#like him being an obnoxious new yorker

[she-wolf09231982]

BoB reaction to you when there's something stuck in your teeth/hanging from your nose

Richard 'Dick' Winters

~ He's definitely discreet about it.

~ Something in your nose: Like a gentleman, he'll offer you a handkerchief and when you politely decline, dismissing that you even need one, he'll respectfully insist you use it.

~ Food stuck in your teeth or a lipstick smudge on your front teeth: he'll quietly and politely ask you to follow him out of the room so he can privately tell you.

~ If you overreact, wondering how long you've been walking around looking like that, his signature suppressed smirk will tug at the corners of his mouth.

Lewis Nixon

~ He would address it in front of everyone, but with hand gestures from across the room.

~ If you're standing where he can't just whisper to you, he'll wave you down or bark a quick, "HEY!" to get your attention. (New Yorkers aren't the subtle types)

~ When you finally acknowledge him, he'll mouth to you the ol' "You got a little something..." while gesturing to his own nose or teeth.

~ As you cover your mouth and/or nose from embarrassment, he'll give you a reassuring wink to show you that you're still adorable.

Ronald Speirs

~ The man detects the smallest detail with the precision of a hawk.

~ He can be in the middle of a conversation, but when he scans the room to see where you've gone, he'll 100% see the spinach in your teeth or the booger in your nostril immediately.

~ He will blatantly leave the conversation without explanation, and B line it you.

~ He'll have his handkerchief or toothpick ready by the time he reaches you.

~ He'll only stop when he is centimeters from your face so only you can hear him whisper, "You got something right here, and here" as he points to his nose/teeth.

Carwood Lipton

~ Completely empathetic because he knows you're self-conscious

~ As soon as he catches it, he's gently guiding you by the arm away from everyone.

~ He'll begin with "I didn't want to announce it in front of everyone..." as he removes the handkerchief from his uniform front pocket.

~ He's adoringly grinning at you as you hastily fix your face in a nearby mirror before heading back out to the guys.

Joe Toye

~ Since he's always right next to you when your out with the guys, he sees it right away and is always conveniently close enough to tell you.

~ He knows you're self conscious about this sort of thing, so he usually takes advantage of the situation.

~ He'll guide you closer to him with his hand on the small of your back, giving the false sense that he's going to kiss you.

~ When his mouth is just hovering over yours, he'll say almost as a purr, "You got something in/on your teeth/nose." then pull away snickering diabolically.

~ You cover your mouth/nose with a gasp, then proceed to punch his arm.

~ He laughs harder while handing you a toothpick or his handkerchief.

George Luz

~ By nature, he is more outright obnoxious with it.

~ Like Toye, he'll take advantage of the situation but at your expense for Easy Company's and his own personal entertainment.

~ In his best 'Sobel' voice, he'll randomly announce, "What's this!? A nostril/tooth infraction!? (As he points to your nose/mouth) Pass revoked!"

~ Of course at first you're confused, but as it sinks in, you hide your nose/mouth with your hand, glaring at Luz for being such an asshole about it.

~ He'll still pass you his handkerchief or a tooth pick with a flirty wink.

Bill Guarnere

~ Those Philly boys be loud about everything.

~ He's calling you out as soon as he sees it. "Hey, doll, you gotta bat in the cave!" or "You got some lipstick right here!" as he flashes his teeth at you pointing at them.

~ Pure utter humiliation as you swiftly cover your face with both hands.

~ He'll quickly come to you, handkerchief/toothpick at the ready.

~ Anyone who's still laughing that isn't Easy Company, "You think this is funny?" he'll ask them aggressively, defending your honor even though he's the reason he had to defend it in the first place.

Denver 'Bull' Randleman

~ He's subtle, but affectionately creative.

~ He's a teddy bear for you, and will protect you at all costs.

~ Uses the situation as an excuse to get a little extra PDA as he tries to tell you.

~ He'll scoop you up for a bear hug, and when your ear is close enough to his mouth, he whisper in his Arkansas southern drawl, "You got a little somthin' in your teeth/nose, darlin'."

~ He'll kiss your cheek before setting you down as he hands you his handkerchief or toothpick.

Floyd Talbert

~ Like Bull, he's tactful, but will take this as an opportunity to get extra handsy with you.

~ When he sees it, he'll ask you to dance.

~ Whether it's an upbeat 'cuttin' the rug' song or a slow dance, he's pulling you into him after he twirls you with no wiggle room for you to escape.

~ When he has you pinned against his body, he'll ever so slowly lean in to kiss you, but evades your mouth the very last second to whisper in your ear, "You got something in your teeth/nose."

~ We all know he's the worst repeat offender tease/flirt.

~ Alarmed, you cover your mouth/nose while he still leads the dance.

~ He'll slip a toothpick or his handkerchief into one of your pockets, (preferably a front breast or butt pocket) "Meet me in the restroom, I'll help you out with that." He'll offer with a devilish grin.

Don Malarkey

~ He would absolutely not catch it.

~ Totally oblivious.

~ When one of the other guys brings it to your attention, you're in utter disbelief that he didn't see it first.

~ He'll totally justify himself.

~ "I love your face no matter what's hanging from your nose, or lodged in your teeth!"

~ You can't even be mad at him after that.

Shifty Powers 

~ He's nervous to tell you. 

~ He doesn't want you to feel awkward, even if it's just you and him. 

~ He's internally arguing with himself about how or when he should tell you. 

~ Bless his heart.

~ He decides to wait to say anything until no one's paying attention and quickly tell you. 

~ He may never take the opportune moment to say anything, and might end up just telling you at the end of the day.

~ And you'd be mildly frustrated at first, but how could you stay mad? It's Shifty

~ If he gets the chance to tell you, I imagine he's the "whisper right in your ear with his hands cupped on each side of his mouth" type a guy.  

~ He'll offer his handkerchief, or hunt down a toothpick for you.

Eugene 'Doc' Roe

~ He swoops in for the save when he sees it.

~ He'll think of a convincing excuse to pull you aside.

~ "Can I see you over here for a sec?"

~ Even when he gets you alone, he quietly explains that you got something going on with your face.

~ When your initial response is to be mortified, he'll tenderly take your hand, place his handkerchief in your palm then close your fingers over it.

~ He reassures you that nobody else saw it.

~ In his baritone, honeyed Cajun accent, "Don't worry, nobody else noticed, mon amour."

Joe Liebgott

~ No filter.

~ Will consider this as an opportunity to get close to you.

~ Will absolutely use it as an excuse to pull you away from everyone so he can have you all to himself.

~ I'm willing to bet he'd take his handkerchief and wipe your nose without warning in front of everyone.

~ If it's your teeth, he'll walk right up to you with a toothpick ready and say, "Smile for me."

~ When you do, he'll straight up hold your head steady by the chin with one hand and pick out the food with the toothpick.

~ You just let it happen because he'll keep on you until you let him get it...and he's stronger than he looks so there's no use resisting him.

~ When he's done, there's always a follow up comment.

~"Where would you be without me?"

~"There's my girl." As he admires your face.

#band of brothers #hbo war #ww2 #101st airborne #easy company #joe liebgott #joseph liebgott #eugene roe #doc roe #floyd talbert #shifty powers #bull randleman #joe toye #donald malarkey #george luz #lewis nixon #dick winters #bill guarnere #carwood lipton #ron speirs

[userholland]

rainy day inn | p. parker

after choosing to make everyone forget who he is, peter is still trying to adjust to his new life. with may gone and mj & ned in massachusetts, he's had to branch out and find new friendships to make. still maintaining his spidey persona, he keeps the city of new york safe every day and tries to not make past mistakes. everything has been different, almost like a useless re-do he wishes he could take back. nevertheless, he finds comfort in you, his neighbor that lives across the hall from him. the citizens of new york may need his help... until you come down with a cold.

pairing: nwh!peter & neighbor!fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers, college graduate!y/n, fluff, being sick & one person being pure comfort, (sort of a) fix-it fic

word count: 4.3k

warnings: no real warnings. lots of fluff, domestic!peter, corny origin story as to how you met, sad mentions of ned & mj, overwhelming grief, just peter parker trying his best <3 and nwh spoilers!

a/n: a bit of a surprise fic but also my first peter one ! i think this is just a fun thing to write and i had some ideas after nwh so, now i can finally write them lol. but i hope you guys enjoy it and as always, i love feedback & comments! and check out my new biker!tom fic series here ♡

masterlist

The snow from winter’s past had melted away from the warm day. Sunlight radiates down on all of Midtown, cars driving through leftover black slush clogging the side of the streets or dirty snow piles getting smaller as they slumped next to the street corners. Every New Yorker was happy once the leaves started growing back, the flowers began to bloom from the fresh grass, and the warmth made it bearable to be outside. But with the nice weather, it also came with the early showers. Rainy days in New York were nice, as long as you wore a coat and had an umbrella.

Unlike everyone else in the city who were walking in the parks and going out to shop during the first week of Spring, you had been curled up in your fluffy sheets, fatigued from a common cold and stuffy nose. Not knowing it was going to rain down from your commute to NYU and back to your apartment, you spent the dreadful few hours drenched from the sticky rain and walking in and out of air-conditioned buildings all day, only to come back to your place that had no heat. Just the small portable heater in the corner, but it didn’t do much– similar to your broken radiator. 

A humidifier, tv remote and heated blanket had become your close acquaintances. The apartment seemed bigger when you had to roll out of bed to use the bathroom or find something to nibble on in the kitchen, even though there was a tight knot twisting inside your stomach. Used, crinkled tissues filled the small trash bin and around it, and an obnoxious pile of dirty laundry was stuffed into your hamper in the corner of your room.

Life was a mess, but there was nothing you could do about it with the fatigue that weighed on you and how head filled your head felt from how congested you became over the few days of quarantining yourself.

As another rerun of your favorite show played on the TV, three knocks hit against your front door. Groaning, you pouted from having to move from your comfortable position, slowly getting on your feet. The floor beneath you felt like it could shift at any minute, realizing how dehydrated you were as the room spun for a few seconds. Once you regained your balance and vision, you pulled your fleece blanket over your shoulders, pinning it close as you trailed across the apartment.

Holding the knob with the blanket over your head, you slowly turned it until the door cracked and there was your neighbor, Peter Parker. His slightly-gelled curls shined under the warm lighting of the hall, almost a caramel tone to the top of his head.

He smiled, “I figured you needed a pick-me-up.” He said, his hands holding a glass tupperware with ‘Parker’ written on the lid in a thick sharpie.

“You didn’t have to.” You pouted, opening the door wide.

He carefully passed by, “Eh, I could hear you coughing and sneezing from my place, so I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure if it was from sitting on the freezing cold subway in soaking wet clothes or just holding the support pole on the bus.” You groaned as you locked the door, then followed him into the kitchen.

He scrunched his cute nose, “Probably a lot of both.” Peter jeered, setting the container on your kitchen counter.

A small smile curled on your lips, as much as you could with how sick you were feeling. You nudge your head against Peter’s shoulder while putting your arm around his waist to give a quick side hug. The fabric of his gray sweatshirt felt soft as you rubbed his back, and he chuckled against your head. He sealed his lips, his arm around your shoulders and his thumb grazing your blanket you were still bundled in like a snowsuit.

“God, sorry, I probably smell. I haven’t had any energy to shower.” You pouted, rubbing your hands down your dry face.

Peter hummed, “Why don’t you shower and I’ll heat this up. Maybe even run to the bakery downstairs and get that nice, french bread you get every other day.” 

“Hey.” You pointed at him, “Don’t judge me and my love for that bread. It’s a nice Italian bakery, it’s the only place I know I can get great bread.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“And that’s why I’ll go get it for you, especially in your time of need.” He jeered.

A heat rose to your cheeks, feeling it slowly spread across your face as you playfully swatted his shoulder before walking to the bathroom. As you turned the knob for hot water, you thought about how you couldn’t have asked for a better next-door neighbor than Peter Parker.

He was not only the nicest person you met, but also incredibly caring and gentle to anyone that crossed paths with him. There was an endearing quality to the brown-haired boy, whether it was the shy smile he randomly gleamed or the freckles scattered along his nose and cheeks.

“Hmm, well, since you mentioned bread, I’ll go shower.” You smiled.

Peter grinned at you before you passed by him, running your hand smoothly along his back. As you headed to the bathroom, he smiled at himself and his heart fluttered. He thought you were the nicest person he had met since everyone had to forget who he was. 

He was lonely, and almost felt lost more than he thought he would be. Although Spider-man fulfilled his caring duties of protecting the city, he wasn’t good at making friends in his GED classes or the part-time job he has as a supplemental tutor at the library. Well, until he met you one fateful, but sad, day.

After finding out MJ and Ned had gone off to MIT, there was no connection to be made anymore with them. Peter wasn’t sure how to cope with the sudden loss of his girlfriend and best-friend because of own decision. He tried to embrace this new, second life he made for himself, continuing to hold onto some kind of hope that a person would come along and guide him like his once best-friends and his Aunt May did.

That was until he met you one fateful Sunday afternoon.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

He was carrying up groceries from the farmer’s market in his reusable Ikea bags where the thread appeared loose and lightly fringed by the handles. Making an appointment to sign up for his GED classes, he stopped his pace when they saw you sitting outside of your apartment that was adjacent to theirs.

It was the second time you were locked out of your apartment, and barely having money for a proper meal, you couldn’t pay the fee to have another key made. Afraid of your landlord, there you sat in the hall and tried to trace your steps as to where the key could possibly been left. But in the city like New York, it was long gone wherever it may have been dropped and you weren’t surprised if someone had noticed, but not said anything.

