#like working at a ballpark is about the fans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wilbursoot-updates · 1 year

Text

Lovejoy is in this article!

Wake Up! Lovejoy are already a phenomenon

Squashed into a tour bus somewhere in Berlin are the biggest band that – unless you’re as chronically online as us, Dear Reader – you’ve maybe never heard of. With sold-out tours across the UK, Europe and North America, millions of monthly Spotify listeners and a spot in the UK Top 40 with their latest single ‘Call Me What You Like’, Lovejoy could be mistaken for veterans.

Far from it. Their first proper bit of press is, well, this very cover interview. They’re gearing up to release only their third (or maybe fourth, depending how you count their just dropped ‘From Studio 4’ collection, released under the name Anvil Cat) EP, ‘Wake Up & It’s Over’, and those sold-out tours? The first shows they’ve ever played. It’s rare this amount of hype surrounds a guitar band these days, so who the fuck are Lovejoy?

Formed during the early 2021 UK lockdown, Lovejoy consists of Will Gold as the frontman, Joe Goldsmith on lead guitar, Ash Kabosu on bass, and Mark Boardman on drums. Seemingly brought together by sheer luck, their epic ascent is the result of a lifetime of individual hard work and some serious fan devotion over the past couple of years.

It’s taken a while to pin the band down, and we catch them just after their first full UK tour as they embark on the European leg. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind.

“I think it was our 32nd show yesterday, which is just nuts,” says Ash, who introduces himself as the one who doesn’t talk and proceeds to lead the interview. “Literally every show we’ve played, we’ve been like, ‘That was the best one!’ Then the next one, ‘Oh, that was the best one!’”

“I’ve especially been enjoying acclimating myself to not knowing where I’m going to be falling asleep every night,” says Will, “which is a very hard thing to get around. But it’s a lot of fun. I’m really enjoying it. And I love seeing everyone’s faces because we’ve been somewhat of a lockdown band. To now be able to put faces to the numbers is great; it’s lovely to see and speak to them.”

Describing their very first live shows at the end of 2022 as “teething”, Lovejoy admit they’re still getting to grips with it all. Although the size of their fanbase means they could’ve easily sold out bigger venues than the humble Electric Brixton they headed up on this tour, they didn’t want to skip steps for a good reason.

“Rock music has always been what me and Joe were the most interested in” -Will Gold

“We didn’t want to be bad,” says Ash, frankly. “It’s a completely different ballpark to just, you know, playing guitar in your bedroom, and there are so many moving parts and so many things you don’t think about that you need to learn and understand. We didn’t want to deliver a show to the fans that wasn’t good enough, so we’ve been deliberately ramping it up step by step and going through the process as naturally as possible.”

“It’s so much more personable and fun to make mistakes in front of a crowd of a couple hundred people who are along with you for the ride than when you start to get into the larger crowds,” adds Will. “Making a mistake, at least for me, really gets to me, but if I’m in a room with less people, and they’re there for the story, I feel more ready to make mistakes.”

Will and Joe cut their teeth playing with a folk punk band a few years prior to Lovejoy forming. After what Will describes as a “very dramatic first gig”, they went their separate ways, but his lust for live never went away. Finding one another at the beginning of the pandemic, Joe came to visit Will before the lockdowns kicked in and decided to sleep on the sofa rather than risking taking public transport back and forth to London.

“We wrote our entire first EP in my basement and very quickly decided we’re going to need a drummer and a bassist because all the stuff we were writing was band stuff,” Will explains. “It wasn’t our normal folk stuff that we were used to – and rock music has always been what me and Joe were the most interested in; even when we were in that folk band, we used to implore the lead singer if we could write some indie music please, and he would always be like, nah, not really into Arctic Monkeys actually.”

So they set out to find both a bassist and a drummer. Fate did its thing, and upon walking into a Smashburger in Brighton, Will met Ash, bass guitar in tow, and asked him if he’d like to be in a band.

