesn’t make pirate media any less fun in theory, and under our own terms.

Then we arrive at our perception - because most of this does come down to perception. When you watch pirate media, should you enjoy that, are you able to divorce yourself from their actual history enough to enjoy the media? If you can, you might enjoy it a lot. If you can’t watch a movie about pirates without thinking the entire time about how terrible they were and how much damage they did, then pirate media just isn’t right for you. But, it doesn’t mean you should attempt to take it away from others. Your opinion and perception of pirate media is not the global perception.

I have to ask, do you think others view it the same way you do?

When you read that question, you may be wondering what exactly I mean. What I’m asking is, do you believe others view that media with the same “clarity” that you do? Do you believe they understand the atrocity of real pirates and Feel that the entire time they watch the media and still enjoy it anyway?

Perhaps that’s why your response to someone enjoying something you feel guilty partaking in is, “these people all must not care about the real-world damage pirates did. The fact that they can watch this (despite sitting here and feeling the same things I do) makes me sick.”

However, if that is the case, you must remember that for a lot of people, the awareness of real world consequence is suspended during dramatised depictions of it. It doesn’t mean they have forgotten about the real-world consequences of piracy or that they don’t know it at all. It just means they are choosing not to think about it in that light while consuming media.

There is also the assumption that people must not know about something when partaking in it. You may think, “How can they enjoy this media? They wouldn’t be able to stomach it if they realized what really happened with pirates.”

In many instances, you would be correct. A lot of people are ignorant to what pirates have done in the real world. If you told every ignorant person the truth, maybe 5% of them would then become turned off by pirate media, and the other 95% would keep the truth in mind and then divorce themselves from it to continue enjoying said media.

There are realities that it is safe to divorce yourself from, and there are those that are not.

Is allowing yourself to enjoy dramatizations of pirates making you ignorant to present day conditions? Not largely. There are still pirates today, but not nearly enough for the average Joe to need to take them seriously. Those who need to know about them and do something to stop them are aware.

However, it is not safe to divorce yourself from, for instance, the holocaust. Divorcing yourself from the holocaust and seeing it as merely a dramatic setting with dramatic events and not a present-day real-world problem is exactly the kind of thing that leads to young teens being sucked in by white supremacy and naziism as well as what leads to many average conservatives believing the rise in white supremacy isn’t actually real or is not a big deal. They have distanced themselves so far from the real-world atrocity of the holocaust that they have forgotten it was real and that real people, like them, were contributors. They don’t want to believe that everyday people had any power in it and that it was tiny acts of willful ignorance that made concentration camps so successful.

All in all, there is a different answer for everything we consume.

Want to know if something you’re consuming is okay to consume? Ask yourself: is this produced by someone who is contributing to present-day conditions? If the answer is yes, quit consuming it. If the answer is no, ask yourself, does this media make me uncomfortable because I’m aware of its roots? If the answer is yes, stop consuming it. If the answer is no, it’s probably fine. You are most likely not doing any damage, so long as you are aware of what is wrong with the content and are not using it as grounds to perpetuate harm.

If, when thinking about something problematic in an old piece of media, you cringe? You’re on the right track. If you feel inclined to make excuses for it or justify the wrong in it, it’s time to step away and reevaluate why you feel the need to do so. If you’re doing so because you feel guilty for consuming it, you need to realize that it is actually more harmful to make excuses for the wrong in order to justify your consumption than it is to admit, “Yeah, this media is problematic and contains a lot of sexism, but I still enjoy it for its other qualities.” It is better to admit that you enjoy something problematic than to spread the message that what is happening in it is okay.

Some of you may be thinking, “Or, just stop consuming problematic media.”

I think in many cases, especially recent media, where your consumption has an effect on production, this is true. However, for media that is no longer being produced, I will remind you that most things have something wrong with them - yes, even pretty recent stuff.

Supernatural kills off women constantly, queerbaited the fuck out of its viewers, and sent a huge character to fucking mega hell for confessing his love.

Scrubs has no end to its sexism, transphobic and homophobic slur usage, and other problematic content.

V for Vendetta glorifies and shines a heroic light on a character who kidnaps and tortures a woman for what appeared to have been weeks or months so that she would be forced to understand his trauma and “no longer be afraid.”

Star Wars has incest, the producers/directors abused Carrie Fisher and sexualized her as a young teen, and probably a lot more that I’m not aware of because I haven’t seen the movies nor read the books.

I don’t even need to start on shows like Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Community, That 70s Show, and so many more. Almost every popular piece of media has something worth canceling in it. There is no point trying to curate your media consumption to only unproblematic content, because it simply can’t be done.

Curate where it makes a difference. Sigh heavily the rest of the time. Make yourself aware what and how things are problematic. Put critical thought into how your consumption is capable of supporting or perpetuating a problem and how it is not. Make informed decisions.

Do not feel guilty if you are unable to flawlessly live up to the standards of purity culture. None of us can - not really.

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checkurwindow · 4 years

Text

happily never after

Book: Open Heart

Warnings: Implied sex

Rating: General

Pairing: Bryce x F!MC

Word count: 1400+ words

Author’s note: Hello people of Tumblr! Okay, this post was done last night but it was 1am and I had stuff to do the next day so I slept instead and then I had to do said stuff the next day so I’m sorry I’m late. Visit my masterlist while you’re still here!

Bryce Lahela sat by the bar at Donahue’s, downing his sixth, maybe seventh shot of tequila in the last hour, pairing it with the frequent beer in between the shots. He was well and truly drunk, but his thoughts remained sober, his mind wandering to her, to what could have been.

He thought of their first time, it was at her apartment after the housewarming party she and her roommates threw. It was well past midnight, she was lying in his arms, their limbs tangled but their hearts beating as one.

That was before all the drama, before the ethics hearing, before him. Ethan Ramsey, the man holding her heart.

He knew, he knew he should’ve said something when she asked if he would be comfortable keeping their relationship casual, that they were both busy doctors and that a serious relationship wouldn’t work.

He should’ve told her that he wanted nothing more than to be in a serious relationship with her, to be able to call her his, but he didn’t, and it’s one of his biggest regrets.