“Hey. Everything okay?” Peter asked in his naturally kind tone, his phone still against his ear.

Your head shot his way, “Yeah, I just locked myself out. I lost my key… again.” You trailed, “And I can’t afford to pay for another so, I’m sort of just stuck, I guess.” You sighed.

His lips twisted, “I think I can help you with that.” Peter offered, still a stranger to you.

“Really?” You asked, having a bit of hope as your eyes brightened at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Um, if you could just watch my bags, I’ll go down and talk to him.” Peter kindly offered, setting the heavy bags in front of his apartment door.

You nodded, watching him walk back down the first flight of stairs and smiled from the warmness of his gesture. It was probably one of the more helpful times you had in New York after all these years, making you wonder if there was some catch once he got the key.

Unknowing to you, Peter checked his surroundings before opened the window on the start of the floor below yours. He balanced on the ledge before unveiling his web shooter under his flannel sleeve, whipping a web to a beam at the top of the building in order to lower himself to the first floor.

As he planted his feet to the brick, holding his hand around his strong-coiled web, Peter could see inside the superintendent’s office. He slowly opened the window, carefully moving his body to fit through and land on his feet… well, until he slipped on a newspaper.

Letting out a groan, Peter tried to silence his pain quickly by rolling over to his front side. He shook his head at himself before getting back up, dusting off his flannel and shirt.

“Now, keys… keys…” He trailed, clicking his tongue.

As sleuth as Spider-man was, Peter wasn’t. The drawers in the counter were heavy, they were loud when pushed back in place. The floorboards creaked as if he weighed more than an elephant. Even the tabby cat sitting on the couch meowed every other second, but it was more annoyingly high-pitched than alerting.

“Shh! Shh!” Peter put his finger against his lips as if the cat knew what it meant. He carefully ran his hand over the cat’s head, stroking the soft fur then seeing the cat lean up and pur.

As he kept the fluffy cat still, Peter’s eyes scanned the room until he saw the spare keys hanging along the wall on organized hooks. A smile grew on his face, slowly walking up to the wall until he heard footsteps coming toward the door. His hair stood up on the back of his neck before flinging himself to the ceiling, his fingers stuck as he arched his head watching the landlord walk in leisurely. 

Whistling, the landlord browsed the room, wandering around as if he forgot what he was looking for as Peter tried to stay behind his view. Just when Peter thought he was in the clear, the cat glanced up at him and began to meow. 

He wished he could tell the cat to be quiet, thinking his cover was blown until the landlord swooped the cat under his arm.

“Come here, you.” He cooed, holding the cat under his arm before walking out.

Peter closed in his eyes, sighing in relief before carefully dropping from the ceiling. Quickly swiping the key, he walked toward the window and climbed the wall back up.

You let out a long breath past your lips, blowing your hair away from your face. Doubtful and already upset, you began having doubts Peter would come back. It was a nice gesture, but maybe you should have just-

“I’m back.” He smiled walking toward you.

You furrowed the eyebrows at the key in his hand, “You got it? How?!” You asked in pure amazement.

He nodded, “Don’t worry about that, just make sure to keep this one.”

You glanced at him, still with a warm smile on your face, “Thank you so much… um, what’s your name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.” 

“Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Y/N. You’re like my new hero.”

He blushed a bit, “Hero? No… Just your friendly neighbor.” 

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

The steam opened your nostrils as the heated water covered your body, your muscles loosening around your neck from laying in awkward positions to be comfortable all day and night. You pressed your fingers along the back of your neck, rolling your head as well before actually showering– feeling as if this is what you needed all along and you were just in a rut.

Peter came back from the bakery, unknowingly taking a shortcut from the fire escape to get to the bakery. He cut the loaf into slices at the same time as microwaving the soup. As he continued to cut, Peter tried to remember May’s voice and what she did for him when he was sick.

He would have some of the worst common colds because of his many vigilante adventures, obviously unknown to her at the time. So, she would make him soup, pair it with warm bread and a seltzer if he had a stomach ache.

It made Peter smile thinking about the fond memories rather than crying at how he couldn’t relive them. He had been better at trusting the process of the future unfolding, constantly repeating May’s words.

“You have a gift, Peter…”

The timer loudly beeped, snapping him out of his past. He turned on his heels to open the microwave, opening the door and carefully taking out the bowl with pot holders wrapped on the sides of the glass bowl.

He hissed when the overpowering burn pushed into his fingers, but still placing the bowl carefully on the counter.

In the other room, you rung your hair out and dried it as best as you could. You kept taking deep breaths, inhaling the steam filled in the bathroom and your headache had lifted a bit from simply relaxing.

You quickly put on a comfortable tank top and slipped on soft sweatpants, stretching out your body in front of your window. As you pulled open the curtains, the gloomy day was nice to look at still. While you felt like absolutely shit, there was something peaceful and almost sweet about seeing random strangers walk about their days.

After popping an Advil, you made your way to the livingroom and saw Peter carefully setting the tray of food on the coffee table. You pouted, smiling at him as he set a comfortable floor pillow down as well.

“You know, you didn’t have to.” You trailed, a bit emotional at his care.

There were two slices of your requested bread, as well as a nice bowl of chicken noodle soup. It was nice having someone take care of you after being away from your family for so long, the feeling of homesickness always keeping into your heart even in a city of thousands of people. He radiated a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while.

“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. How cliche.” He jeered.

Just as you were about to sit down, starved for a hot meal, Peter came back from the kitchen with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. Already in a mood, you could cry right there. A part of you didn’t think he would remember a detail like what your favorite flowers were, or even the bread. Well, it wasn’t obvious that you were taking mental notes about him too. If you didn’t have this cold, you were going to ask him to go to his favorite ramen place once he was done with his classes. But, this was better.

As you brought the flowers to your nose, you wanted to smell them, but your nose was still a bit stuffed up.

“I wish I could smell them. They’re so beautiful.” You admired, gently running your fingers over the top of the petals.

“I’ll put them in a vase for when you can later.” He offered.

After he took them, you slowly sat down on the soft pillow and began to blow on your soup. Once you cooled it enough, the taste from your throat to belly was relieving. It was just what you needed after feeling sore and sick for the past few hours.

He came back with the flowers in the vase, placing them on the center of the table before sitting next to you. You glanced over at the windows, seeing drabbles of rain start to hit the window and the clouds hide away the sunlight.

“Feeling better?” Peter grinned.

“A lot better already, thank you.” You pouted, leaning your head against his shoulder.

Peter half-smiled, “Don’t mention it. You’ve been working hard lately, feel like I barely saw you.”

You giggled, “You’re one to talk. You’re like a disappearing act somedays. I think I see you in front of our building, but then I don’t. Riddle me that, Parker.”

He thought the way you scrunched your nose was cute, usually shown when teasing him for the smallest things, but it always comforted him. A warmness emulated from your personality, attracting him in his darkest moments. Whenever he reminisced on the past– moments with May, Ned or MJ– a tension formed in his throat, like he couldn’t breathe so much that tears felt involuntarily. But, you reminded him that although they were important to his past, there was a lot to look forward to in his future.

At some points, he’d brought up this MJ girl and you only knew her as an ex. You just didn’t know the context of her true impact on him and how she was another person who could peel back his layers. You’d hope to meet her since he said he had no hard feelings against her, and Peter didn’t know how to explain so he would nod and agree. 

“I’m a man that’s needed,” He joked, shrugging as well, “What can I say?”

Some days you’d tease him, saying he must have some superhero ability to get to you.

“You’re like The Flash.” You jeered.

It made Peter’s heart skip a beat, but he gulped, “C’mon, the Flash is so lame. Not a Clark Kent?”

“Well, maybe if I saw you in glasses.”

He chuckled, glaring at your lips but then back into your eyes. There was that split moment you could explain how you felt in a matter of seconds for him, just spewing out until there was no air left in the room. But, you thought that was just it. This was just a split moment before the anxiety and fear creeped into your brain– second guessing your feelings and thankful you kept your mouth shut.

You turned back to your soup, sipping it while it was still hot. You hoped the steam from the soup was making your face this heated rather than your heart skipping beats. Peter longed his glanced before turning back to the TV and didn’t want to mention anything either.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

A few minutes passed before your eyes felt heavy and your stomach was tight. Peter offered his soft hoodie after you ate, slipping it over your head and even the same of his roaming cologne was nice. 

Just as Peter lightly chuckled at the TV, he turned to you and saw your head tilting to the other side. The sound of the rain was slowly putting you to sleep, soothing the tense headache and tightness of your body. 

“Y/N, why don’t you go to bed?”

You hummed, “I’m just resting my eyes.”

“Which is sleeping.” He jeered, but you pouted at him, “C’mon.”

He lifted off his feet, helping you up from the floor. You weren’t sure if it was chills or the cold rain, but you were annoyingly freezing. Peter walked you to your bed, unfolding the sheets to let you sit down. You curled yourself to prevent the cold then Peter pulled the duvet over your whole body, pushing it under your frontside to make sure you were insulated. 

“Is that okay?” He whispered.

You responded with a faint nod, your eyes still closed and your face cuddled against the pillow.

Peter brushed your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear then tracing his curled finger along your jaw. Pulling the quilt over your shoulder, he gently tucks it in between your body and the bed before reaching over to plug your phone in to charge. As Peter looked down on you, peacefully asleep, he ran his hand over the top of your head a few times. You unconsciously mumbled, cuddling yourself further into the pillow and fresh sheets and it made him lightly chuckle.

You were and felt protected by him, even if you didn’t know his superhero persona. There was something about Peter that was magnetic. It could have been a lot, his personality, smile, even his sweet laugh. No matter where you were or what situation you were having in the city, Peter would always be a call away. It was pretty remarkable how fast he was, not sure how he does it. 

As he leaves your room, Peter takes a second glance at the paper on your desk. He thought it may have been a draft for a term paper, but instead he was shocked to see “Chosen Student Speaker” as the header. Peter lowly chuckled to himself and wasn’t surprised you didn’t tell him, probably already being nervous. But, now he would totally tease you about this.

After cleaning the dishes and cleaning up, Peter sat at your kitchen table and looked at some pictures through his phone. His heart dropped at the photos in his older gallery. Pictures at Midtown with Ned, the Decathlon team and even with May on their late night dinner finds. Perfect memories kept in a digital capsule and only able to remain as the past. As he scrolled to another photo him with MJ and Ned at the donut shop, you strolled out of your bedroom with more color in your skin and cheeks.

“Hey,” Peter quickly said, putting his phone down, “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. Very warm and refreshed.” You giggled, spinning around in Peter’s sweatshirt and your cozy bottoms.

Peter chuckled, “Well, I hope you have some energy to explain the paper I saw on your desk.” He raised an eyebrow.

You pondered what he meant until you lightning struck your brain, “Oh. That.” 

“You were chosen to speak out of your whole class? Why didn’t you tell me?” He smiled, but you sat next to him at the table.

You shrugged, “It’s corny. It’s just because someone asked me to.”

“It can’t be that bad. You’re just stage fright.”

“Well I’m no poet so, what else do I have to say but to just… congratulate?”

“I’d like to hear it.” Peter trailed, a half-smile painted on his cute face.

“No…”

“Yeah, c’mon. You need practice.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes in response before huffing, getting up to quickly get your speech paper then coming back to stand in front of him.

“Am I standing up like someone who’s confident?”

Peter smiled, “Of course.”

You cleared your throat, your eyes glancing at your paper.

“Students, Alumni, Parents and others, we are here today to celebrate something monumental. Today, we look forward to the future and feel grateful for the past. For all of those late nights, stressful moments and times we wanted to give up, we all made it here.”

You looked up at Peter who was smiling big already.

“In the city of New York, we have faced many challenges. I think it’s important for our students and everyone to understand that we will always come back together. We are thankful for those who help us in our darkest hours. Whether they’re your family,”

May.

“–a friend.”

Ned.

“–a lover.”

MJ.

“Or someone else incredibly important that one way or not would unexpectedly enter your life.”

Peter glanced back at you, his eyes becoming glassy.

“Whoever they are, it’s truly special to remember the support– like pillars– that hold you up in tough times. But, of course, we deserve to be able to credit ourselves the most to have gotten through this academic year.”

Although it was a speech for college, Peter could relate in some ways. It’s why it pulled at his heartstrings, like it spoke more for him than he ever could with his words. He sat there, encapsulated in your sentences and trying to hold back his tears.

As you finished, you got yourself to the end with heat brazened against your cheeks. You had to take a deep breath, and Peter just clapped and smiled.

“Beautiful, amazing!” He cheered.

You rolled your eyes, “Stop. It’s just… well, thanks.” You corrected your response.

You sat back down next to him, both of you smiling, but there were tears welling up in his eyes. Peter lowered his head to hide them, but you ran your hand over his curls. The rain continued to pour down outside just as Peter’s tears did when you held him in your arms. It was a hug he craved, and you were more than willing to give it to him.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” You joked.

Peter stuttered a laugh, wiping his tears. He lifted his head and you pushed his hair back, wiping his tears with your thumbs. You traced them down his chin before holding his face, taking in how tired he looked just through his brown eyes.

“It’ll be alright.” You comforted him.

He nodded, but you pulled him back in for another warm hug. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist, like securing a lock and he sniffled against your chest. Eventually he’d open up, you just waited until that day.

*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*✭˚·ﾟ✧*·ﾟ*

When the afternoon turned to night, the rain slowed down and the traffic outside lightened up. Holding one another, Peter rested his eyes with his arms around you while cuddled in bed. You brushed your nose against his chin, repositioning yourself every few minutes and slowly rubbing his back underneath his t-shirt. 