“Ash is not one to say no to many exciting adventures,” says Will, “so he said yeah, and I gave him my address. Joe was very sceptical at first when I said I found a bassist in a burger shop.”

“I think for me personally,” adds Ash, “I’m living in Brighton – which is kind of a young, creative place – you often have conversations in pubs and places where people are like, we should do this, we should do that, and I genuinely thought that this was just another one of those conversations. Like, ‘Hey, I’m in a band, do you want to play?’ I never thought in my wildest dreams anything would even come of it. I didn’t even think we’d practice, let alone be playing shows in front of thousands of people.”

As for Mark, he was booked for the day via the freelancer hiring website Fiverr. When they couldn’t pay him the fee he was owed, they instead offered him a spot in the band.

“I said, look, you’re sick at this, do you want to just join the band?” Will explains. “Mark thought about it for a good five seconds and then said yes.”

“I was really determined, playing acoustic guitar and learning stuff from YouTube and Arctic Monkeys songbooks” -Joe Goldsmith

Echoing Ash’s sentiments, Mark recalls, “I thought it would be another band that I’d join that wouldn’t even release on Spotify. Now we’ve sold out tours in the UK, Europe, America….”

Life before Lovejoy was very different for most of the boys. Mark was at university studying editing, hoping to work in visual effects, letting drumming take the back seat. “It would have been a grind for like 40 years to get a good paying job, and Will came along and saved me. So I’m very grateful for that,” he says.

Ash was working in broadcasting as a producer for TV, a job he’d gotten into after studying film production at uni, and had taught himself animation as another means of income. “Unlike Mark, I actually enjoyed it,” he adds.

As for Joe, he was working as a tree surgeon, which is a flashier-sounding name than what the job actually entailed. “I was literally just cleaning up branches on the floor,” he says. “I wasn’t even allowed to go up the trees.”

Will isn’t such a stranger to the spotlight, as he edited for the YouTube channel SootHouse in the late 2010s, later creating his own channel as Wilbur Soot and amassing a sizeable following on the streaming platform Twitch (although the other boys say they had no idea about his following when they joined the band, Ash noting, “I just thought he was quite a tall, handsome man, we’re just here because we fancy Will”).

With the band assembled, they started recording together in Will’s bedroom. In early 2021, the UK was still firmly in lockdown, so with all studios closed, it was their only choice. When they finally made it to a studio, the group had two days to record five songs, the ones that would make up their first EP, 2021’s ‘Are You Alright?’.

“We didn’t get enough done,” says Will, “which is why the first EP actually has scratch vocals. We just used my draft vocals that are then doubled up and thickened out. And also because it would have been far too expensive to just keep going back.”

“Which is why, little easter egg,” adds Ash, “some of the lyrics are wrong. We don’t sing those anymore, so the fans get very confused when we perform some of the earlier songs.”

The whole journey has been a learning curve for all four members. With none of them coming from a proper musical background, there was no one to guide them in the process. “We kind of had to jump headfirst in and see what we can do off the back of it,” says Will.

That isn’t to say they haven’t put the work in, though. With each of the boys picking up their instruments in their childhood or teenage years, it feels like they’ve been setting up their own individual dominoes, hitting the ground running when they were knocked down in perfect formation.

“There’s a photo of me when I was a baby,” Mark begins, explaining where he got his start in music. “I couldn’t even walk, and I’m on my auntie’s lap, who originally taught me drums. I’ve been wanting to play since I could speak, basically, but we could never afford a kit. And then I got to about eight years old, my parents finally got me an electric drum kit, and my auntie started teaching me. I caught up with her quickly, which was crazy. I always wanted to be in a band, but I was thinking more realistically, it’s the same odds as becoming a famous football player or something like that. Then along came these boys, and it all changed.”

“I was really determined from when I was about 13, 14?” Joe recalls, “Playing acoustic guitar and just learning stuff from YouTube and Arctic Monkeys songbooks, working out tabs and things like that. I was pretty dead set on at least giving it a shot to try.”