After that, their “casual relationship” seemed to only happen after she’d been rejected by him, after she had had an intimate moment with him, only for him to push her away, prioritizing his morals and ethics. Bryce would have laughed at him, how stupid it was of him to let her go. Every time she’d drunkenly show up at his one-bedroom apartment, he’d think that that would be the breaking point, that she would finally realize Ethan wasn’t worth it, and that he, Bryce Lahela, was willing to give her the world if only she’d say yes.

But alas, she would always run back to Ethan, forgetting all about the love he had showered her with when she broke down, but he never spoke about it, insisting that she’d come around one day.

Eventually.

When she ran up to him after their shift and hugged him tightly, saying that she and Ethan had officially gotten together, he doubted it would last long, just like the other three times he had let her in, but he didn’t want to hurt her, so he ignored the prominent pang of jealousy he felt, burying it deep inside of him and congratulated her instead, reciprocating the hug.

Well, he was wrong.

A little more than a year later, there he stood, at the corner of the room at their engagement party. His eyes were trained on them, his gaze strong enough to burn a hole through the pair, he saw them, all he could see was them flowing through the room in perfect sync, bodies close, his arm wrapped around her waist as they chatted with friends and asked other married couples for advice, not that they needed it anyway.

Not long after they went public with their relationship had they been deemed “Edenbrooke’s power couple.” Ethan couldn’t care less as he didn’t give a thought about gossip. She just shrugged it off like it was a tease or a joke like she expected it, but Bryce felt horrible. He winced every time he heard one of the nurses or interns call them that, or when they fawned over their “relationship goals”.

He felt even worse when Ethan slid into the seat next to him at the open bar, giving him a warm clap on the back, which used to be highly unusual of the great Ethan Ramsey. But soon after they got together, Ethan acknowledged that Bryce was a close, if not best, friend of hers and that he would have to learn to be friendly with him, which he ultimately did, judging by the hugs they had shared when Bryce would leave their shared apartment after sharing a nice dinner with them and the rest of the gang while Jackie and Sienna stood mouth agape, Elijah even slyly fishing his phone out of his pocket and snapping a picture or two hundred.

Right now, as he sat beside Bryce making friendly small talk, Bryce only had one thought on his mind, “he really changed for her”. The old Ethan Ramsey wouldn’t even be glancing the way of the surgical resident but here he was, smiling, hugging him, making small talk? She had changed him for the better and there was no denying it.

Soon, she came by and pulled Ethan out of the conversation, quickly kissing him on the lips, saying they needed to make one more round before the end of the party and giving Bryce a sweet smile which he returned before they went to talk to the rest of the guests.

The worst he felt, however, was the day of their wedding.

Yes, of course, he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy and he was relieved that Ethan was indeed serious about them, but he couldn’t help the anger boiling inside him when she walked down the aisle towards Ethan.

The only emotions visible on her face was love, love and adoration. That was the same expression that was plastered on the man standing at the end of the aisle, eagerly waiting for her.

The same expression that had been on his face ever since the day he met her. Every time he saw her jumping up and down after she’d solved a difficult case, and the one time when he noticed she had the same expression on her face was when they were caught in the rain. When they still had their “puppy love” of sorts, something that was no longer part of her thoughts, but instead clouded his mind every time he saw her.

Bryce’s hand laid on her lower back as they danced together. Her big doe eyes gazed up at him lovingly, though it wasn’t the type of love he craved for, it was a different type of love than the one he looked at her with. Hers was meaningful but completely platonic, while his longing and utterly romantic.

“And to think I wouldn’t have gotten the honor of dancing with the beautiful bride tonight,” He said, a smirk prominent on his face.

“I couldn’t very well forget about the most important man in my life now, could I?” She returned with a coy smile, laying her head on his shoulder.

“Ah, careful now, I don’t think you’re allowed to say that anymore, you’re a married woman!” He quipped back, hiding behind his facade of humor when he wanted nothing more than to tell her how he was desperately and embarrassingly in love with her, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her, especially on her big day.

She was about to retort when a voice interrupted her, “May I cut in?” Ethan said, extending a hand out to her.

“Hi, love,” she said to him before looking expectantly towards Bryce, as if asking for permission.

He flashed her his classic million-dollar smile, “Go ahead, wouldn’t want to interrupt the happy couple on their big day!” He assured her and stepped away, even though it was the furthest thing from what he desired at that moment.

He struggled to blink back the tears that formed in his eyes as they danced in the middle of the room. Over a hundred pairs of eyes were trained on them, but they didn’t seem to notice. With her head comfortably on his chest and their bodies flush against each other, as they whispered tender nothings to each other, gazing deeply into each others’ eyes, he felt the jealousy and envy coursing through his veins.

“This is it,” he thought to himself, the crowd applauding and cheering as they kissed tenderly.

His heart was shattered into a million little pieces. This is it, they’re married, they’re gonna spend the rest of their lives together.

He would no longer be the person she would run to when she had a bad day. He would no longer drag her out of her apartment on their off days and lead her on unorthodox and crazy adventures. He would no longer be able to look her in the eyes and sense a feeling of longing while they stood drenched from the rainwater, staring at each other as deeply as their eyes would allow, but there was no use denying it anymore: the thought, the dream, the fantasy that he could ever be the one for her was officially over.

The crushing sensation of reality set in. Today, Bryce Lahela bid farewell to her, the her he wanted was no longer, the her that was as in love with him as he was her, there was no longer that little slither of hope that one day she would turn around and realize that he was so deeply and crushingly in love with her. He would never be Bryce Lahela—loving husband.

From that point on, he knew he would be Bryce, just Bryce—best friend.