Both of you wern’t sure what you were. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Partners. Best friends? Even neighbors. It all couldn’t be explained in a few short seconds, but moments like this was when those terms didn’t matter. All you needed was one another. It was like knowing there was a reason why you came together. Relating the same pain, the same doubts, even the same leaps of faith. 

That was all that mattered and neither of you planned to screw that up. You were each other's new beginnings.

#peter parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fics #peter parker x reader #nwh!peter parker #tshwritersnet

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 2.5/5

Book Blurb: There’s a magnetic attraction when a happy-go-lucky gig worker agrees to a fake relationship with a rich, uptight New Yorker in this steamy romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Samantha Young.

Star Shine Meadows is all about freedom, thanks to the hippie parents who raised her. Juggling her jobs as a professional costume character actor and a line sitter, she believes in no expectations, no stressful ambitions, and no-strings-attached relationships. So when she meets a birthday girl’s grumpy uncle while working a princess party, she can’t help but needle him. She’ll never see him again, and honestly, he's pretty hot.

Rafe Whitman may be a veterinarian with a great bedside manner, but that doesn’t mean his patience extends to anyone with opposable thumbs. His family will not stop nagging him about finding “the one,” so when he runs into obnoxiously cheery Star again, he makes her an offer: He’ll pay her more than she would make doing her odd jobs if she’ll pretend to be his girlfriend at family gatherings. She can stop sitting in line waiting for someone else’s new phone, and he’ll get his family off his back.

When the tension between them heats to a breaking point, Star’s desire for "no strings" is tested against Rafe’s staunch stability. They say opposites attract, after all....

Review:

She's a quirky girl who's only real goal in life is to live her best happy life and to not get into a serious relationship, he's the hot grumpy vet she meets at a party who she can't help but want to get under (his skin and in bed)... and he's offered her 10 grand a month to pretend to be his gf so his family will get off his back. Star Shine Meadows is the quirky girl, she works as a party princess and a line waiter. At her latest job she spots the very hot Rafe Whitman, a veterinarian who is sick and tired of his family trying to set him up after his previous gf cheated on him. Despite how annoying he finds Star and how much she can't help but want to annoy him and sleep with him, he offers her a deal: pretend to be his girlfriend and he'll pay her 10 grand a month. What starts off as pretending soon becomes very real, but how can they make a relationship work when Star doesn't believe in serious relationships or compromising in a relationship and Rafe is all about monogamy and his entire family is constantly trying to change Star and trying to force her to be someone else. I'll start off by saying this book had potential, however Star was so annoying as a character, I get where she's coming from, she has had a hard childhood that has definitely jaded her views on relationships and monogamy, but she's so hell bent on being "quirky" and "not like other girls" and "not judgmental at all" but it does not come off all that cute. I grew to like Rafe, but he was also super condescending and his family is a mess. Seriously their families were messes and I am happy that both Rafe and Star manage to find a compromise to their lifestyle and their relationship but it was a bit of a rough start to the book. Overall if you like opposites attract and fake dating give this one a go!

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group, Berkley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

#book review #bookish #the love plot

[staxurst]

Hi! Saw your latest oj oc! Rabs aka Rabies!

I love his design and the vibes he give off! But could you tell smth more abt him??? Anything really? Then..what is his relationships with the canon oj characters? Like ozzy, drix, leah and THRAX???

I do be looking foward to see more of Rabs in the future! ^^

Aw thank you so much! I'll absolutely be drawing more of him and possibly even sprites for people to interact with him.

He's more old school, since Rabies was far more deadly in the past when there was no cure for it. So he's clinging onto the past when he was basically a highly feared Virus. His family line was super proud.

He has a new Yorker accent since he spent the majority of his life there. (Tho most of it was spent in rodents and animals)

He's crude, brash and a bit obnoxious but he knows how to bite his tongue when he needs to and is rather good at being a little charmer.

His relationships with the city of Frank, well he went into hiding when he first entered.

With Ozzy, he likes to mess with him. Technically not doing anything wrong but always making Ozzy think he's about to.

Drix, he finds him annoying. So he kinda bullies him him a bit when he can without getting caught in the cross fire of his arm blaster.

Thrax, he actually quite respect him. Compared to his own family line, Thrax as a virus strand is quite young but he wouldn't treat him like it. Even he can see Thrax is a very dangerous virus and would probably be one if the few viruses he'd go out of his way to work for.

#osmosis jones #osmosis jones oc #rabies #rabs

[tiilmans]

𝙬𝙝𝙮'𝙨 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙣 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩? 𝙖𝙞𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚

john tilman. fiction author. obnoxious man.

pinterest. established connections. click read more for intro.

STATS.

Full Name: John Carson Tilman

Age: Forty

Gender: Cis man

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 6′1

Education: Bachelors of arts in creative writing & journalism

Occupation: Pop fiction writer

BIO.

John Tilman refused to be ordinary. Growing up in a relatively average jewish family in Queens, he had an older brother, and a younger sister. His father was in academia and his mother was a baker. It was a quaint life, and John quickly realized he hated quaint.

The siblings were all relatively close in age, and all wound up going to NYU together. While he’s the most dramatic of the bunch, John has always adored his siblings, and he blames the middle child syndrome for making him such an ‘attention whore’ as he says.

It was at this time when John began writing every day. Between journaling his life, and writing down little snippets of fiction, he would pass them around to classmates who began to adore his writing. Not long after, he started having people call him ‘Tilman’, since John was tragically boring and forgettable.

His first book, ‘While You’re At It’ was a NYT bestseller for weeks, and became a sensation. It published only eight weeks after he graduated college. Six months after that, the rights were bought by a film studio and his book was being turned into a film.

He has never stopped writing. And with being skyrocketed into the life of the elite, he was meeting stars from all over the place. Finally, his life was no longer a snooze.

Tilman has become notorious for his dinner parties in New York. They are extravagant but he prides himself on them being kept tasteful. Some of the best chefs come to cook, the best wine imported, and sometimes, when he’s tipsy enough, he’ll get up and read from his journal, which typically has some pretty juicy and candid confessions in there.

Since his initial publication, he has published 8 books, all of which have been NYT bestsellers, but not all have been critically acclaimed. 3 of his books have been adapted into movies, and next year, one will become an HBO miniseries.

However, he turned 40 this year, and he’s been having a bit of a crisis. Does he really want to be remembered for the silly little books he writes? Sometimes on Twitter he sees people call his book vapid, or shallow. He pours his heart into them, and thinks they share a part of his soul, but maybe his soul just... isn’t that meaningful?

He’s debated making the switch into non-fiction. When he double majored in creative writing and journalism, the latter was mainly a fail safe for if he couldn’t get published. But now he wants to use those skills to write something that might actually make a change. But is his vapid, shallow self going to prevent him from being taken seriously in the scene?

PERSONALITY.

Some people describe Tilman as exciting, interesting, he’s charming and he knows how to carry a conversation. Every person he meets, he knows how to treat like they are the center of the universe. He’s an extremely good listener. He has an extensive memory, and gives the best gifts, things you might have mentioned off hand once months ago. He’s a tender lover, hosts a massive Passover dinner, and spends Christmas at his local shelter.

Other people say he’s hypocritical, obsessed with the way he looks and the way people see him. He will hold people to a standard that he will not hold himself to. He can fuel the flame of conflict just because he likes to see things crash and burn. He’s been known to use people for his own creative inspiration. He spends far too much money on frivolous things, and he’s lost the touch of being a home-grown New Yorker. Some think he’s just really, really annoying.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

siblings (wc on main)

ex partner- the ‘almost’, someone he was supposed to marry but turned down bc he’s an idiot who doesn’t think he’s good enough or capable of marriage (for characters 35+)

actor staring in his miniseries

confidante

fake friend

hookup

attendee to his party (probably means they’re friends)

someone he might have fucked over for his own amusement

roommate from college. knows tilman before the money and elite got to him. didn’t have to go to NYU but was in NYC at the same time.

someone he pines for

someone who avoids him because of reputation

someone who think they can beat him at his own game (meaning, being more obnoxious, grandiose, and dramatic)

#pinned.

[half-assed-movie-reviews]

Uncut Gems (2019)

This review will contain spoilers. I despise this movie with my entire being and I need to make sure everyone knows exactly why I hate it. If for whatever ungodly reason you want to watch this movie blind I urge you not to, but I understand some people are sadistic like that so who am I to stop you. However, there will be spoilers beyond this point so keep reading at your own risk. 

I can’t explain in simple terms why this movie pisses me off so much. Its themes aren’t that bad but god I don’t think I could ever sit through this movie ever again. Perhaps it’s the excruciating, mentally devastating way they tried to communicate their message. Following are my barely coherent rants about different aspects of the movie I can recall:

Use of Color: This is one of the few aspects of the movie I feel comfortable praising. I love a strong color palette in movies and Uncut Gems stuck to its dark, grungy color palette that suits the tone of the film well. It does get heavy on the eyes after awhile, but that’s more so a criticism of the film’s length than the colors (which I will certainly lose my shit about later in the review)

Acting: Adam Sandler really sold the role of a desperate, disheveled business owner. Something about the man makes him so easy to pity even when he’s the most obnoxious guy in the entire movie. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have beef with Adam, I’m sure he’s a lovely man and I enjoy some of his romcoms but he does an exceptional job at becoming the most pathetic man in the world in this film. I am still undecided on whether that is a compliment of his acting or diss on his character but regardless it suited him well in this context.

Here’s the parts of the film that I cared for significantly less:

The Script: The dialogue for this movie isn’t unnatural or even really bad, it’s just painfully annoying. Like by the end of the movie if I heard one more word spoken with a thick Brooklyn accent I would deck them on the fucking spot. The movie is just cluttered with this realistic, messy, argumentative dialogue that it feels like watching your parents fight for 2 hours and 15 exhausting minutes. Eventually you just begin to tune out Adam Sandler’s helpless cries and with that, the themes of the movie also get lost. I feel like the movie’s message about the pitfalls of capitalism is great in theory, but after hearing people fight for nearly the entire duration of the film my mind is so numb that I don’t even care what the movie is trying to say anymore.

Runtime: These are the longest 2 hours and 15 minutes of your entire life. You will be struggling to pay attention as Adam runs around begging people for forgiveness and when you check how much time is left, your heart will sink as you see another 55 minutes on the runtime. It’s too late to back out, you’re already entrenched in Adam’s unholy creation. So you dig in and tank through the rest of the movie. By the time the helicopter flies over to the casino and Adam makes his bank, you don’t feel anything at all. You don’t care for this man. Your eyes burn at the site of his face, his voice grates away at your soul. There is nothing you desire more in that moment than for the credits to roll. You even feel a little relief watching him finally get shot. You won’t have to hear from him again for the remaining 15 minutes. God rest your soul, Adam. May you find forgiveness in his grace for the pain in which this movie caused others.

I should be clear. I don’t hate Adam, or the Safdie Brothers, or anyone else. I hate this movie. My hatred is purely directed towards this film for putting me through 2 hours of New Yorkers yelling at each other, and towards the pretentious film critics for giving it a 90% on Rotten Tomatoes. I think the themes were thoughtful and could have been great in a movie, but unfortunately there’s too much detracting from Uncut Gems for me to even begin to care about what the film is trying to say. Final Score: 1.5/5 stars. I wanted to like it, Adam. I’m so sorry

#cinema #film #movie #movie review #uncut gems #adam sandler #josh safdie #benny safdie #2019

[brakken-spideyverse]

So, as part of my anticipation for No Way Home, I am rewatching all the live-action Spidey movies, and thought I would share my thoughts on them as I go.

Spider-Man (2002)

It had been a while since I revisited this one. It captivated me when I was younger, so I was excited and curious to see how much it held up.

The movie does a great job at guiding you through its story. I appreciate Peter’s narration as a nod to the comics’ monologues, and then it’s outta there as soon as we’re given enough steam to get the story going – it bypasses the need for an overly long introduction and backstory to Peter, which could have been an issue since we don’t spend much time with him before he gets his powers. It’s strange to think how very little we actually get of Peter interacting with Uncle Ben & Aunt May before the bigger narrative moments, yet they still manage to feel like this small and familiar piece of his life.

The weaker part of the opening is how they go about presenting ‘Peter is a loser’. From getting tripped on the bus, to MJ waving at her friends over his shoulder, it’s all a little too obvious and sticks out when there’s much subtler storytelling surrounding it. I love the scene with Harry and Norman in the car – they manage to tell you so much about that relationship, those characters. And then following with Peter and Norman meeting, the movie introduces this notion of parental pride, which flows so effortlessly in that scene that you don’t even feel its significance until their final encounter.

I think MJ probably suffers the most from the pacing. There is clearly intended depth to her character, but despite the story claiming to be ‘all about a girl’, she doesn’t really involve herself in the broader events of Peter’s life, so we don’t get a solid idea of why this is the girl that Peter’s so taken with, beyond a bit of – when it comes down to it - surface-level compliments about how when she looks at him he feels good. They have some nice interactions throughout the movie, but it’s a shame that it’s on Peter to do the ‘work’ to win her affections, while the writing seems content to let her simply exist and he is in love with her.

This next point is ultimately a nitpick, but a big setback on rewatching this movie is the look and age of the actors. The Hollywood filter really hit these supposed teenagers hard, and at times it’s tricky to go along with, say, Flash getting lectured by his teacher when they could be the same age. I think there is merit in really showing Peter’s youth, and how absolutely out of his depth he is with this life-changing burden he’s been given. But here, it’s easy to forget he’s only meant to be 19 or so by the end of the movie.

Tonally, I don’t think the Raimi films get a free pass for being ‘goofy’, but this movie strikes a fairly consistent balance with when and how it achieves that. I think it’s somewhat of a shame to not have a more loudmouthed, obnoxious Spider-Man, but it’s not like it’s entirely devoid of it. The score tells us that this story is mythic in nature, which the rest of the movie sells.