Ash’s start was similar, learning to play guitar with his dad. “When I was very young, my dad found an old Spanish guitar in the attic of our family home that wasn’t ours,” he tells us. “I’ve kind of always played guitar, and I’ve always been interested in music; my dad is in a band as well, bless him, doing dad rock. It’s always been a part of me, but I never ever thought I’d do anything with it.”

“Not for me,” Will jumps in. “The minute I first started learning guitar, I was like, this is what I want. When I was a teenager, I used to follow around bands and go to all their shows, and I knew from that moment I want this as my creative outlet. This is where I want to put my creative energy. I literally remember I shut myself in my room and practised guitar for like ten hours a day in the beginning. I missed two summers doing that. To finally be in this position I’m in now, thanks to all the wonderful support we’ve gotten from people, a lot of them have come across from the YouTube space, is just absolutely humbling. I’m trying to give it back in any way I can.”

“I like to make rumours amongst the fan base; we’ve made up a bunch of nonsense” -Ash Kabosu

It’s fair to say Lovejoy have been pulled substantially further up the ladder by a deeply devoted fan base, but that’s part of what makes their trajectory so exciting. There hasn’t been a new guitar band that’s had venues bursting at the seams like this for a long time. Just two self-released (on their own label Anvil Cat via AWAL) EPs, debut ‘Are You Alright?’ and follow-up ‘Pebble Brain’ garnered enough love to have fans queuing around the block for hours on end when the live shows finally came. It’s reminiscent of what 5SOS were seeing at the start of their career ten years ago, or that other numbers band.

And the devotion goes both ways, too; Lovejoy play games with the fans, leaving puzzles on social media for the fans to solve, firing confetti with QR codes printed on every other piece out at their London headline show. Their involvement hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Oh, man, I love them,” Ash gushes. “One of the best feelings for me is when we create something, even if it’s something as simple as a little photo shoot, the response is incredible. And to inspire other people to create through our creativity is just so rewarding. My favourite part of it is seeing the writing, the poetry, the paintings, the drawings, like all the art that comes back to us is incredible.”

Joe adds, “Every single person that I’ve met after a show or before a show, they’re all so respectful and all so lovely. And they’re just so generous.”

Ash continues, “They make such an effort and go out of their way to listen to the support bands’ music and show up for them; they show up on time and fill the place out for everyone. And then they go crazy jumping around and singing to everyone’s music, and that’s just so fucking cool.”

With new EP ‘Wake Up & It’s Over’ on the horizon, it’ll be their first proper release since 2021. A break away from recording to do the touring part of being a new band has led to Lovejoy’s longest writing phase yet and has played a part in shaping the sound of their new material. This time around, being able to take more time to record and more studio options, they’ve fined tuned their sound and brought it closer to their personal ideal.

Aiming for something a little heavier this time, the boys wanted to pull in their individual influences more drastically. For Will, that’s shouty British lyrics and overdriven guitars (he calls Arctic Monkeys the most famous example), with Ash also growing up on the late 2000s indie of Foals and Bombay Bicycle Club. Mark, on the other hand, was introduced to bands like Bring Me The Horizon and Asking Alexandria by his sister at a young age, pushing him into heavier territory when it came to discovering his own tastes and allowing the band to take on the slogan of ‘the only indie band with a double kick drum’. (Joe simply adds, “In the words of Brandon Flowers, it’s indie rock and roll for me.”)

Opening track ‘Portrait of a Blank Slate’ pulls in those influences most brazenly, employing the mathy Foals-y lead guitar, ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ era Arctic Monkeys fiddly bass, and wordy vocals a la The Wombats. “I can’t wait to play that for thousands of people,” says Joe.

They’ve been road-testing some of the other tracks too, the poppier (see: jumpier) ‘Consequences’ and ‘Warsaw’, as well as the single ‘Call Me What You Like’, but the rest have been kept a secret, one track particularly well.

Initially beginning the recording of this EP late last year, the boys weren’t 100% satisfied with the tracks. Having already played some of the tracks live, fans developed a particular affinity for one called ‘It’s Golden Hour Somewhere’, and up until the EP drops, have been under the impression it isn’t going to be released.