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criminalromantic · 4 years

Text

Cornelia Street - Chapter 6 (Billy Russo x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Maybe some things are too good to be true and you have doubts

Word Count: 2195

A/N: okay, this is the longest chapter yet and let me tell you, the fluff ends here, sit down and read in peace,

Warnings: slight swearing, I think

*******************

“Let’s go for a walk.” You proposed to Billy when he was washing dishes. Your dishes. In your apartment. You knew it was just temporary and according to Billy’s words, he would not let you do anything until you were perfectly fine.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I’m kind of getting cabin fever here, Billy. And I’m pretty sure if I stay here any longer, my cat, who I love very much, will start plotting to kill us both.” Bill snorted and stopped the water before drying his hands and turning to you. When he didn’t protest, you took as silent consent. “Great, it’s a date.” On your way to the bedroom, you could hear Billy’s faint laugh. That man surely laughed a lot in your presence.

You got ready quickly, put a harness on Benjamin, which was slightly complicated. As a cat, he didn’t really have a solid shape. He didn’t try to stop your from putting it on, he just couldn’t stay still long enough for you to strap it on. When you were done, you gave him a treat and a couple of minutes later you put on a leash too. Soon enough you were all standing outside, soaking up the sun and started walking without any particular destination in your mind.

“You know, when I asked you out on a date, this is not exactly what I had in mind,” Billy said as he nervously scratched the back of his neck. You were taking a stroll through Manhattan and just talking and having a good time. Your heart fluttered a little every time you looked at Billy holding Benji’s leash or when he took him into his arms when crossing a road.

“Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind, mister Billy Russo?” You asked in a teasing tone.

“Well, I planned to wine and dine you. Come pick you up, show up at your door with flowers, take to a nice restaurant for dinner and tell you how beautiful you look.” His eyes never left your face as he was saying those things.

“What’s wrong with this? At least the outside is cat-friendly.” You asked with a laugh in your voice that turned into a cough. You were not one hundred percent healthy yet. Your energy was back and your nose was no longer runny, but you were still coughing a little bit every now and then. Billy rushed to your side with worry all over his features. You could see that he hated to see you like this, but there was nothing for him to do. Slowly he wrapped one arm around and rubbed circles on your back until you calmed down.

When it stopped, you continued walking in comfortable silence. Benji loved exploring the outside world, sometimes the leash would tangle between your legs. Sometimes he would meow out of nowhere and you and Billy would have little contests of who can decipher what was on the little cat’s mind. You could never settle who was the winner because you had no way to get the correct answer.

“How did you find Benjamin?” Billy asked out of nowhere.

“I found him when I was in the process of moving here and setting up everything. One time I was carrying boxes and I saw him sitting by the door. He was a kitten at the time and he was in a very bad condition. He was malnourished and was literally screaming for someone to notice him. So I brought him to my place, wrapped him in a fluffy blanket to keep him warm. Later that day I took him to the vet, who told me that he was fine and very lucky because he had no serious problems. He just needed to be taken care of. And I got attached so I kept him. I mean, how could I not get attached, look at him.” You smiled to yourself and watched the cat curiously as he surveyed his surroundings.

“That was very kind of you.” Billy’s look was tender and full of adoration.

The rest of your walk was uneventful. You suggested buying hot dogs from a hot dog stand when you got hungry. Billy gave you a look that said “I am not eating hot dogs on a date” but you ignored him and made your way over with Benjamin, so he was forced to come with you.

Billy paid the food and then you started walking back to your apartment. The walk back was quiet. Almost too quiet. It felt like there was something in the air that wasn’t there before. You couldn’t ignore it. At the same time, you felt ridiculous. There was nothing that could possibly be wrong.

Shortly after you got back to your apartment, Billy left to go to work. You couldn’t stop him, even if you wanted to. He had already spent most of the week taking care of you and you understood that being a CEO was a lot of work. He told you on multiple occasions how much his company meant to him. And so for the first time after three days, it was just you and your cat in your apartment. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t feel well enough to go back to work, so you just spent the rest of the day switching between watching lame TV, scrolling through social media on your phone, reading, playing with Benjamin, napping and ordering take-out. Before you went to sleep you sent Billy a quick text.

Hope everything was okay at work.

Seconds later you got a reply.

It was fine. Good night.

The next morning you woke up feeling… good. You made yourself a cup of tea that soothed your throat and you felt ready to go back to work. Like you usually did, you said bye to your cat, walked downstairs and after you made sure that all the flowers were okay and healthy and ready to be sold, you opened the shop. During a free moment, you texted Billy that the shop was open and he could come over if he wanted to.

After your lunch break, the place was empty and you were wondering when Billy would come by. That was until you saw a familiar face you haven’t seen in a while. It was a little eleven-year-old boy - Aaron, who lived a couple of floors above yours. As soon as you saw him, a wide smile spread across your face. That boy was a sweetheart. When you moved in, he and his mom were the first neighbors to welcome you here, along with the best lasagna you have ever had. From what he told you, you knew that their dad left them, he didn’t even remember him but it was all right. In his words, his mom was a “great dad too”. Three or four times he forgot his keys and had no way to get home because his mom was at work and during those times you would let him wait in the back-room. Usually, he would do his homework and often you would let him play with your cat and make him something to eat too if his mom was working long hours.

“Hey, little buddy, haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

“Hi, miss Y/N. Could I ask for a favor?”

“And what would that be, huh?” You asked him and leaned forward closer to his height. One thing that you hated was talking to kids like they were something less than an adult. They were still people, just shorter. Making yourself feel superior to children was really not something you enjoyed, so whenever you were talking to a kid, you made sure to get to their level.

“I got a bad grade at school today. And my mom is working really hard these days. I want to buy her a pretty flower, because I don’t want her to be mad at me and because I love her.” You already knew what he was going to ask. He had done this a few times before and it always made your day a little brighter. The boy put a few crumpled one-dollar bills on the counter as you made your way over to the shelves with different flowers and picked out three tulips. You already knew what his order was going to be, tulips were his mom's favorite flowers.

You tied a cute little ribbon around the flowers before you handed them to the boy. Then you proceeded to put the money in the cash register, expecting him to leave, but he didn’t.

“Miss Y/N?” His tone changed from happy and cheerful to skittish and you had no idea why.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” The question came out of nowhere and you choked a little on your saliva. Not only because of the question, but also because you had no idea how to answer. You and Billy never had that conversation. In fact, the past three days were the longest you had ever spent together.