The wrestling scene comes with the most tonal whiplash. We go from this dramatic conversation between Ben and Peter – then it’s like Peter crosses through a threshold into a different movie – one where Macho Man Randy Savage has legal right to kill you, where Spider-Man can be casually homophobic, and forgets to use his Spider-Sense so he can be hit by a chair. Then as soon as that’s over, we’re right back into that harder tone. Parts of it have its charm, and can function as the high before the low, but I found my immersion getting thrown this time by just how sudden it changes.

The Raimi films are the king of having these great little ‘unnecessary’ moments and details that make the world feel more real – more lived in. I love the robber taking the cupcake from the bodega, and the hammy little montage of regular New Yorkers’ opinions of Spidey. It’s earnestly goofy, and doesn’t ‘wink’ at its audience in any way that becomes distracting.

That said, it’s an utterly strange choice to have major characters go entire scenes without acknowledging Spider-Man’s existence. We get all these shots of how the people are reacting, and then Jameson demanding photos (who is 10/10 in this movie). But then… we get a scene with MJ and Peter on the sidewalk talking about their lives as normal, followed by Harry brushing off questions about his ‘new girl’ and Norman offering to help Peter find a job. They’re both solid scenes that move the story forward at a brisk pace. But it’s simply odd that the first moment Spider-Man is actually mentioned by any of our main cast is when MJ says he’s incredible to Harry over the phone, after being rescued by him - and the scene then goes on to not mention Spidey again. The next time Harry mentions him? His father’s funeral. Meanwhile, you could make an argument that for this movie, Aunt May doesn’t even know Spider-Man exists.

Since Jameson doesn’t pay me to be a sensitive artiste, I will say that Green Goblin’s costume leaves a lot to be desired. I don’t hate it, but there’s something so primal to the comics version that would be  fitting to Willem Dafoe’s performance - it’s hard not to wish for a more ‘accurate’ look. And I get it’s the flight-suit, and that works for the lore, but if he can make a silly goblin mask, he can certainly embellish the rest of his get-up. And how dumb is it when he’s wrapped in the blanket and Spidey can’t tell, even though the dumb goblin head is stickin’ out all weird-like? I digress.

For the finale, I want to talk about ‘We are who we choose to be’. It’s what the movie is about, and what Goblin is forcing him to decide on the bridge, but I love that the movie doesn’t have the villain make that character decision for him. I mean, naturally we’re wanting to see him save the day so that Nickelback has a hero to wax poetic about, but it’s still a powerful moment when he manages to deny Goblin’s choice as to which identity holds more sway. In that moment, it isn’t a choice. In that moment, he has to be Spider-Man, not Peter Parker. And Spider-Man has to save everyone. It’s only later, when everything has settled, when that choice catches up to him. And he makes it. He chooses Spider-Man, but he does so on his terms, not Goblin’s.

‘Don’t tell Harry’ is my favourite moment in the entire Raimi trilogy. It gives this final, tragic layer to Norman as he dies – revealing that he still wants to be the man that his son respects and loves. And that line alone is the perfect evocation of the struggle in Peter’s dual identity. He saved the day, he beat the bad guy, but his best friend’s father is dead, and he can never tell him why.

Lastly I want to talk about a realization I had on this rewatch. Now, I’m inclined to think this is reading much further into it than the writers intended, but I like it, so it’s canon now. I had always wondered in the field trip scene why we get the showcase of the different spider abilities, but the movie never did anything with spiders being able to ‘change color to blend into their environment’. I wasn’t necessarily expecting Spidey to have a camo power, but the line sticks out as something we’re told they can do, and I wanted to see a callback to that somehow. I think you could make the stretch that his costume is him changing colour, but it doesn’t exactly make him blend in. Then it hit me. It’s Peter who brings up that fact about spiders, and at the end of the movie, it’s Peter who has to pretend he has no feelings for MJ, who has to lie to his best friend… who has to blend into his environment. Genius storytelling that is definitely deliberate and canon.

Anyway, I like this movie a lot. As a kid it was my favourite film, I watched it over 30 times and could quote every line. And after all this time and all these other Spidey movies, it’s nice to see it’s still pretty darn solid.

-

-

Rating:

#nonmakeover #max talks about spidey #long post

[feralthoughtdump]

Sweet & Sour Motivation

Here’s a little bit of writing inspired by the unbearable heat.

CW: smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving)

Word Count: 940

...

The heat had become borderline unbearable. No matter how many windows she cranked open or how high she cranked the AC, she couldn’t seem to escape the wrath of the New York City heatwave.

And Loki had noticed this, sitting on a sofa in her studio apartment. Somehow, the heat didn’t bother him. He was wearing an all-black outfit in upper ninety-degree weather and it baffled her to no end. 

Though it didn’t necessarily impact him, given his origins and the fact that he was a god, he found himself both feeling awful for her yet also slightly glad. 

The past two weeks, his darling had been walking around in little slip dresses that blew in the wind coming through her open windows. Sometimes, she even wore nothing but a thin cami and panties while “relaxing” in her apartment.

The heat had reached about a hundred degrees today and she was groaning in agony with an ice pack pressed to her forehead. 

“Do you want a popsicle?” She asks, pulling out a box of popsicles she had bought a few days prior. The bright red “Sweet Cherry Punch” written on the packaging makes Loki roll his eyes. 

The wording was absolutely obnoxious and necessary. Cherry Flavor would have been a better name. 

“I’m okay, love.” He removed his jacket and draped it over the kitchen chair. 

She mutters something near discernable about wanting to climb out of her skin and bathing in ice while unwrapping the sweet treat. 

“You sure? It’s hot.”

“I promise you, I’ll be okay. I’m not the biggest fan of Midgardian sweets.”

The apartment was dark, the only light being the setting sun glaring through the windows. An emergency alert was put out earlier today asking New Yorkers to cut down on electricity as a way to prevent a power outage. Loki found it quite ridiculous given that Times Square was still brightly lit. 

She plopped down next to him, sighing in content when the cold desert met her lips. 

He reached out and set her legs on his lap, grazing his cool fingers over her calves. She smiles at him and digs into her ice cream. 

“Thanks. That feels really nice.” 

That was the last bit of attention she gave him, seemingly preferring the company of her dessert over him. It certainly didn’t help that she was sucking and licking the popsicle in a way that was absolutely obscene. 

Halfway through her popsicle, she notices the way he was staring at her lips. 

She gives him an annoyed “What?” 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” He grins at the sight of her red-stained lips.  

“I’m eating a popsicle. Don’t be vile.”

He chuckles and pulls her thighs closer to him, making her lay flat on the couch. 

She groans and rubs at her eyes. 

“Loki, I’m too hot.”

“And I can help cool you down.” Her breath hitches when his hands moved up her thighs, his palms already cooling her down. “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

She blinks owlishly at him and slowly nods her head, giving him permission to continue. 

Curse his silver tongue. 

She returns to eating her popsicle while he pulls her panties down her thighs. 

He leans over her and licks away the bit of juice that dribbles past her lips.

Cherries. Sweet… just like her.

He presses a kiss to her neck, and pushes the hem of her tank top up her stomach.

She whines when his lips meet her sternum, surprised at how cool it felt.

His deft fingers swipe through her folds, making her moan around the treat. 

“Oh darling, I love those pretty sounds.” He slowly pushed two fingers inside, surprised at how wet she was.

“The heat has made me grumpy.” She whines. “Don’t tease me.” 

He chuckles at her impatience and playfully nips the skin of her collarbones. 

“Loki,” behind her gaspy words her tone has a hint of a warning. “I said not to tease me.” 

“Many apologies, pet.” 

He lifts her legs and rests her knees on his shoulders and simultaneously sucks a mark into her thigh while pumping his fingers in and out of her.

She finds herself unable to speak, clenching around his cold fingers.

It felt good, the heat no longer being much of a bother and the pleasure building up inside of her. 

He wraps his lips around her clit and she shoves her popsicle deeper into her mouth to muffle the loud moan. After all, the neighbors were home.

“So wet, so sweet.” He hums against her pussy, the vibrations pushing her closer to the edge. “I could lick this pretty pussy of yours all day.”

The pressure in her abdomen increases and she feels herself nearing her orgasm. 

He quickens his ministrations, pressing his fingers against that spot inside of her and sucking harder on her clit. She bucks her hips up, but he quickly uses a hand to push them back against the couch. 

The popsicle is finished and she bites down on the stick but it does little to quiet her cries of pleasure. 

She cums with a loud moan, throwing her head back and grabbing at his hair. 

He pulls away with a grin on his face, lips glistening with her wetness. 

“Are you feeling better, my love?”

He pulls the wooden stick from her mouth and she nods with glazed-over eyes. 

She pulls at his hair and presses her lips against his, tasting both her arousal and the remnants of her popsicle. 

Loki bites at her lower lip and smiles to himself.

She tastes lovely, just like Sweet Cherry Punch.

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut

[miracleonice87]

38 with Mat

from the Winter/Christmas Writing Prompts list

38. “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.” 🎄

quick note: this one is prob a bit longer than the others will be. I just L O V E writing Sydney and Marty as secondary characters in Mat stories.

quick warnings: swearing, alcohol, super snowy powdery Christmas fluff

and, just for fun, song pairing: mistletoe by Justin Bieber (obviously)

_____

There really was no place like home.

After moving away to Los Angeles to attend USC for both undergrad and grad studies, you were finally back in New York. You hadn’t been able to resist the pull — it was almost as if, from all the way across the continent, you could feel the Atlantic tide receding and pulling you home along with it. For better or for worse, you belonged to the Empire State.

Sydney, your lifelong best friend and a New Yorker herself, was beyond ecstatic, as she had recently gotten engaged to her longtime boyfriend Matt, a hockey player, and named you her maid of honor. Planning a wedding — not to mention showers and bachelorette festivities — would be far easier, and far more fun, with you in the same zip code. Since moving back six weeks ago, you’d spent about ninety percent of your time with Sydney by your side, making up for lost time with the woman who had long been your other half.

So sweet, right? There was just one problem. Sydney wouldn’t stop trying to set you up with guys. She was insistent that you’d been single for too long — you’d broken up with your college sweetheart by the end of your senior year — and she made it her mission for you to find love again. And she, on her own, was bad enough — she’d already hooked you up with so many friends of friends that you’d lost count, and none had been interesting enough for a second date — but her fiancé conspiring right along with her made resisting them that much more difficult.

This particular night, she had lured you to the home she shared with Matt under the guise of having dinner with her family, when in reality, she was throwing a Christmas dinner party for Matt’s closest friends on the team. All of whom had — and brought — significant others. Except for one. What a coincidence.

Also coincidentally, his name was Mat, too, or so you were told — you didn’t quite believe Syd’s Matt when he told you that upon introducing the two of you.

“Mat with one ’t,’” he announced, one arm slung around Mat’s shoulders. The handsome, dark-haired man swallowed thickly and gave you his best polite smile — it was in that moment that you realized beyond a shadow of a doubt this was yet another set up.

Matt made a lame excuse about needing to check on Sydney in the kitchen and snuck away after some brief pleasantries, but not before blatantly nudging your much-smaller frame toward New Mat. You gave Matt a menacing glare before recovering, standing a safe distance away from New Mat, leaning against the wooden beam behind you to keep you steady.

“So, Mat with one ’t,’ how long have you played with the ever-obnoxious Matty?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Mat laughed easily. Damn, he had a nice laugh — the kind that made his pretty eyes crinkle at the corners. Nice hair. Nice teeth — perfect fucking teeth. Wasn’t he supposed to be a hockey player? Wait, what was he saying? Something about Seattle, and the draft, and… now you were lost. You nodded slowly with a forced smile as you tried your hardest to focus on what he was saying. He was just so goddamn pretty.

Thankfully, Sydney’s call from the kitchen saved you from the embarrassment of not having heard a word this poor boy had spoken.

“Dinner’s ready! I’m really type A, as you all know, so I made little placecards for everyone at the table,” she announced to the group of ten, hands clasped before her as Matt snaked an arm around her from behind and smiled proudly.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Mat mused. “Shall we?”

You threw him a grin and nodded, turning your back to him and making your way to the dining room.

On your way, you paused in front of your dear friend just long enough to grumble, “Assigned seats? Really, Syd?”

She clapped enthusiastically and smacked your ass as you passed her. “Yep! See you in there, champ!” she exclaimed as you heard frantic whispers exchanged between Mat and Matt. You couldn’t hold back your snicker, and as you glanced over your shoulder, Mat gave you a strained smile. You shook your head bemusedly and turned to the table to find that, to no one’s surprise, you and Mat were indeed to be seated side by side at one end of the table. You cleared your throat and nodded toward the cards bearing your names.

“Subtle, no?” you joked, causing Mat to blush pink. He choked out, “Ah, yeah. You gotta love them.” Then, he pulled out your chair and motioned for you to take a seat, which, as luck would have it, Sydney and Matt caught just in time because they were bringing in the food on serving dishes at that very moment. Their eyes sparkled and Sydney looked like she may self-destruct out of sheer joy as you sat down and thanked Mat. You gave her an icy look and she visibly retreated, holding herself back from making a complete scene.

“Okay, dig in!” she said instead as she sat down across from you.