“I like to make rumours amongst the fan base,” says Ash, “I sort of said yeah, it’s scrapped, we just don’t like it, it’s not up to scratch, it doesn’t fit the nature of the EP, blah, blah, blah. We’ve just made up a bunch of nonsense. And they’ve bought into it. And as I expected, they’re also campaigning to bring it back. We’ve seen signs at shows saying ‘PLAY GOLDEN HOUR’. It’s just a bit of fun, and I think the relief and the excitement they’ll feel on the day that it comes out to just see it in the tracklisting will be worth it. I think for the amount of time that the fans have been waiting, we want it to be as special as possible.”

Even with ‘Call Me What You Like’ landing at No.32 on the UK Top 40 – an enormous feat and a rarity for a new band these days – it’s still what the fans think that means the most to Lovejoy.

“It was very validating to see it go that far,” says Will. “I think that was our longest-ever lyric writing time; we had the tune down for about ten months before I even penned the lyrics that ended up going in the final release. To see that time pay off is amazing, but we had no idea it would get that reception. It’s more important that our fans really love what we’re putting out. We’re aiming to create music that will really connect with our fan base, and you know, we’ll give them back what they’ve given us.”

With formative years that any new band would dream of, a knockout first tour and an audience hungry for more, Lovejoy are keen to maintain the hype. Currently using soundcheck time to write new material, every spare hour is used wisely while they’re on the road, Ash hinting they’ve already got new songs saved up for when they return home. This summer, they’ll be hitting the festival circuit, playing Reading and Leeds for the first time and undoubtedly not the last. The path may not be fully paved yet, but it’s definitely leading somewhere exciting.

Will says, “We’ve felt that wave of energy from the audience singing our words back at us, and that’s really influenced my lyrical style and our music instrumentally, which took a lot longer. 2022 was a sort of foundational year; I feel like this is the launch in 2023 into this next era of Lovejoy.”

#thanks for spending actual money on this one mia lmao #lovejoy #wilbur soot #ash kabosu #mark boardman #joe goldsmith #articles #dork magazine

611 notes · View notes

illdowhatiwantthanks · 1 month

Text

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI. Graphic sex, oral, fingering, language, homophobia, homophobic slurs. Word count: 2,443 "Onions and relish!?" you observed, watching Casey scoop condiments onto a ballpark hot dog. Your face screwed up. "Gross."

"I've got highbrow taste," Casey retorted, glancing at yours. "And you shouldn't talk. Ketchup and mustard? Are you five?"

"It's a classic," you argued, both pushing your way through the crowded line of Yankees fans waiting for their own ballpark snacks.

You returned to your seats, up in the nosebleeds along with a scattering of other die-hard baseball fans, the humming of a summertime crowd and the buzzing of the lights wrapping around you like a blanket. You heard the crack of a bat, and both you and Casey froze, watching the field.

"Yes!" you yelled, pumping your fist in the air as your team–the Cardinals–drove in another run. "Fuckin' Redbirds!"

Normally, you'd be a lot more self-conscious about drawing attention to yourself in a crowd like this–almost exclusively Yankees fans, including your girlfriend. When the Yankees weren't playing the Cardinals, you wore some of Casey's Yankees gear and cheered them on with her. But the Cardinals? They'd been your family's team for generations. You'd grown up on Pujols and Molina and Wainwright, and you were nothing if not loyal. But in this crowd, you stood out amongst the black-and-white like a red thumb. Casey had looked embarrassed, and you'd worried for a moment that she really was bothered by your vocal support of the away team.

"Am I embarrassing you?" you'd asked.

"Yes."

"In a bad way?"

Casey looked at you and smiled at your serious expression. "No, honey. Like, embarrassing but it's endearing. Does that make sense?"

You thought about it for a moment. "I think so. You would tell me if I was bad embarrassing?"

"I would," she confirmed, patting your hand.