“Why are you asking, buddy?” You were curious like never before.

“ Is his name Billy? My mom saw him from the window and told me she recognized him from work or something like that.” You were very thankful that your shop was empty at that time. Even if someone walked in, they probably wouldn’t get any attention from you.

“Okay, and did she say something else?”

“She just told me that he is a bad man and everyone should stay away from him.” You knew about his reputation, just like probably everyone in New York. But you didn’t think about it much, after all, he never made you feel like just wanted to sleep with you and he himself said that some of the things he heard about himself sometimes were a straight-up ridiculous fabrication. “I didn’t tell my mom that yesterday when I got home from school, I saw you two with Benjamin.” You smiled a little at the memory and continued listening. “In the evening we went shopping and when we were walking to the car I saw him at a restaurant with some woman.” You were never punched in the gut, but hearing this damn felt like it. Somehow you managed to keep your exterior calm and collected, not wanting to break down in front of a little kid.

“Thank you, Aaron, for telling me. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Surely he had an idea because he gave you a sympathetic look. “Now go home, I’m sure you have a lot of homework to do.”

Once the boy was out of your sight, you took a few deep breaths. So, Billy was seeing someone else. At the thought of having him at your home, you felt nauseous. And stupid. Of course that he would not be… interested in you. What could you possibly have that he would be interested in?

The rational part of your brain was telling you that you weren’t exclusive. You never talked about that. You went on one date and that wasn’t in any way binding. However, your emotional part was the louder one. Much, much louder. You went on a date. It wasn’t showy but it was lovely and you both had a great time. Well, you had a great time. Maybe Billy didn’t. Maybe to Billy, this was just a game all along and he was just testing how long before he got you to sleep with him. Or maybe he got bored of you and changed his mind. In the back of your mind, you expected something like this to happen. The whole thing was too good to be true. There was no reason for him to like someone like you. He was supposed to be with someone from his own circle. Not some lame girl who runs a flower shop and has a cat. The fact that he lied to you was definitely the highlight of it all.

The rest of the day was monotonous. Each time someone walked in you sighed in relief because that meant that you didn’t have the time to be alone with your thoughts. That made you a bit more attentive towards your customers than you usually were. Billy never showed up. At the end of the day, you were happy with yourself and your ability to hold yourself together.

The moment you walked into your apartment, a single tear rolled down your cheek. You could hear Benjamin scurry to you and soon he was curled up next to you, one of his front paws on your hand in a comforting manner.

“I guess we were wrong, buddy.” You said to him softly. “Wanna eat dinner with me?” Your cat meowed excitedly and headed towards your kitchen.

Before you went to bed you checked your phone for the first time in a few hours and saw a text from Billy.

Sorry, can’t stop by today. Have a good day.

You ignored the message and fiddled with your phone a few minutes before you fell asleep.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo cornelia street #cornelia street #billy russo flower shop

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years

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Exclusive interview: Bruce Campbell is having a renaissance.

Here’s a highly recommended interview which discusses what Bruce Campbell has in store for fans in the future.

Bruce Campbell is experiencing a creative renaissance, of sorts. In a recent chat with the actor, he discussed a return to his horror roots, cutting a comedy album with Ted Raimi and so much more.

Bruce Campbell hasn’t been idle during his time in self-isolation. The actor has been experiencing a creative renaissance of sorts. So, we figured now would be a perfect time to reach out and get some of our burning questions answered.

With so much uncertainty in the entertainment industry at present, rumors are running rampant. We gave Campbell a chance to clear the air so to speak and address some of the myriad of questions that fans have regarding Mortal Kombat 11, the latest Evil Dead incarnation, Ripley’s and whether or not he will work with Sam Raimi in front of the camera again.

The actor also surprised us with some monumental news. He will be returning to his horror roots with the sequel to My Name Is Bruce as well as several other projects that he has on his docket including a comedy album with one of his closest friends.

Get comfy, grab your favorite beverage and let’s catch up with Bruce Campbell.

Mortal Kombat 11, Ripley’s and the State of the Industry

1428 Elm: Thanks for speaking with us, Bruce. It’s always a pleasure. We have so many things to discuss. Recently, a site came out and said that you were definitely going to be Ash in Mortal Kombat 11. It seemed like a done deal the way it was reported. Can you comment on that?

Bruce Campbell: I probably shouldn’t emphasize yes or no because I don’t know. I have not been told. If it is not through my agent or proper channels than it usually means its wishful thinking.

1428 Elm: Apparently, an email from Warner Brothers Interactive was sent to a well-known entertainment site and Ash as well as Army of Darkness was mentioned in it with the trademark from MGM.

BC: The reason why it may not happen, just so you and the readers can know this, a lot of time for legal purposes, that character cannot appear in other things because of the license. If you can’t make a deal, that character is not going to show up. So, we may have been talked to about it.

But I do know with MGM that handles the Army of Darkness licensing that they’re hasn’t been a discussion with them about it. They’re pretty touchy. We have to be careful of ownership.

I honestly don’t know. I think I would have heard something. It’s not like my agent books me without consulting with me.

Even if Mortal Kombat came to me and said they want to put me in it, you still have to make a deal. If my agent says, “Bruce Campbell wants a hundred billion dollars,” and then they say no, the deal is dead.

The answer is we don’t know. No point in beating around about that.

1428 Elm: You might not be able to discuss this but what’s going on with Ripley’s Believe It or Not!? Will there be a Season 2?

BC: We’re one and done. It’s not your father’s Travel Channel anymore. If I wanted to host a ghost hunting show, I’d be on the air right now.

Ripley’s was made for the older school Travel Channel like Drive-Ins and Dive Bars where you go to wacky places around the country. There is a big push for paranormal, mystery and science-fiction, Discovery type stuff. I think we just “out aged” ourselves.

1428 Elm: It would have been nice if the Science Channel would have picked it up.

BC: It’s all good. I remain philosophical about all shows that come and go. There are so many factors involved. You change executives and things change, companies get bought and sold and things change, ratings aren’t what you expected…

After this virus, we’re going to see what shape the motion picture industry is in. It’s going to be a wounded beast. Projects are going to go away.