Dinner was incredible, as usual — while your talents lacked in the cooking area, Sydney had always been an outstanding chef. Even more, you enjoyed the conversation, which was mostly inclusive of everyone at the table, save for the occasional chirp Mat secretly muttered in your ear about Matt or Anders, making you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle as Sydney looked on smugly. Meanwhile, whenever you and Sydney would say the exact same thing at the same moment or finish the other’s sentence, Mat would look to Marty, who would only raise his eyebrows and nod, confirming Mat’s suspicion that these two were always this in sync. Mat found it endearing. He adored Syd — if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have agreed to come here tonight when she told him, “There’s someone I want you to meet…” — and already, he saw countless similarities in the two of you.

After he’d helped you clear the plates and load the dishwasher for your hosts, you and Mat settled onto a couch in the farthest corner of the living room, near the Christmas tree, while the others gathered in the center of the space, loudly entertaining themselves. As you curled your feet underneath yourself, you didn’t miss how Sydney reached for a nearby remote and slowly flickered on the fireplace right beside you and Mat. Yet again, you shot her a killer look that she pretended not to see as Mat smiled, amused at how flustered you were by Sydney trying to further set the mood.

“So how long have you known Syd?” he asked as he took another swig from his beer bottle, attempting to get you back on track. “Has to be a while. I swear I’ve never seen two friends who were more alike.”

You tucked some hair behind your ear and let out a breathy chuckle. With anyone else, you were ever prepared to skirt that question and quickly move on to another subject. But with Mat, it was nice knowing you really didn’t have to.

“Yeah, my whole life, actually,” you answered, a smile on your face at the thought. Your eyes flickered up to his as you added, “My dad played for the Jets... with Boomer while he was there.”

Mat’s brows quirked noticeably, but not in the familiar way that made you feel like he was about to ask you to FaceTime your dad or get an autograph from him. Because he was a professional athlete himself — which was ironic because you’d sworn up and down your whole life that, because of the lifestyle you saw your dad and his teammates, not to mention their families, lead, you’d never fall for anyone who played sports for a living. Even when Sydney insisted with a shrug after settling down with Matt, “It’s not that bad.”

“No way,” Mat said with a casual laugh. “That’s awesome. What position did he play?”

“Uh, receiver,” you replied. “So he and Boomer were tight. Our moms hit it off right off the bat and have been best friends since. Since then, we’ve always vacationed together, ended up living in the same neighborhood after they both retired. I’m three years younger than Syd and I was basically like her shadow. Still am, I guess,” you added with a smile.

Mat nodded, his eyes never leaving your face as you told the familiar tale. “I think that’s awesome though,” he spoke. “You guys could be sisters I feel like. You act just like her. Plus Marty says you’re the only friend of hers who’s kicked him out of bed so you could sleep with her.”

You threw a hand to your chest and your head back laughing at that, and Mat’s heart soared at being able to elicit such a reaction from you himself. You pointed a gold-polished index finger at him and admitted, “He tells no lies on that one.”

Just then, you caught Mat’s unabashed gaze, which had shifted from well-mannered and nonchalant into something deeper, something... affectionate. You swallowed, casting a downward glance at your lap, and swirled the ice cubes in your otherwise empty highball glass.

“I need a refill,” you said with a nervous giggle. “You want anything?”

Mat looked all too pleased with himself at your offer, and he nodded. “Sure, yeah, another beer would be great. Thank you,” he said. You smiled and nodded as you turned away and headed for the kitchen.

Ever the subtle one, once again, Sydney, who had been shamelessly watching the two of you from her perch in Matt’s lap across the room, stumbled over Jax’s paw as she bolted to the kitchen island where you now stood. You blinked at her wildly and said, “May I help you, Sydney Irene? You nearly wounded your poor dog.”

“So,” Sydney sang, ignoring your question completely as she leaned back against the kitchen counter, propping her palms on the edge and looking much more smooth than she had just a moment ago. She waggled her eyebrows at you before continuing. “Whadd’ya think? He’s cute, right?”

You scoffed. “Sydney—“ you began in a warning tone as you reached for the rum, but were interrupted before you could speak another word.

“If you hate him, it was Matt’s idea,” she deadpanned, then allowed a mischievous grin to stretch along her painted red lips as she cocked her head. “But if you like him, it was mine.”

You rolled your eyes as you poured yourself another rum ginger, ignoring the flush you could feel creeping up your chest and neck under Sydney’s scrutiny.

“You’re blushing! You do like him!” Syd squealed as she poked at your side, thankfully making an attempt to stay quiet as the guys, Mat included, carried on noisy shenanigans in the family room before you.

“Sydney, stop! I just met him,” you tried to argue, turning away from her. It was Sydney’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Like that matters. I fell for Matt like—“ she snapped her fingers for dramatic effect, “—that. And look at us now.”

You pursed your lips to the side. You couldn’t exactly argue that. With no quick comeback coming to mind, you stirred your drink, took three generous gulps — as Sydney watched, wide-eyed — and licked your lips before sighing at her.

“Well, fine,” you grumbled as you opened the fridge and grabbed a fresh beer for Mat. “Let’s not keep the boy waiting then.” You sashayed away from your friend who, spinning away from you, quickly squeezed her eyes shut and crossed her fingers before turning back and following behind you.

Mat thanked you profusely for the drink as you returned to him. Now he sat among his teammates, and Sydney sat back in Matt’s lap as you took the seat beside Mat on the opposite couch. You noticed how he immediately leaned back and comfortably stretched his arm across the cushion behind you, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t inch a little closer then. It briefly occurred to you that you were drawn to him in the very same way you’d been drawn back home not long ago.

He felt like home. Already.

And soon, after a few hours more of merrymaking, Mat never leaving your side, the other couples had all headed for home. You four who remained had played several rounds of euchre and sang and danced to half a dozen Christmas carols before you realized how late it was. Knowing you’d had too much rum and wouldn’t be fit to drive, you’d already established that you’d stay in Sydney’s guest room — or maybe kick Matt out of the master. Regardless, you were staying put. But Mat, reluctantly, was leaving — the boys had practice in the morning.

“I guess I should go,” Mat sighed after a long round of goodbyes. Matt and Sydney gave him one last hug and retreated to the far side of the spacious room, aiming, of course, to leave the two of you to your own goodbye.

You nodded. “I guess you should,” you said, caught off guard by the twinge of sadness in your tone. “I’ll walk you out.” Mat smiled and turned toward the front door, and your heart truly may have skipped an actual beat when he glanced back at you and reached his hand out for you to grab. You did so, biting down on your smiling bottom lip as you followed him down the hall into the entryway, acutely aware that, if Sydney and Matt were indeed watching — of which you had no doubt — they could still clearly see you.

But when Mat pulled on his shoes and stood up straight again, stepping slowly, so slowly, closer to you, all you could think about was how hard your heart was thumping against your ribcage. You looked up at him in anticipation, and he smoothed his hands down the sleeves of your sweater softly.

“I had a really, really nice time tonight, you know,” Mat spoke. You had to remind yourself to breathe as the sincerity of his voice flooded your senses and his warm, honey-flecked eyes pierced through you. “Tonight was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

You beamed — how could you not? “Yeah?” you asked incredulously. Mat nodded.

“Yeah. In fact,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if maybe, uh, you’d want to go to dinner with me sometime. Like maybe this Sunday night, after we play?”

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, yet had no control.

“Yeah,” you finally answered. “Yes. Of course. I’d love that.”

Mat blew out a long breath and chuckled nervously. “Thank God,” he added as you both dissolved into a fit of giggles. You stepped closer to him and smelled his clean, woodsy cologne, inadvertently breathing it in. Mat came nearer, too, and tentatively reached his hands around to your lower back. “It’s a date then,” he spoke, his voice lower now, gravelly. You swallowed — hard — and gave a nod.

“It’s a date,” you echoed.

You simply stood in one another’s presence for a few long moments, smiling giddily at each other, before Mat sighed once more and glanced toward the door.

“I really don’t wanna go, but I—“

“No! Syd, just leave them be,” Matt suddenly whispered sharply to his fiancé — who seemed to have literally leapt up from the couch — though there was no point in whispering at all because you still heard him loud and clear. Jumping up behind Sydney, Matt easily wrapped her in his arms and clapped his hand over her mouth just as she started to speak.

After wrestling for control of Matt’s hand, she finally pulled it away just long enough to call out, “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss already!”

With one final “shush!”, Matt covered her mouth once more, though his entire body was wracking with silent laughter.

“Goodnight, kids!” Matt said tersely as he all but manhandled Sydney down the opposite hallway into their bedroom, the two of them erupting with laughter the second they closed the door.

You rolled your jaw and looked above you and Mat to find that, yes, indeed, there hung a very Sydney-like crystal ornament adorned with glittery mistletoe, suspended from the archway.

“Un-fucking-believable,” you muttered, resting your head against Mat’s chest as you both laughed anxiously.

But a moment later, Mat’s voice rumbled in his chest. “Hey...” he spoke. You took that as your invitation to look up at him, and when you did, you found him gazing at you even more tenderly than he had before.

“I mean, since there’s mistletoe and all.. would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked. His hand found your cheek and you grasped his fingers in your own.

“Well,” you began, leaning further into him. “Only since there’s mistletoe.”

Mat breathed a chuckle and whispered, “Okay, good,” before his lips found yours in a toe-curling, snow-melting, heart-growing, hell of a Christmas movie kiss that you both found yourselves smiling into by the end.

“Wow,” was somehow all you could whisper when you finally pulled away for air.

“Yeah,” Mat agreed simply. “Wow.”

“It worked!” You heard the muffled squeal from behind Sydney’s closed door.

You rolled your eyes once again, hating Sydney in that moment, as Mat snickered and leaned in for another kiss.

Little did you know that a few years later, your dear, meddling Sydney would stand up at your side in front of a ballroom filled with your and Mat’s family and dearest friends and proudly tell the story of that cold late-December night when your love story with Mat began.

#my writing #writing prompts #prompt list #hockey writing #requests #christmas prompt list #mat barzal #mat barzal writing #mat barzal fic #mat barzal fanfic #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal one shot #mat barzal fluff #mathew barzal #mathew barzal writing #mathew barzal fic #mathew barzal fanfic #mathew barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal one shot #mathew barzal fluff #nhl writing #matt martin #sydney esiason #sydney esiason martin

[bipercabeth]

hi miss emmaaa you know i adore every single word you write—you are simply unparalleled😌. if you have time “i need a hug”, “i have an idea”, and “it’s freezing in here” for the prompt cocktail please :)🤍

i swear i could KISS you for this prompt. i’ve been kicking myself for not writing an “our shitty radiator is broken oh no we have to huddle for warmth” scene for roommates for months. didn’t fit in the fic itself, so here it is <3 

(takes place between new year’s and the blowup with sloan)

Annabeth tugs yet another sweatshirt over her head and throws herself back into bed. Stupid fucking radiator. Stupid landlord. Stupid New York City for being so stupidly cold. Despite the heavy comforter, fuzzy socks, and layered clothes, she’s still shivering. For a brief moment, she considers bundling up in Percy’s bed—if only to escape the cold creeping in from her window—when she hears the unmistakable jingle of his keys in the lock. 

She throws peels off the covers and winces as the air bites at her exposed skin. With her hands shoved in her pockets, Annabeth trudges to the kitchen where Percy shuffles around with groceries. He’s as gorgeous today as ever, sporting a coat over a blue sweater his mom knitted him and the usual jeans and sneakers. It shouldn’t be enough with how cold it is outside, but he appears infuriatingly unbothered.

“God, it’s freezing in here,” he says in way of greeting. His voice echoes in the cabinet as he puts away cans of soup, taking full advantage of his long limbs to reach the top shelf. Then he turns, and his grimace becomes something softer, bringing just a bit of warmth into the apartment. His eyes flit over Annabeth’s lumpy frame with a gleam. “But I’m guessing you knew that.” 

“Have I ever told you that you’re one of the most obnoxious New Yorkers I’ve ever met?” 

Percy smiles and reaches for something on the table. “Even when I walk four blocks out of my way to grab you hot chocolate from the best truck in town? You should appreciate my pretentiousness, Annabeth. I could’ve picked up that watered down monstrosity you sell at Starbucks.” 

“Have I mentioned that you’re also my best friend and the light of my life?” Annabeth reaches for the cup, her pulse throbbing in her freezing fingers. 

A rueful smile spreads over Percy’s face as he raises the cup out of her reach. “I’m sorry, am I obnoxious or the light of your life?” 

“Light of my life,” she grunts as she presses onto her toes. 

“Do try to sound more convincing.” 

She lays her hand on his chest. “Percy Jackson, you are the light of my life and the best person I know. You have brought the elixir of the gods into our humble home. Please save me and my old bones from the cold that has descended upon—” 

Percy laughs and shoves the cup at Annabeth. Warmth floods her hand, both from the drink and the brush of his skin. “Better?” 

Her response comes in the way of gulping the hot chocolate. It’s meant to be savored, obviously, but Annabeth has been too cold to do much of anything today, and her body just kind of takes over and downs it. 

Horror is written all over Percy’s face when she finishes mere moments later. “Oh my god, you’re a monster.” 

“Thank you.” 

“That wasn’t a compliment.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” she counters. And it’s true—there’s an endeared uptick to the corner of his mouth, even if it’s currently open in dismay. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, I—” He shakes his head a little. “Just. Your nose is pink. How long ago did the radiator give up on you?” 

“Right after you left this morning.” 

Percy’s eyes dart to where the city lights twinkle against the night sky, almost like stars. Annabeth watches him count the hours in his head before he unbuttons his coat. “C’mere.” 

All too eager, Annabeth knocks into his chest and sighs when he brings the coat tight around her shoulders like the best burrito. Her arms snake around his waist and slip under his sweater, relentlessly seeking warmth. 

He jolts like she’s shocked him, pressing away from her hands and closer to her body. It’s a win-win, really. 