It was one of your favorite things about Casey that she was so patient when you misread or didn't understand social cues. She never made fun of you. She always explained, and she always reassured you when you were afraid you'd done something wrong.

But this time it was definitely Casey who had done something wrong. You watched her shove a bite of hot dog into her mouth, beautifully messy, as always when she wasn't at work.

"Your whole mouth is gonna taste like pickles for the rest of the night," you muttered, taking a bite of your own hot dog.

She looked at you, smirking. "And why are you so concerned about my mouth, huh?"

You blushed. "No reason..."

"Mmhm." She took another bite, smug, then grasped your chin, pulling you to her for a kiss. Her lips were salty with sweat, and she smelled like the ballpark dust and the leather of her glove. She was intoxicating, but then you always felt lightheaded when Casey kissed you. Something about the stadium lights and the summer heat just made you that much more dazed.

"That's fuckin' hot," you heard someone say behind you. You shrank and glanced back, Casey's hand squeezing yours protectively. Two men, unshaven, with beers to go with their beer bellies, leered at you from the row behind.

"Nobody asked you, asshole," Casey shot back, flipping him off. You avoided eye contact with them, trying to make yourself smaller. Having grown up in the south, you'd been in enough unsafe situations because of your sexuality that your go-to defense was to ignore and hide. Casey's was not. She was tall and strong, and she'd grown up with absolute confidence in who and what she was.

Your nostrils flared in disgust as one of the men licked his lips, raking his eyes up and down Casey's body.

"What's a hot piece like you doing with a dyke? You oughta let a real man take you for a spin."

Casey stood and pushed him–hard. The man reeled, sloshing his beer all over his front. "You better shut your fucking mouth or I'll shut it for you," she growled.

The man's arm shot out, grabbing Casey by the back of her head. He dug his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. "That's okay, honey," he said. "I like 'em feisty."

Any fear you had dissipated into white hot anger as you watched, as if in slow motion. You, however, were not stuck in slow motion. Without thinking, you lunged forward, grabbed the man's wrist, and wrenched it back until he squealed. You shoved Casey behind you.

"Get your fucking hands off her!" you spat, puffing yourself up as you stood between him and your girlfriend. Which, considering your diminutive height, probably didn't do a whole lot to deter him.

Your teeth clenched and your whole body buzzed with rage. It took a lot to make you angry, but you were spitting angry now. All you knew was that no one–no one–was going touch Casey on your watch.

The man laughed, knocking your cap off your head with a swipe of his finger. "And what are you gonna do about it, Tiny Tim? Or should I say Tiny Tina?"

Without warning and, for once, without considering the consequences, you slammed your first into his groin as hard as you could which, considering you played softball, was pretty damn hard. It was a perk of your height that you were at the optimal angle to punch someone in the dick.

The man doubled over, coughing, and spilled the rest of his beer. "Fuckin' dykes," he muttered. He motioned to his friend, cupping his balls, and they sidled off. Probably looking for another section to harass women in.

You let out a shaky breath and turned to face Casey, your heart beating rapidly as the adrenaline faded and the nerves returned.

"Are you okay?" you asked, frantically looking her over, placing a gentle hand at the back of her head where the man had grabbed her.

You hardly noticed Casey watching you, biting her lip. You were too concerned with making sure she was safe and unharmed. As you rambled, checking her hands and neck and hair and face for any signs of hurt, Casey stared.

Finally, she interrupted you. "Y/N."

You stopped and made yourself meet her eyes.

"I think we should go." She looked at you pointedly.

You face fell. "Oh, love. I'm so sorry. We can go home if it'll make you feel better."

"No, that's not why."

A look of confusion crossed your face.

"We should go home because we have things to do."

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't understand what you're saying, Casey."

She stepped closer, placing your hat back on your head and her arms on your shoulders. Her expression was self-satisfied as she leaned in, so close you could feel her breath, and whispered into your ear.

"Y/N," she breathed. "I need to do things. To you. Now."

"Oh," you said, the realization hitting you. "Oh my god. Okay."