You’re going to have fewer tentpole movies too. I am hopeful we’ll have a return to low budget filmmaking.

That’s what I hope comes out of it. Each studio will start a low budget division and spend the money wisely.

Number One on the Charts with a Bullet

BC (Cont.): In the meantime, what is nice, I’m finishing up a couple of projects. I’m hoping by the end of the year to put a book of essays out and a comedy album with Ted Raimi.

1428 Elm: A comedy album?

BC: Yeah, we finished it. I’m in post-production on it. I’m putting all the sound effects in now.

1428 Elm: That sounds great!

BC: Who knows? We’ve never done one before so we’re going to find out.

1428 Elm: So, you guys are harkening back to the 1960’s when comedians like Bob Newhart had hit albums?

BC: It’s our version of that. I used to listen to the top comedy albums during the 60’s and 70’s. I wouldn’t dare compare myself to any of the masters like Mel Brooks and the 2,000-Year-Old Man with Carl Reiner. We gave it a shot. I love audio and I like radio plays.

Bruce Campbell vs the Classic Monsters

1428 Elm: So, tell us what is going on with your political satire, House Divided. Are you still working on pitching that once everything gets back to business as usual?

BC: It will be on the sales block. It’s a harder sell. There’s no blood. It’s not a horror movie, it’s a political satire. Associating Bruce Campbell with political satire isn’t the first thing investors whip out their checkbooks for.

To combat that, I just finished writing a sequel to My Name Is Bruce. The idea is we want to take Bruce and have him go through each of the classic film monsters. The sequel is Bruce vs Frankenstein.

We’re done. I finished my draft and sent it to Mike Richardson, my partner at Dark Horse Comics. We’re actively looking for money on that one. It is the Expendables of Horror. I fully intend to load the cast with so many familiar horror faces. It should be a lot of fun.

It would be a cavalcade of genre stars, old, young, on TV now. We really want to cover the bases. A lot of people will be getting killed. Guest star kills. Basically, Bruce bumbles his way into being a hero.

1428 Elm: Will you have to go through Universal to get permission to use the classic monsters?

BC: Some stuff is public domain. I’m not a lawyer but we would figure out a way to do this.

I think the bolts on Frankenstein’s neck are trademarked, as well as certain looks. But you can make a Frankenstein. That story is under public domain.

It’s also a parody of a Frankenstein movie and that gives a lot of leeway legally as well. I don’t think you can say, “Wolfman,” but I think you can say Bruce vs the Werewolf. This is my version of the Bob Hope road movies.

Ted has two parts; I have two parts for Robert Englund and I have a couple of parts for Kane Hodder. If they’re a name, I am going to put them in it.

After we come out of the zombie apocalypse that we’re in and everyone gets back to work, that is what I will be actively pitching. There’s plenty going on. So, I have been self-isolating in a constructive way.

It’s an Evil Dead World

1428 Elm: We’re curious about the 1970’s period piece that you were working on when we talked to you last year. What happened with that?

BC: It’s currently on my action board. I will eventually get to it. I am going to finish my book of essays first and then I am going to get to that one.

The story is set in 1979. The idea behind it is what would have happened if us raising money for Evil Dead went horribly, horribly wrong. It becomes a horror movie in and of itself.

1428 Elm: How did this idea come to fruition?

BC: I was going through projects in my computer. People who have a lot of downtime do spring cleaning. Clean out your woodshed, toolshed when you have extra time. In this case, I went to the head of my projects folder.

This one popped up and it was just an outline that I had written 15 years ago. I thought, wait a minute, this is pretty well thought out.

In the 70’s, filmmaking was real, you didn’t have a lot of options. You had to get cameras from a certain place, you had to have insurance. There were a lot of steps that you had to take that made the process really difficult.

I remember making calls for money from payphones in blizzards and s*** like that. You had to leave messages, you’re getting busy signals, you’re not texting anyone. There are no computers, there’s no email, its old school. You sent things in the mail.

Today, filmmaking is not difficult. I can go to a store and buy a 4K camera. I can make a movie with $5,000 worth of equipment. Probably less.

1428 Elm: Well, you can do it on your phone too. Sam Raimi is on Quibi now with 50 States of Fright, which is entertainment tailored to your device. If his series continues once everything settles, do you think there’s a chance you might appear on the show?

BC: Never say never, that’s all verbally at this point. They have to succeed; they have to survive. Any new format, any new platform, I’m game and if Sam’s involved all the more reason.

1428 Elm: Have you ever thought of doing anything like Quibi?

BC: Not yet. I’m used to writing 90-page screenplays with a three-act format. I can adapt anything too.

I was thinking the other day, I have a few screenplays that might be tough sells but maybe I might convert them to a fricking novel and put them out as books. There’s lots to do. I’ve got plenty going on.

1428 Elm: Has the current situation affected the new Evil Dead? We remember that you talked about possibly going into production at the end of this year. Is that pushed back like everything else?

BC: No, not really. It was so early in the stages that we can keep going. I just read the first official draft today. So, then we’ll give notes and additional writing will take place.

Then you have to budget the thing so you know how much money you need to raise and then you have to get the money. Nothing will stop any of that.

You can make calls for money, you can send the script to people, you can do budgets. The only thing that will be affected will be the actual start date. Which we didn’t know anyway. We may end up not being delayed at all.

Many thanks to Bruce Campbell for chatting with us.

#Bruce Campbell #Ted Raimi

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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Chapter Two

“Morning, love, how are things going on your end?”

“Things are going swimmingly!” Your throat grinds with having to keep your customer service tone up, but you grit your teeth and keep going. “What time should I expect you tomorrow?”

“Around noon, I think. Just have a couple of errands to run beforehand around town, but it shouldn’t take too long! Do you need me to pick anything up from Tom’s Hardware?”

Oh, sweet lord, yes, anything to stall her. An extra ten minutes might be the difference between your job and your career’s untimely death. You turn around to concentrate, reaching for where you stashed your notebook. “Actually, Marge, could you pick up a couple of paints? I’ll send over the serial numbers via email.”