“You’re a monster,” he hisses. 

She hides her smile in the sweater. “What? I need a hug.” 

“I will kill you in your sleep.” 

In way of retaliation, she shoves her icy nose into his neck. 

“Okay!” Percy frees himself of her iron grip. “I have a better idea.” 

He palms her face, smushing her nose with a laugh that’s a bit too smug for Annabeth’s liking. She smacks away his hand, but he catches the strings of her hoodie and pulls them tight, trapping her in darkness. Normally this would mean war, but it’s been a long day. Loneliness seeped into Annabeth’s bones alongside the cold, as is the cruel trick of winter, and she finds that all she really wants it to be held. Of course, this only serves as a reminder that she cannot be held by the one person she wants in that capacity, which is worsened by the fact that he is right in front of her and willing to do it if she asks the right way.

Ever intuitive, Percy’s smile gives way to a concerned frown, the one that makes Annabeth want to roll her eyes and kiss him at the same time. Still, it takes no thought to slip their hands together when he offers. 

Warmth immediately envelopes Annabeth’s fingers, traveling up her nerves lazily. Its pace quickens when Percy raises them to his mouth, his lips pressed against her pinky and ring fingers as he blows hot air. Annabeth hums, somehow both content and absolutely on fire. At least her face was already red.

Later Percy has changed into comfier clothes and lounges on the couch, one leg thrown over the back while Annabeth balls up under a blanket on the other side. One of his arms is behind his head, dragging the sweater away from the waistline of his sweatpants. It’s ridiculous, honestly, that Annabeth can see him in a speedo for three days straight and survive, but this sliver of skin undoes her. Maybe it’s the intimacy of being at home. There is no crowd, no frigid metal bleachers, and Annabeth isn’t sitting next to Percy’s mom while trying to hide her oogling. There is only the soft cushion of the couch and the warmth emanating from Percy, who is close enough to touch.

God, she wants to touch.

He clears his throat. “So are you proving a point by freezing alone, or are you gonna come over here?”

Annabeth wrenches her gaze up to meet Percy’s, which is alight with the kind of amusement that makes this whole thing feel like a game to see who will break first. It’s the closest they come to acknowledging this unspoken thing between them.

All she can do is stare until Percy holds out his hand. She doesn’t know what assumptions he makes, but he makes no move to embarrass her, so they must be kind. Instead he coaxes her across the couch, laying back and smiling when Annabeth knocks the air out of his chest.

He pulls the blanket up her back and anchors it with his arm. “Better?”

Annabeth thaws enough to nod against his sweater. “Better.”

Percy slips his hand under Annabeth’s hood and settles it in the curve of her neck, his fingertips drawing small circles against her scalp. It hurts, how well he fits there. He feels made for all of her empty spaces, like the universe knew Annabeth would someday need to be held this way and crafted Percy specifically for it.

For now, he keeps the lonely grip of winter at bay. And for once in her life, Annabeth is not thinking about how cold it will be when he lets go. Letting go doesn’t even cross her mind.

#no editing we die like men #thank u for this prompt it is so extremely up my alley #not wildly proud of this but the second to last paragraph? slaps #drabbles #pjo fics #my fic #my percabeth #and they were roommates #iris messages #connabeth

[astrognossienne]

scandalous beauty: athalia ponsell lindsley - an analysis

“Not that St. Augustine citizens went around killing people they didn’t like. But Athalia was not on a level playing field. Nobody liked her, so there was not a big hue and cry when she was killed.” - Sally Boyles, a neighbour of Lindsley’s

For someone so brash, loud, and ballsy, her life, especially her early life, was quite a mystery. Just like her controversial death. On January 23, 1974, former model, dancer, political activist and television personality Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was murdered with a machete by an unknown assailant on the front steps of her home in St. Augustine, Florida. Her murder is notorious more than four decades after it occurred. The only eyewitness said a man attacked Lindsley with a machete in broad daylight on the front steps of her white mansion. Gossip swirled that neighbour Frances Bemis knew who killed Lindsley and would notify authorities. Bemis was later murdered on her nightly walk. Police arrested only one suspect for Lindsley's murder, which remains unsolved to this day. For someone who was a Leo, I don't think Athalia was a very happy person. I think she tried to bring others down, with her based on her ill-concealed dissatisfaction with the way things were. Unfortunately for her, her demise happened in a town that didn’t care for her.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley, according to astrotheme, was a Leo sun and Libra moon (the moon is speculative). She was born Mary Anne “Athalia” Fetter in Toledo, Ohio in 1917. Her parents were both wealthy New Yorkers; her father was a utilities magnate and her mother a socialite. Shortly after her birth, she and her family moved to Isle of Pines (now known as Isla de la Juventud), Cuba where she was raised until the age of 12. By the time the parents moved to Jacksonville, Florida and enrolled her in parochial school, she was winning beauty contests and pursuing an acting career. After high school, she moved to New York City, where it didn’t take her long to be employed as a fashion model for the celebrated fashion designer John Robert Powers, which helped her land work in some Broadway musicals and as a hostess on a TV game show. By 1949, she was the hottest model in NYC. She was just as hot off the runway as well; the list of Ponsell’s sexual conquests was long, including the likes of actor Tyrone Power and Joseph P. Kennedy, Jr. She was reported to have been married three times, one of  them to a man named Ponsell, but there is no information on him or her other two spouses. She had a scrapbook of all the celebrities and people she was acquainted. But success had quickly gone to the young model’s head, and by 1954, she’d burned all her bridges at her modeling agency, and her reputation as “the bitch of New York” was well-earned and kept her from earning any more work in the entertainment industry.

Out of work, over the hill, and her looks fading, Ponsell quit her 20-years of modeling and entertainment work and retired to a white stucco mansion in St. Augustine in 1972. By that time, the 55-year-old washed-up model became embittered. From the moment she arrived in St.Augustine, she did her best to position herself at the top of the city’s high society. But the sides of that pyramid were very steep, and to the city’s old-school cultural hardliners, she was an outsider, and an obnoxious one, at that. St. Augustine is known for being a rather cliquish town, and unless you have Spanish, Menorcan, or WASP roots, any newcomer is looked at as an outsider. She was known as a pain in the ass, criticizing everything she thought was wrong with the town and its citizens. Naturally the upper crust didn’t take too well to her. She may have annoyed them, but she did catch the eye of another important person, Mayor James Lindsley, a St. Augustine native who went by the nickname “Jinx”. Jinx was known around the city for his ability to work hard and drink even harder. He was of the generation where if he was wronged, or if there was a problem, he settled his differences with his fists. Despite his passionate love affairs with ass kicking and Jack Daniels, Athalia was drawn to Jinx’s good standing with St. Augustine’s old guard, Jinx was attracted to her still-good looks and fiery personality. The two courted hard and fast, and just a few months after they met, they married.

Their marriage was rocky from the start, providing the town with juicy gossip. In fact, just 3 months into the marriage, the two separated. They wound up living in separate homes, fighting back and forth about possessions and property. She may have treated her husband and the town like dirt, but she was very moved by animals and took in a lot of strays and accumulated a coterie of animals. This didn’t endear herself to the neighbours, and they complained of dogs barking and other noises coming from her makeshift “animal shelter”. One neighbour in particular that took exception to Athalia and her animals was a hot-headed county manager called Alan Stanford. Stanford lived next door to her on Marine Street, and the two clashed from day one. Stanford filed several noise complaints against Athalia and her pets, resulting in her arrest. In revenge, she made Stanford’s life as county manager a living hell. She became a fixture at City Hall, attending every county meeting she could and accuse Stanford of all sorts of improprieties, from the mismanagement of county funds to stealing equipment from the road department. Some of these accusations weren’t entirely unfounded, but it got to the point where her presence was dreaded. She was after his job and wanted him fired. Stanford, in turn, threatened her life. December of 1973, she found out that Stanford lacked the civil engineering degree required for all county managers, and went to the state to report him.

On January 23, 1974 she attended her last city hall meeting, armed with petitions of several citizens calling for Stanford to resign. She exposed the fact that Stanford forged documents and padded his experience and qualifications as county manager. Later that day, to celebrate, she met her estranged husband Jinx for lunch. The day went surprisingly well, going shopping in Jacksonville and running errands. At approximately 5:30 pm, they both went home to their respective houses. As Athalia walked her pet blue jay around in her front yard, an intruder emerged from her back yard, armed with a machete. Moments later, the police department received a call about a murder. The police arrived to the provided address and found Athalia sprawled across the front steps of her porch, nearly decapitated and hacked to death with a machete in broad daylight.

The scene was chaotic, with neighbours trampling all over the grass trying to get a look, contaminating evidence. In their great police work, the cops never thought to rope off the crime scene. When her husband Jinx was notified of his wife’s murder, he took his time getting to her house, making a pit stop to his attorney’s office along the way. A few hours later, the cops find a machete in his pickup truck. But an open-and-shut case this was not. In February of 1974, the rumour was that Jinx killed her in a drunken rage. Even though Jinx had a violent temper and smacked his wife around, in the eyes of local investigators, he was “unarrestable”; they had no real evidence against the mayor and he even passed a lie-detector test. A tip from one of Athalia’s neighbours came in: it seems the neighbour’s 19 year-old son claimed to have witnessed her old nemesis Alan Stanford kill her. There was a trail of blood that led from Athalia’s front porch directly into Allen Stanford’s back yard. More than a few weren’t concerned with Athalia being killed because she was such a bitch that they feel that she deserved what she got.

In March of 1974, there was a blood-stained machete, a watch, and blood-soaked trousers found in a bag in a swamp; the blood on the clothes matched Athalia’s, and the clothes belonged to Stanford. On February 22, 1974, Alan Stanford was arrested and charged with murder. On January 1975, the murder trial commenced. The prosecution had a strong case and a guilty verdict seemed almost certain. Just before closing arguments, Stanford’s defense team called the 19-year old witness to the stand. Despite previously identifying Stanford as the killer, the young man was now unsure of the identity, having never actually seen the assailant’s face. On the day following the killing, a young nurse rode her bicycle as she always did. The police stopped her and questioned her about the murder. The nurse picked out a third suspect, deputy sheriff Dewey Lee, as the killer, further muddling the waters. The jury found Alan Stanford not guilty, despite the mountain of evidence against him. Local authorities were so upset by the verdict that they refused to re-open the case. Even though Stanford was acquitted of the murder, Athalia wound up getting the last laugh in the end, they local county board voted 4 to 1 to fire Stanford due to his lying about his credentials. He wound up leaving town shortly afterward. Today, St. Augustine is different; most who lived on Marine Street during the 1960s and 1970s have either moved away or passed away. Athalia’s house, now a historical landmark, still stands today, a grim reminder of how local resentment can go too far.

the murder of frances bemis

Frances Bemis was a socialite and neighbour of Athalia Ponsell Lindsley who happened to be a close friend of hers. Shortly after Lindsley’s murder, Frances started gathering information in order to write a book about the murder, claiming that she had information on what really happened. On November 3, 1974, she went for an evening walk and disappeared. Her body was found near her house, her skull crushed by a cement block. Her murder has never been solved.

This was the next analysis that I planned to do after the Robert Mitchum one, so I decided to just get this one out of the way.

Stats

birthdate: July 25, 1917*

*note*: due to the absence of a birth time, this analysis will be even more speculative.

major planets:

Sun: Leo

Moon: Libra

Rising: unknown

Mercury: Leo

Venus: Leo

Mars: Gemini

Midheaven: unknown

Jupiter: Gemini

Saturn: Leo

Uranus: Aquarius

Neptune: Leo

Pluto: Cancer

Overall personality snapshot: She had a prestigious, compelling presence, even when she was just clowning around, and a natural ability to command both respect and affection from her friends and colleagues. In the nicest possible way she assumed the position of the leader because she had a strong independent streak and believed in her lofty, worthy ideals, but she also gravitated towards collaboration and an impartial examination of the facts. She could be bossy and yet her bossiness was so diplomatic that it was convincing, even impressive. Although she wanted esteem and tended to identify with honourable goals and people, she could work alongside others she respected and she really wanted the best for everyone. She had style, and she instinctively knew that ‘manners maketh man’ and that, if for some reason they didn’t, they went a long way in making life worth living. When she came into her own, she developed a strongly aesthetic approach to life and are naturally creative. She needed a very positive, active medium through which to express herself, such as drama, teaching or running her own business.

Anything to do with beauty and harmony interested her, such as decorating, design and painting. Her interest in social equality took her into politics or the law. She had a strong sense of herself and stubbornly followed her own personal code of ethics, yet she also enjoyed being part of a group that had a common purpose or bond. She cherished ideals of liberty and equality, but if there were some distasteful tasks to perform she moved very smoothly into the role of delegating – well, she thought, someone has to give the orders around here or we would have no harmony at all. Although she seemed to enjoy an easy, breezy approach to life, there was quite a serious side to her personality, and she could be surprisingly controversial and provocative. She was willing to stand up and be counted, and perhaps make it look easy. She had a natural appreciation and enjoyment of the good things of life; she assumed that they should be hers by birthright. And through cunning charm, calculated boldness, and intelligent maneuver she managed to have plenty.

She was ambitious, sound at giving orders, carried responsibility well and was a good teacher, especially able to bring out the best in children. She believed in herself and generally knew the right thing to say at the right time, although she could show a stubborn and dogmatic side. She had a high opinion of her mental powers, and it was certainly true to say that he had plenty of mental energy. She was a mentally restless person, both versatile and broad-minded. She experienced personal growth through analysis and using her intellect, although the collection and communication of facts may have been an end within itself. She was a reliable and loyal person. Her will and sense of honour were strong and she was a great organizer. On the downside, her self-assuredness could become dogmatism and imperiousness. Conservatism may have affected her creativity, artistic values and love affairs. This expressed itself as self-imposed restrictions or as selfishness. She often felt inadequate, which created an insidious form of oppression over all her forms of expression. She could also take herself so seriously, that people think that she was older than her years.