“Oh, of course, you must be extra busy with your crew gone! I’ll get that done for you. Anything else?”

You try to wrack your brain, but you can’t think of anything more, much to your disappointment. Neither can you come up with any wild goose chases to keep her away for some time. “No, Marge, nothing comes to mind. Oh- wait, wait, I was just wondering what the statue outside is na- uh, titled, so I can start designing something themed.”

“Er, oh, I think it was among the lines of Gala-something. Galactus? No, that’s not right… Oh, dear, my wife would know.”

That’s when you noticed that the bench where you set the statue down is decidedly empty. Your stress levels immediately pop right back up to maximum. After a moment, you realize that your jaw aches as you clench it hard enough to break your teeth. Quickly enough, you come up with a believable lie to get off the phone as soon as possible. “Hey, Marge- delivery guy’s here. I’ve got to handle this.”

“Of course! Talk to you later, dear. I’ll have Esther send you a text message with the statue’s information.”

You’re already running through the hall when you hang up, eyes scanning every crevice that could possibly be a hiding spot for a walking statue, but you can’t find him. He’s not in the common area, nor in the first couple of rooms that your crew had managed to finish furnishing before leaving. You call for him, not sure of his name nor what you might refer to him as, so it’s a weird mash of statue guy, and stone dude, mainly just focusing on “um, hey? Not done with you yet!”

After edging on the precipice of a panic attack, you spot his silhouette upon the top of the staircase. Letting out a loud, pissed grunt, you storm up, hand on the rail to steady your angry rampage, and then you look over to the doorway he appears to be aiming for. Oh, no. No, no, no, not on your watch. You speed your pace, throwing yourself in front of the door before he can do any damage to the precious collection beyond it. Unfortunately, your injured hand makes a somewhat awkward connection with the oak frame, and a dull wave of pain rushes through your nerves.

“You can’t just wander off like that,” you gasp, out of breath from the speed you pushed yourself to.

“A thousand apologies, love,” he says, though you can see the curiosity running around and around his head like a carousel. “Might I inquire as to the contents of the room?”

Your face goes a bit pink, you can feel the heat sparking in your cheeks. “No, no, you may not. Everything in there belongs to the owner, only she and I are allowed in there.”

The statue then places both his hands on the door as well, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the hallway. “What if I asked nicely?”

Is his face inching closer? “I’d say no.”

“What if I asked very nicely?” He pecks you on the mouth, far too quickly for you to register that it was even happening until after the fact. Unfortunately, instead of leaving what ask nicely up for interpretation, he adds, “with my tongue, on my knees.”

Everything feels like it’s going on overdrive because someone you just met is offering sexual favors, and you feel like if you open your mouth at all, anything that comes out is going to be nothing more than a high pitched squeak. Just when you think this situation can’t get any worse, oh, he gets on his knees, as though promising that he's not bluffing, but you are not exactly open to the fact that his hands seem to be wandering to the waistline of your pants. In a panic, you bring your knee up. Not with the intent to hurt him, no, you don’t want any more broken body parts today, you just want to have another layer between him and your clothing.

“No! No, not even if you-” you manage to get ahold of your voice, though struggle greatly with keeping it from screaming, “just no! No, thank you!”

Above all else, he’s confused, with leaves you rather puzzled in return, because did he honest to god expect you to let him eat you out job, much less pressed up against a door that holds, at the very least, a good hundred-million dollars worth of artwork inside? Unless you’re reading the situation wayyyyy off-kilter, which is super unlikely, especially given the fact that he’s been trying to kiss the ever-loving daylights out of you since he first started breathing. With a hard swallow, you push him away, foot on his collarbone. At least he doesn’t offer up any resistance as he stands, brow furrowed.

“Back to the kitchen,” you instruct, pointing down the hall and then placing a hand over your eyes. A puff of anger escapes your lungs, and then you do your best to get your shit together in the two seconds you allow yourself. “Now.”

He obeys, thankfully, because you don’t know what you would end up doing otherwise. Once his back is turned, you pat your pockets and silently chastise yourself for not carrying your keys around, because you’re not going to put it past him to come snooping around once your attention is elsewhere. Oh, god, your work, how are you supposed to get anything done when you’re most likely going to have to babysit the statue? You assume it’s going to be like keeping an eye on a toddler; turn away for two minutes, and the castle will burn down. You can’t imagine digging yourself out of that grave. Remember to lock the door, you think hard, hoping you’ll have a chance to do it later.

“Alright,” you try to think once you’re back at the table, clawing at something, anything that could make a semblance of sense on this hellish day. “Okay. Cool. The owner of the property is coming over tomorrow.”

The statue rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table, mouth out in a soft, sullen pout.

“Now, just to recap, the person who owns your fine ass is coming down to pay me a visit to make sure everything is going well. Do you think that things are going well right now?” You don’t give him a chance to answer. “Things aren’t going well, and I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.”

“Do you think my ass is truly that divine?” He perks up, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

”Focus,” you grind out, afraid that you’re going to snap the pen you’re holding clean in half. The first step to saving money is not to break any of your things, no matter how fucking stressed you are. “I need you to go out in the back while she’s here and pretend to still be frozen.”

“But won’t, er, Marge, was it?”

“Ms. Hopkins, for you. Only friends get to call her Marge.”

He hesitates for a moment. ““Surely... Ms. Hopkins won’t be upset at a miracle sent by the gods themselves? Not unless she wishes punishment like that which she has never experienced before.” He settles back on the bench, arms open as though offering an embrace. “I have been birthed from the ground by chisel and a steady hand, then given life through the power of love by-”

“I’m going to cut you off there.” You hold a finger up, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Not to give you a crisis of faith or anything, but that’s not going to be good enough. I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you if scientists start getting involved, you’re going to like, end up in a lab somewhere, and you’ll never see the light of day again. So when Marge gets here, you’re going to go back to that pedestal, and you’re going to stand still. Do you understand?”

“What’s a scientist? Is it like a philosopher?”