She belonged to a generation that could be unpredictable in that it liked to instigate change simply for the sake of shaking things up and providing stimulation. Humanitarian ideals became extremely important, as well as the belief in absolute freedom for every individual. She came up with radical new ideas which she stubbornly followed. As a member of this generation, she may have felt deep spiritual convictions, although she may not have seen herself as religious in the traditional sense of the word. She was part of a very artistically talented and creative generation that wanted to escape from the demands of the world around them into a world of excitement and glamour. Members of this generation loved the theater and the cinema, in fact, any sort of creative self-expression. They also believed in the rights of any individual to express themselves. This generation was both idealistic and romantic, selfish and individualistic. Lindsley embodied all of these Leo Neptunian ideals. Also, as a member of the Leo Neptune generation, she experienced and fully embraced changes in sexual mores and attitudes, changing the way people approach the whole issue of romantic relationships. Changes were also experienced in the relationships between parents and children, with the ties becoming looser. She was part of a generation known for its devastating social upheavals concerning home and family. The whole general pattern of family life experiences enormous changes and upheavals; as a Cancer Plutonian, this aspect is highlighted with Lindsley’s father dying relatively young and her having to care for her mother until she died.

Love/sex life: There is never any question as to the ground rules of her erotic universe: what best served her ego, best served her libido. She had a marvelous capacity for enjoying sex but her pride and self-possession always came first. Some people might have found the egotism of this position offensive but many others hardly noticed. After all, a lover as lively, generous and exciting as she had good reason to be proud. There was always a distinctively theatrical quality about her love making. She wanted sex to be a big event, full of drama and intellectual significance. This grandiose approach to sex can certainly be entertaining but it often made her romantic moments seem less than spontaneous. More importantly, real life sex rarely met her cinematic standards. This is one reason why she often found the idea of love much more appealing than its physical manifestations.The sex in her head was never common or clumsy, and she could always count on great reviews.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Capricorn

Lilith: Virgo

Her North Node in Capricorn dictated that she needed to develop the more caring and compassionate side to her personality and try to place less emphasis on the materialistic aspects of her life. Her Lilith in Virgo ensured that she exhibited a Madonna-whore complex; she made her way through the world with her sensational wits and she had no time for constricting judgments. She confronted the grittier facts of life, especially sex. She was good at sex but not as a form of sappy emotional expression.

elemental dominance:

fire

air

She was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. She generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. She was exciting to be around, because she was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, she could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, she chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, she was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because she was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—she was be bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at her best, her confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves. She was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and she liked to stir things up. She was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. She was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. She carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, she lived in her head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at her best, she helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives.

modality dominance:

fixed

She wasn’t particularly interested in spearheading new ventures or dealing with the day-to-day challenges of organization and management. She excelled at performing tasks and producing outcomes. She was flexible and liked to finish things. Was also likely undependable, lacking in initiative, and disorganized. Had an itchy restlessness and an unwillingness to buckle down to the task at hand. Probably had a chronic inability to commit—to a job, a relationship, or even to a set of values.

planet dominants:

Sun

Mars

Pluto

She had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. She likely had strong leadership qualities, she definitely knew who she was, and she had tremendous will. She met challenges and believed in expanding her life. She was aggressive, individualistic and had a high sexual drive. She believed in action and took action. Her survival instinct was strong. She wanted to take herself to the limit—and then surpass that limit, which she often did. She ultimately refused to compromise her integrity by following another’s agenda. She likely didn’t compare herself to other people and didn’t want to dominate or be dominated. She simply wanted to be free to follow her own path, whatever it was. She brought about complete and profound transformations in her life, good or bad (and it was often bad). She felt the need to let go of what was familiar to her and accept new and different ways of being and doing things. There were areas in her life where she had to accept regeneration, which involved the destruction of the old and the creation of the new.

sign dominants:

Leo

Gemini

Cancer

She loved being the center of attention and often surrounded herself with admirers. She had an innate dramatic sense, and life was definitely his stage. Her flamboyance and personal magnetism extended to every facet of her life. She wanted to succeed and make an impact in every situation. At her best, she was optimistic, honorable, loyal, and ambitious. She ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that will expand their communities. Her innate curiosity kept her on the move. She used her rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand her personal world. She needed to answer the single burning question in her mind: why? This applied to most facets of her life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent her off to foreign countries, where her need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. She was changeable and often moody. This meant that she was often at odds with herself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. At first meeting, she seemed enigmatic, elusive. She needed roots, a place or even a state of mind that he could call her own. She needed a safe harbor, a refuge in which to retreat for solitude. She was generally gentle and kind, unless he was hurt. Then she could become vindictive and sharp-spoken. She was affectionate, passionate, and even possessive at times. She was intuitive and was perhaps even psychic. Experience flowed through her emotionally. She was often moody and always changeable; her interests and social circles shifted constantly. She was emotion distilled into its purest form.

Read more about her under the cut.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was a former model, Broadway performer, actress, dancer and television personality who died in a savage late-afternoon attack at her home on Jan. 23, 1974. Wife of the once mayor of St. Augustine, James "Jinx" Lindsley, who died a few years after her death. Mrs. Athalia Lindsley was very active politically.

She also took in many animals, such as dogs, cats and even two goats. At the time of her murder, she was outside trying to rehabilitate one of her rescue birds, a blue jay named Clementine which had an injured wing. She had rescued the little bird from neighborhood cats.

Athalia Ponsell Lindsley was a very devoted daughter who took care of her mother full time until her mother passed away.

She was 58 years old when her life was brutally cut short.

A neighbor and local politician was the only person ever arrested and tried for her murder, after a very dramatic trial, a jury found the defendant not guilty, and he was acquitted

(x)

#athalia ponsell lindsley #leo #star analyses #scandalous stars #long ass post #mine

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings​ @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #I've already got a room in Hell y'all welcome to book one nearby

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

#Percy Jackson #Jason grace #Annabeth Chase #Caligula #PJJG fanfic #He used to be nice #Firerose requests #PJJG asks #burning maze spoilers #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers

[extremelyblackandwhite]

i wanna know what love is - 22

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: sexual themes

A/N: happy easter and happy passover. to celebrate i’m posting two chapters today. let me know what you think lovelies . enjoy xx 💕💕

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

    - I know you and my brother were smoking outside. - Y/N said as he closed the door to their room. He froze in place, would she be mad at him? In his defence, he would’ve done everything to leave that situation which was even worse when they got back. Y/N’s mother managed to diffuse it out for his luck, but he was 100% sure her grandfather did not like him. 

   - Bunny, I can explain. - he was ready to weave an apology, but instead of seeing a very mad Y/N, she just placed her hands on his shoulders, head slightly tilted to the side. - Are you not mad?

   - No, I think it was best for you. 

   - I don’t think your grandfather enjoys my presence. - he grabbed her hands in his, caressing her palm with his thumb. 

   - My grandfather doesn’t like anyone. Why do you think I don’t come here a lot? - she got out of her shoes, leading him to her very small bed. Sebastian was not very upset by the size of the bed, the smaller the bed, the more cuddles he could get and he always adored cuddling, specially if he got to sleep with her in his arms. - I’m sorry about him. He can be a very traditional man. Everyone in his family has gone to really good universities. 

   - I can see. - he remembered seeing memorabilia from various ivy leagues from Brown to Darmouth. - If you don’t mind me asking, how come your family is this wealthy? I thought your great grandfather wrote for the New Yorker?

   - My great grandfather married a girl from the Dumas’ family. She had made quite a fortune by herself and then inherited half her parents’ state which was an obnoxious amount of money and property. Since she married into my family, our last name prevailed and we climbed up to America’s elite. - she had little memories of her great grandfather but he’d always tell her and Theo when they were younger about how much he loved his wife despite it all, so Y/N knew the whole story by heart. - Then my grandfather started a printing company which is doing pretty well by itself. And I’m not wealthy, my parents are. 

   - Aren’t the Dumas’ family related to Hermes? - Y/N nodded. - Are you an Hermes’ heir?

   - If everyone dies including the present Dumas’ family and then all my relatives, yes. - she laughed.

They ended up spending the whole night talk and eventually fell off asleep still on their clothes. Sebastian envied the lifestyle she’d left behind but at the same time had to give her kudos for deciding to accept no money from no one and making something of herself without nepotism. 

They got woken up by a knock on her door. Y/N raised her head and sleepingly walked to the door, opening it slightly and silently to see her mother already dressed and in a very colourful polka dotted apron.

   - It’s cooking time, c’mon Y/N. - she didn’t even gave her time to complain about it, as she dragged her down the stairs and into the kitchen, offering her a cooking apron and telling her to start cutting carrots. - So Sebastian, how serious is it?

   - It’s recent, mum. - she continued to peel and cut some carrots. 

   - I think he’s a very nice young man. - Y/N was not expecting that. Not from her mother who publicly disliked every single person their children had been romantically linked to. - He makes you smile and me and your father had never seen you like that. 

   - Does dad like him too? - her mother nodded and Y/N felt her heart swell up. Her parents did not just like anyone and it was fairly important they liked him, specially when her grandfather disliked him so badly. - So the Vanderbilts are coming for dinner?

   - They’re business partners with your grandfather. It’s not like we can argue with him, you know that. 

Sebastian had drifted off to sleep after she left but woke up with another knock on the door. This house was much too polite for him, specially when he grew up with his mother opening the door wide open at very ... unfortunate times. He deeply missed it, nevertheless. 

He mumbled something and the door opened to see Theseus peaking him. He lifted his arm to show him a pack of cigarettes and Sebastian understood the message, getting up from bed and following him back to Y/N’s balcony. He had to admit, Y/N must had a pretty good view growing up. 

   - I think I’ll just make you some company. - he replied sitting on one of the white wooden chairs. - Tom Vanderbilt is coming today, isn’t he?

   - I wouldn’t worry. He mostly talks to my dad and granddad, he knows Y/N hates his guts. So, you and Y/N, anything serious? 

   - She’s a lovely girl.

   - Not the question. - he stubbed onto his cigarette. - My father is probably gonna ask you that sometime, you should train your answer.

   - She’s the only person who thinks I’m a good person. - he shrugged. - She’s also very feisty. 

They remained there for quite a while and Theo even offered Sebastian some of his suits so he could wear them to lunch, which he gladly took. He didn’t want to offend her grandfather anymore than what his existence had. Sebastian and Theo went down the stairs, one going into the living room while Sebastian went to the kitchen where Y/N was helping her mother ice the champagne. She was wearing a pink dress, a very flowy one that looked like she had been taken off a Disney movie.

   - Nice suit, darling. - her mother said, walking over to him and fixing his shoulders. - Doesn’t Sebastian look nice, honey?

   - Whose suit is that? - she asked and he gave her his typical smirk. - You look very dashing. 

   - Only for you. 

   - You two should go to the living room, great some people. - her mother suggested, sending them on their merry way into the living room which was packed full of people. Y/N was never a fan of big lunches, she always find it upsetting to have to pretend to be happy to see people she didn’t really enjoy. Sadly, since she wasn’t around much she was the talk of the town.

   - Y/N, dear, you must come and see Tom. - her grandfather came into her eyesight. 

   - I’m sure Sebastian would love to meet him too. - he would definitely not, but she knew what he was playing at and if she brought Sebastian, his expectations would be brought down. The old man took the couple by the fireplace where Tom and his father were standing. 

   - Don, you’ve meet my granddaughter before. - he introduced her to Tom’s father. He was a very pudgy man with a love for old scotch. Y/N had met him a few times during her grandfather’s meetings and back when she was dating Tom. 

   - Y/N, you grow more beautiful every time I see you. - he shock her hand, a weird smile on his face. - You sure have been missed at our dinner table.

   - And this is Sebastian Stan, he’s Y/N’s guest. - he introduced Sebastian who shock both men’s hands.

   - Guests don’t kiss, grandpa. He’s my partner. - Sebastian had to hold in a laugh as she said that with the most polite yet sharp tone, making the three men stop drinking to stare at both of them. - I’ve heard you got a spot in my grandfather’s business, Thomas. Congratulations. 

   - Thank you, Y/N. I see you’ve done pretty well by yourself. You’re an intern, aren’t you? - Sebastian disliked him even more due to that comment. 

   - You two must come fishing with us later. - Mr.Vanderbilt added. - It’s always good to have two more in the bunch.

   - I don’t think Sebastian ...

   - We would love to go, Mr. Vanderbilt. - Sebastian interrupted her, putting his arm around her waist. - Wouldn’t we, bunny?

   - Yes. - she had a confused look on her face. They excused themselves from the group and walked over to a quiet location. - What the fuck, Sebastian!

   - What? I love fishing. 

   - For girls maybe, not for actual fish. - she rolled her eyes. - You just doomed us to an afternoon of disappointment.

   - C’mon. - he hugged her, placing a kiss on top of her head. - He was being arrogant. 

   - I don’t need you to defend my honour. 

   - I know you don’t, but I still will.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan long shot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes

[philip-seville-archive]

You’re My Number One || Tap

Summary: Tad comforts Pip post Phinnip beach fight and it inspires a teeny tiny talk about the future. 

@i-am-obnoxious​

Pip Seville

It did not take long to find Tad-- though they had not been dating long, naturally his boyfriend would not be far from the beach. And indeed, there he was, wading in the water, doing...something. Pip didn't care actually, he just needed to vent hardcore and that was exactly what a boyfriend was for.

"Oh my god, Tad, you will not believe the weird fucking conversation I just had with Phineas!" he launched right into it, kicking off his sandals so he could let the edges of the water roll over his toes. "UGH he's like so fucking infuriating I could scream right now!"

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

Tad had mostly been splashing around in the water, yeah. He didn't go far in, mostly cause people were still weird about some Jaws situation or whatever. He wasn't that worried though. Shark attacks were like super rare and stuff.

His head jerked up as Pip came rushing over, eyes wide as he moved closer to his boyfriend, arms up. "Woah woah babe. Your vibes are like off the chart." He reached out to tug Pip in for a hug. "You wanna like breathe for a sec my d- babe? It's like a big puff in and out. It's seriously...super good when like the vibes of the universe are off balance."

Pip Seville

Pip appreciated the hug. Tad was warm and his clothes always had this lingering scent of chlorine from his swim practices, which Pip always found relaxing, like...Tad's aura was a spa or something.

He did not, however, appreciate being told to breathe.

"I know how to breathe," huffed Pip a bit impatiently. "I don't need to breathe, I need to rant. Out of nowhere, he just started attacking my life choices. Actually--it wasn't out of nowhere, I remember now. It was exactly right after I complimented him. How messed up is that? And he was like, oh going to NYC is so selfish and you're abandoning all your friends. Like what the fuck?"

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

Woah. The vibes were way harsh for his babe, which was seriously not chill. It made Tad's vibes like the sea on a stormy day. He didn't want his babe to be upset and stuff. Though he also...didn't quite get why Phineas would harsh Pip's vibes like this.

"So like...." Tad looked like he was struggling to process a difficult math problem. A lot of computing was going on and it took him a moment to try to connect. So Phineas didn't like NYC. Or he didn't vibe with Pip going because Pip was awesome and who would want Pip to leave? That'd be sad vibes sure...

But why would Phineas get all ragey vibes? Unless he was like Tad, and totally vibed with how super mega foxy and awesome Pip was. "Woahhhhhh.....Phineas totally likes you babe."

Pip Seville

Pip did not need much to comfort him, so he liked to think. A soothing hand on the back. A shoulder to cry on, if crying was necessary. A promise to commit murder against the one who wronged him. Tad could even have said 'Dude, that sucks," and Pip would have nodded vigorously, feeling seen.

 He was not expecting whatever the HELL just came out of Tad's mouth.

"What?!" Pip blurted, loud. "Wh-- no. No, aw, you're-- that's actually kind of sweet, I think, I don't know, because I marvel at how your brain works but-- no, trust me he definitely does not. This is not Mindy-Danny energy, this is more like..." what pop culture reference would Tad understand best? "Golem and Frodo. We both are very passionate about similar things, and would bite off each other's fingers to get said thing. Phineas is just trying to get under my skin."

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

"Aww but babe it's like...I get it kinda cause I'd be super sad to see you go but like...you're gonna be a rockstar and like sing and make everyone go woahhhh...." He squeezed Pip lightly. "But like that's your dream and stuff. Me I'd vibe in NYC and stuff. Y'know? Like...there are probably waves there somewhere..." He was pretty sure there was an ocean on that side of the states.

"But maybe Phineas gets like ragey instead of sad longingness vibes or something." He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't say it made sense to be ragey vibes you know? But like...you're hot stuff babe."

Pip Seville

This was the most confusing, surreal pep talk that he'd ever had. And it was... turning him on?

Please see it from Pip's perspective: the moon behind Tad, as Tad held his hand and said all the right things and then some. That he was talented and destined for greatness, that Tad understood his dream, that Tad-- wait, he'd vibe in NYC? Wait, like...with Pip? As well? Together? At the same time? In the beautiful-ugly brownstone of Pip's wildest fantasies, where they'd host dinner parties and share a closet and he'd give Tad shoulder massages?!

You're hot stuff babe, said Tad, but it might as well have been a marriage proposal.

Wait. He was angry. Angry, not-- confused-overwhelmed-horny. Wow, having a boyfriend was a form of mind control, huh.

"I--" Pip was blushing deeply and stuttering now. "I...I really don't think he likes me but... so you're totally okay with me going to NYU?" was what he finally managed to get out of his mouth. Wow, he had forbid himself from talking about this until at least October, when early applications happened. Wtf Tad Fiske.

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

Maybe Pip didn't see how Tad saw things, at least about Phineas' weird crush energy. But Tad wasn't a super cool star in the making and stuff. Pip like sparkled dudes. He had sparkle lights around him. Every time he saw him, Tad felt even more of the gooey good vibes. It was impossible not to.

"I mean you were like totally planning it before we even started dating right babe? Would be kinda chaos energy vibes to be all mad about it." Which really didn't fit in with Tad's vibes at all. And anyway, New York seemed dope. Even if New Yorkers had this weird anti-LA vibe that LA people just...did not have. Whatever man. Tad vibed wherever he went.

 Tad shrugged his shoulders. "If it makes you happy babe like yeah. Long distance people have vibed before. But like...I don't really feel the college vibe for me anyway so like...if we were still together and stuff I could go wherever. Open a hot dog stand...heard the hot dogs are seriously sick there, or like go pro surfer...woah imagine..."

Pip Seville

Okay, some of the NYC fantasies were dashed, drifting further and further with every word that Tad said and so Pip really had to stop him speaking. This was precisely why he had not wanted to talk about the big U word (uni) before October. For one, maybe he and Tad would break up! And another, why worry about it!

Why worry about the fact that Tad didn't want to go to college!

Why worry about the fact that Tad's dreams apparently amounted to open a hot dog stand.

One freak-out at a time please and-- wasn't it way sweeter to focus on the whole, Tad wanting to come to NYC for him and also his very open and generous statement about how getting mad at Pip was clearly crazy people behavior?

And so Pip just-- kissed Tad to stop him from imagining hot dog stands. And also to calm himself down-- kissing was infinitely better than breathing, so he leaned into Tad, let his arms wrap around his neck for just a few more moments before pulling away. "Thank you for being you," he said sincerely.

...Though he'd leave the parts of Tad that stressed him out for another time.

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

Pip kissed him and fireworks went off in Tad's head. It was awesome as always, and his arms drew Pip a little closer to him as they kissed. Man but no vibe was better than kissing Pip he was sure about it.

A smile spread across his face. "You're welcome babe. Thanks for being the best babe," he added, leaning in to kiss his nose. "My brain is all swirly every time you kiss me." He laughed. "What were we talking about?"

Pip Seville

Pip's brain also went swirly when he kissed Tad-- swirly like paint colours running down a canvas, all his usual worries drenched in rainbow so he didn't, well, worry at all. He emerged with fluttering eyes and the world a little kinder. So that weird fight with Phineas... it didn't seem like THAT big a deal. They'd probably just forget about it. Cuz like, fighting was what they did, right? Pip would pretend it never happened and he was sure Phineas would be happy to do the same thing; he hated actually talking about anything real.

Pip shrugged. "Oh nothing. Just Phineas being a dick to me. I don't care though, because his opinion doesn't matter to me. Yours does though. And you support me, because that's what you do when you care about someone." Pip grinned and kissed Tad's cheek.

Samwise Theodore Tad Fiske

"Oh yeah." Tad had kind of stopped caring about Phineas as soon as Pip kissed him. Sure, did he still think the dude had weird crush vibes? Yeah, but whatever. Pip was kissing Tad and stuff not him so it was all good.

"Yeah babe. I've got your back." He grinned, reaching up with one hand to stroke Pip's cheek. "You're like...my number one."

Pip Seville

You're like...my number one.

And Second Gen Legend BoA's song "Number One" burst through Pip's head, giving him the energy and confidence to do a drop-split in this second if he wanted. He wasn't going to because he'd mess up his trousers, but that's where he was emotionally.

And he decided then and there. He was going to help Tad. Yes. It was his job, because Tad was also his number one, and so he would clear a path to uni for Tad-- preferably to a school in an NYC area code! But hey, community colleges were great too!

He squeezed Tad's hand, his eyes wide and bright. "You're mine too. I--" LOVE YOU SO MUCH I THINK WE SHOULD RUN AWAY TOGETHER WOULD YOU LIKE TO ADOPT A LITTLE GAY DOG WITH ME

"--am so glad you're my boyfriend." Whew, crisis averted. "C'mon, let's like, go play flip cup or something."

#tap #para #big emos about tap #just that kind of couple where u should not be together for fifteen hundred practical very important reasons and yet #yet u r with them anyway #tad hurts me a lot !

[sayedhusaini]

NBA player Jonathan Isaac of the Orlando Magic explains why he is hesitant to take the COVID vaccine at a post-game press conference, Oct. 27, 2021.

It is virtually a religious belief in the dominant liberal culture that people who do not want the COVID vaccine are stupid, ignorant, immoral and dangerous. As large sectors of the population continue to question or disobey their COVID decrees, they have begun to make more explicit this condescending view.

Liberals feel free to disparage them as "stupid” notwithstanding long-standing (though diminishing) racial disparities among this group. A CNN headline from last month told part of the story: “Black New Yorkers may have the lowest vaccination rates, but community groups refuse to give up.” Citing data from the city's health agency, the network reported that “citywide, just 28% of Black New Yorkers between the ages of 18 and 44 are fully vaccinated. The Hispanic community is the second-least fully vaccinated population in that age group, with 49% being fully vaccinated.”

Two weeks ago, Bloomberg reported that while some of the unvaccinated are unable to get the vaccine (due to work pressures or health conditions), most of them are vaccine-hesitant by choice and continue to reflect racial disparities. Under the headline “U.S. Racial Vaccine Gaps Are Bigger Than We Thought: Covid-19 Tracker,” the news outlet reported: “the White vaccination rate is not as bad as it had seemed and Hispanic communities are lagging more than previously thought.”

Yet liberal elites continue to call anyone who is unvaccinated "stupid,” ignorant and immoral. On Sunday, New York's Democratic Governor Kathy Hochul, when announcing her intent to use National Guard soldiers to replace health care workers fired for refusing the vaccine, told her audience: “yes, I know you're vaccinated, you're the smart ones.” She then said those who refuse to get the vaccine are not just stupid but have turned their back on God: “there's people out there who aren't listening to God and what God wants.” Gov. Hochul added that the vaccine “is from God to us and we must say, thank you, God,” and said to her "smart” vaccinated supporters: “I need you to be my apostles.”

On September 16, CNN host Don Lemon maligned those who have chosen not to be vaccinated as "stupid,” "selfish,” filled with “ignorance,” and “not acting on logic, reason and science." He then issued this decree: “it’s time to start shaming them or leave them behind.” When controversy erupted over the lavish indoor gala former President Obama threw for himself, at which his guests were unmasked while the servants were masked, New York Times reporter Annie Karni explained on CNN that while some of Obama's neighbors on Martha's Vineyard objected, many believed that a maskless party was fine because “this is a sophisticated, vaccinated crowd." Late-night host Jimmy Kimmel suggested the unvaccinated should be deprioritized for health care in hospitals, while Howard Stern recently lambasted the unvaccinated as “imbeciles” and “nut jobs” and argued they should be denied health care and be left to die.

That the unvaccinated are inherently primitive and stupid troglodytes was always a claim as baseless and offensive as it is counter-productive. Although I personally took the vaccine the first day it was available to me — as I repeatedly said I would in every forum where I speak, including Fox News — it was always clear that there were cogent reasons while those with different circumstances and risk factors (age, health, prior COVID status) might assess their own risks differently and reach a different conclusion. And what made me most comfortable about my choice to get vaccinated, or to decide whether my kids should, was precisely that it was my choice, after informing myself: the idea of forcing someone to do it against their will, or condition people's rights and privileges on vaccine compliance — as both President Biden and the ACLU astonishingly advocated — always struck me as inconceivable.

The attempt to equate being unvaccinated with stupidity and ignorance suffered a massive blow on Wednesday night when NBA star Jonathan Isaac was asked why he was hesitant to take the vaccine. Like many unions, the NBA's player union has refused a vaccine mandate, and Isaac, the 23-year-old player with the Orlando Magic who previously had and recovered from COVID, gave a stunningly compelling, informed, well-reasoned and thoughtful exposition on his rationale for not wanting the vaccine. Isaac also defended the right of individuals to make their own choice. One need not agree with his ultimate conclusion on the vaccine to see how groundless (and obnoxious) it is to claim that anyone who chooses not to take the vaccine — like him — is stupid, ignorant and primitive. I really encourage everyone to watch his two-minute master class in demonstrating why such a choice can, depending on one's circumstances, be perfectly rational:

Is there anyone who can argue with a straight face that Isaac sounds stupid, ignorant or evil? One can cogently dispute the wisdom of his conclusion: while it is true that most people who recover from COVID (as he did) enjoy "natural immunity” in the form of antibodies — indeed, one major study found that “the natural immune protection that develops after a SARS-CoV-2 infection offers considerably more of a shield against the Delta variant of the pandemic coronavirus than two doses of the Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine — some studies conclude that immunity is stronger still with the vaccine.”

Nonetheless, Issac is indisputably right that the risk of dying or becoming seriously ill of COVID is extremely low for someone like him: early 20s, healthy and with natural immunity. In fact, during the entire course of the pandemic, the total number of people aged 15-24 (Isaac's age group) who have died of COVID — in a country of 330 million people — is 1,372: fewer than the number in that age group who have died of non-COVID pneumonia. Add onto that Isaac's physical fitness and the fact that he already had COVID once, his risk from contracting the virus is vanishingly small.

It is true that the long-term effects of COVID are unknown, but that is also true of the long-term risks from these new vaccines. Isaac is also right ….