You’re fucking doomed. “Forget that, I need you to promise me that you’re going to stay put while Marge is here.”

He lets out a loud sigh, rolling his stone eyes so that you can fully see just how badly you’re inconveniencing him. “I suppose I might, though being able to stretch after such a long time has been such a blessing. Are you really going to make me go back to being still?”

“For like an hour? Yes, yes, I am.”

“But I’m so stiff,” he’s acting like you just asked him to shoot himself in the leg, “and my joints ache so very much.”

“You’ll hurt more if you don’t do as I say.” It’s an entirely empty threat since you’re pretty sure the only thing that might cut through him is an industrial chainsaw, something that’s not exactly on hand at the moment.

“Is that a promise?” He says, voice suddenly sultry and full of allure.

You need a moment to step away from the situation before you try strangling him, if that would even do any damage. Does he even breathe? Maybe you should check on that before anything else. Clear your head out, settle your thoughts, reset everything back to zero. This is fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Even though it physically pains you to say it, you offer up one last plea. “Please.”

That seems to move him, if only slightly. “If it is truly that important to you, then I shall.”

A shudder of relief runs through your body.

”However,” he stands to his full height, leaning over until his face is remarkably close to yours, “I should think that I should perhaps stretch, to fully prepare for such a task. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You skillfully dodge his mouth, turning around and letting out a frustrated breath. “Then do some yoga. I’ve got a job to do, you’ll remember, one that involves things like work and time.”

“Shall I help?”

”No!” It might have come out a little too harsh, but you are not letting him get his rocky hands all over your paints and equipment. “I just need you to be in my line of vision at all times, okay? Can you do that?”

“Can’t take your eyes off me for one moment?” He asks, which is entirely true but definitely not within the context of the tone he uses.

You know what? Agreeing at this point is probably better for both your sanity and his cooperation. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your head, you say, deadpan, “you’re absolutely correct, I can’t seem to be able to ;ook away from that fine ass of yours. Please come with me upstairs so I can start working without your presence for a second longer than I must.”

He doesn’t appear to detect the sarcasm dripping from your words and instead looks rather flattered. “I suppose I must indulge you, then. Very well, show me the way to your place of work.”

You don’t bother to mention that the entire castle is your place of work, and instead lead him back to the library. None of the shelves are in place, and the books themselves are safely in storage while you and every other crew can trample on through without worrying about accidentally destroying something old enough to be their great-grandparent. Everything seems good to go, so you start to begin, stirring up the thick paint in the cans to make sure everything’s even, and then begin. You have almost an hour of uninterrupted work before the statue begins to start fiddling with some things that he should not be touching at all.

“Question,” you say, beginning on another wall, “can you sleep or anything?” Or do you need to be watched 24/7, no rest for the wicked amiright.

“I suppose we’ll find out.” He lays on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, clearly bored out of his mind.

“Could you maybe put on some clothes?” His nakedness hasn’t bothered you yet, but with all his attempts to take off your clothes, maybe some change is in order.

He turns his head in your direction and looks at you like you just suggested that he should maybe take a leisurely stroll into the sun. “And deprive you of such a beautiful view? Darling, my love, I should think not.”

“Okay, okay, no clothes.” You resist the urge to let out a huff. “I’m so sorry to even think of such a thing.”

“All is forgiven.” He says, so very gently, looking back up at the electric chandelier.

Again, there’s the desire to let out a scream that could be heard from across the nearest ocean, but you do no such thing. Instead, you throw yourself headfirst into your work, hoping that at the very least, your ridiculous amount of progress might allow Marge to overlook some… other things. You forget what time it is until you realize that it is suddenly so difficult to see your work, and that’s when you look out the window to find nothing but black and stars. The sun must have set long ago, without you even noticing, which means that it’s time for you to eat something before you faint from a sugar crash.

“Do you feel hungry?” You ask him, looking at your phone for the first time in hours. There’s a text from Esther, Marge’s wife, waiting for you to view.

“I don’t know.”

“Wonderful,” you respond, “but I do. I’ll order some pizza, then, and I guess you can eat some if you feel hungry at all. Any preferred toppings?”

“Preferred what?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ll just order something, then.”

And so you do, making sure the statue is sitting at the table with an old Rubix cube you found in one of the many boxes stashed in the storage room. Thankfully, he seems absolutely enamored by it, so you take the time to phone in a local pizza delivery place. Perhaps you get one too many things than you’d manage to eat, just in case the statue might end up needing to eat like any other person, though having leftovers isn’t exactly the worst outcome if he doesn’t.

While you wait for your food to be delivered, you take the liberty of reading over the document that Marge’s wife sent. Blah, blah, blah, temple excavation, blah, blah, oldest intact statue from the Hellenistic period, blah, blah, something about Aphrodite, and then… “Galateos.”

That catches his attention like a gunshot. He stares at you, mouth open and closing as he tries to come up with something to say in response. Finally, voice strangled, he says, “that sounds familiar.”

“Thought it might,” you say, a lie, really, because you don’t really know what he might find familiar and what he would see as entirely knew. “Esther texted me some info about where you came from. It says that the plaque you were given called you ‘Galateos.’”

He sits up just a tad bit taller, jaw clenched, eyes looking over the wooden table like it might offer some clues to what the word means. Finally, voice uncharacteristically dry, he says, “that must be my name.”

The way he says it, though, is unsure, almost scared, really. So you try offering a way out. “Is there something else you want to be called?”

He thinks about it, you can see the way his forehead crinkles and his eyes grow distant. But after barely a second of thought, he shakes his head. “No. Galateos is fine.”

“Alright, then, Galateos,” you try the name out. It’s long, and stiff, much like the way he had been complaining about his limbs a mere hours before. “Can I call you Gala? Or Teos? Or literally anything but?”

“You can call me ‘dearest,’ or ‘most beloved,’” he says, entirely serious.

“Galateos it is, then.” You look over the photograph of a pamphlet Marge must have ordered to advertise the statue, Esther even gave sent another picture of it open, revealing the block of text describing where they found him. “Do you remember being a statue at all? Or are you suddenly like…. Awake and stuff?”

He looks a tad bit troubled, looking down at his hands like he can’t quite place what their purpose is. After a moment of silence, he says, “I don’t know how to describe it. Darkness, forever. And then suddenly light. I didn’t care about the darkness while I was frozen because I couldn’t care about anything, anything at all. There were periods of warm and periods of cold, but neither of them were particularly bothersome.”

“You feel heat and cold?” You ask, already preparing an experiment in your head to check.

“I think so.”

“One way to find out.” You go through the cabinets until you find a large stainless steel bowl, then fill it to the brim with ice, and place it in front of him. “Stick your hand inside and leave it there for as long as you can.”

He looks at the ice like it’s something entirely unfamiliar and new, looking over at you like you might magically have the answer to a question he didn’t ask. Then, carefully, slowly, he slides his hand in the ice, frowning as he tries to verbalize what he feels. “What is this?”

“Ice.” When his expression remains blank, so you try to clarify. “When water gets cold, it freezes.”

His eyes widen, his mouth opening in a soft o. “This is water?”

“Frozen water, yeah,” you try to get back on topic, even though you find it odd that he knows what water is, but not ice. “Do you feel anything?”

“Cold,” he says, pulling his hand out. “It feels cold.”

You reach over and grab his hand in your own, running your thumb over his palm, finding the stone there as cold as one would expect to be after submerged in a pile of ice. “But you can feel it? Does it hurt?”

“It feels,” he thinks, brow furrowed, eyes decidedly glued on where your fingers touch, “pinching, but also not. As though I’m being poked by needles.”

That sounds cold to you, remembering the way your skin prickles when met with chilly air. So he can feel temperature changes, but can’t be deterred by one of your mean hooks, which you suppose is an interesting discovery. You might posit that it also doesn’t make the slightest lick of sense, but then again, a slab of lovingly carved stone is walking and talking, so you guess you can’t really be the judge of what is weird and what isn’t at the moment.

He slyly places his other hand over yours, wholly focused on tracing the path of your fingers while you… kind of just let it happen. If it was anyone else, you might have yanked your hand out of their grip, but you just sort of sit there and allow him to observe the curves and scars of your hand. While he does so, he’s quiet, not so much as whispering a single word that would cause you to leave, and is instead seems satisfied with the silence that settles over the kitchen. You can’t say that you’re uncomfortable with the way he touches you, his gestures so very gentle even though he’s a fucking rock.

“You’re an artist,” he says finally, his voice soft and sweet.

He’s only seen you working the brunt of the job, not the finer details that you pride yourself with. “How do you know?”

“The hands never lie.”

“And how would you know that?” You ask, a tad bit teasingly.

His eyes grow distant, feverish, as though he’s desperately trying to grasp something that’s just out of his reach. “I- I don’t rem-”

Someone’s at the kitchen’s back door, as instructed, knocking loudly and announcing that they’re the pizza guy. You’re very familiar with all the delivery people by now, and so you recognize the carrot-like hair of one of the pizza place’s employees, though you can’t recall his name. There’s cash in your back pocket, you always try to tip generously and under the table, and after exchanging a couple of words of pleasantries, you shut the door and go back to the table, pizza in hand. By this point, you’re practically frothing at the mouth for food, so statue be damned, you tear into the pizza like an animal once you’re sitting down.

Galateos watches with interest, observing the way you’re able to pull at the crust and place the triangular-shaped piece on a napkin that you decided to use as a plate because… you don’t have the energy to do dishes. As you eat, and subsequently feel a tad bit tired, you realize that there is going to be an issue with the fact that, problem one; you don’t know if you should leave him alone if he doesn’t sleep and problem two; there’s literally only one room that’s fully furnished and can house a person. You have been staying there, on your own, since going to some other hotel at night seems unnecessary, because this place is a hotel. Silently, you try to weigh the pros and cons of sharing a bed with him, and the only thing you seem to come back to is that you'd be able to keep an eye on him throughout the night.

He takes a couple of bites of the pizza, though scrunches up his nose with each one, seemingly unable to gather much of an appetite. Though he actually swallows the food, instead of spitting it right out like you might have expected, so that’s something, you guess. After you clean up, you sit with another mug of steaming hot tea, trying to relax yourself enough for sleep. He has a cup, too, though he stares at the liquid, and doesn’t really seem interested in drinking it.

You try to browse through the photos of the pamphlet again, trying to find something that might help you figure out just what the actual, literal fuck is going on. There isn’t really anything that might be considered out of the ordinary, there’s a transcript of the writing found at the base of the statue, back when he was standing still on the pedestal.

Μόνο ένας που μπορεί να αγαπήσει θα δώσει πνοή ζωής σε αυτό το σπλάχνο της γης

Όταν τα άστρα θα έχουν κινηθεί από τις θέσεις τους

Τότε ο γιος της Γεας θα αφυπνιστεί

Να γεννηθεί στην εποχή του μετάλλου και του κεραυνού

Όταν ο γλύπτης θα κείτεται νεκρός για τρείς χιλιάδες εύπρωκτα, εύπρωκτα χρόνια

There isn’t a translation available, which strikes you as odd. Maybe it hasn’t been translated yet? The pamphlet is a draft, after all. Maybe Marge has someone working on it right at this very moment and just hasn’t had the time to fully go over it yet. But… you look back up to the statue, who is bobbing his teabag up and down, watching the color of the water change. “Do you read Greek?”

“I don’t-”

“Just take a look,” you interrupt, holding your phone out in front of his face.

His eyes squint, pouring over the words on your phone, and it looks like he might actually be understanding what it says. That is, until, he sits back and offers you a shrug, mouth twitching. “I can’t.”

You let out a frustrated breath, but whatever. You knew it was a long shot, anyway. “Guess I’ll just have to wait until the official translator does their thing.”

Author’s Note:

A very special thanks to the wonderful @two-plus-two-is-four, my source for a lovely Greek translation of the inscription. I appreciate it so very much.

#exophilia #living statue #statue/reader #monster/reader #living statue x reader

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