You started gathering your things, then stopped and glanced at her. "From this? Really?"

"Y/N," she said, cheeks already flushed. "Don't make me wait. I'm gonna have a hard enough time making it home."

You tried to hide the mixture of shock and excitement on your face as you left the stadium, walking by the now abandoned concession stands and into the quiet parking lot.

"What's the alternative?" you asked her as you climbed into the driver's seat.

"What?"

"To making it home. You said you were gonna have a hard time making it home. But, like, where else would we–"

You were cut off by Casey's lips on yours, her breath hot and desperate as she grabbed your collar. She slid her tongue into your mouth, her teeth clacking against yours as she surged toward you, pushing for more.

When you separated, you both breathed heavily. Casey's face was flushed with lust. "If it were up to me," she said, leaning back in the seat. "I would've fucked you in the ballpark bathroom. I'd take you right here in the car. But I know that's not your style, so for the love of god..." Her eyes bored into you. "Drive."

Usually a slow driver, you made it back to Casey's apartment in record time. And, true to her word, Casey did have a hard time making it to the apartment, stopping at every chance she got–stoplights, outside the car door, in the elevator, the hallway–to kiss your neck, your mouth, undoing buttons of your Cardinals jersey as you went. Her hands slipped inside your shirt whenever you stopped for so much as a second.

When she finally got you into her bedroom, she was ravenous, tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the side with a singular focus. Her eyes were glazed and her face red as she struggled with your bra clasps.

"Fucking hell," she muttered, her fingers fumbling.

"Jesus, Casey," you said, reaching back to do them for her. "Calm down."

She groaned, letting her eyes rove over your now nude body, pushing you gently but forcefully on your back. She pecked you on the lips, then took your bottom lip between her teeth. You gasped, filled with both pain and pleasure. When she let you go, she was grinning.

"I'm gonna make you feel so..." She kissed your neck. "Fucking." Your collarbone. "Good." She lowered herself over you and pressed her mouth into yours, breathing you in, letting her tongue roam freely.

You moaned, arching your back. "Don't hold back on me now," she growled, leaving bite marks down your neck and across your chest. Usually quiet, you gave yourself permission to make some noise. After all, it drove Casey crazy.

"Fuck, Casey," you whined as she swirled her tongue across your nipples, first one and then the other, her hands pressing just above your hips. You writhed into her, squirming for more, your center already sopping wet.

"Tell me what you want," Casey said, trailing her tongue from your chest down to your stomach.

You struggled against her hands, pressing you into the bed. "Come on," you complained, nearly begging.

"Tell me," Casey said again, more forcefully, her fingers grazing over your clit.

You saw stars. "Fuck me."

Casey chuckled, her low voice vibrating against your already swollen clit. "That's my girl."

You gasped as she sucked your clit between her lips, swishing her tongue back and forth, back and forth. Her arms pinned your thighs in place, holding your writhing body tight. You heaved and moaned as you pushed Casey's head into your center. Her hair was soft and damp with sweat under your fingers, and you felt desperate for her as you chased your high.

She waited until you were nearly bursting, your breath hitching and your back arched against her, then pulled quickly away, wiping her mouth.

You gasped frantically. "What the fuck, Casey!?"

"Shh," she commanded, crawling back up your body and grabbing your chin. She straddled your hips, her own soaked center resting over yours.

"Casey, please," you begged, your eyes fluttering shut, the need of her flooding you.

"Don't close your eyes, honey. Look at me."

You huffed but opened your eyes, staring defiantly into hers, green and hungry and lustful.

She held your face still with one hand, then crept back down your body with the other. You let out a moan, squirming.

"Now arch your back for me," she said, the heel of her palm pressing hard into your clit.

Your body nearly exploded with the sensation, and you thrust into her with everything you had. You grabbed at Casey, pulling her into you, elated to know that she was using you, too, unable to put off her own pleasure any longer.

Your breath came faster and faster, your body jerking into Casey as Casey thrust toward you. You watched each other, both on the brink of losing control. Casey moaned, shutting her eyes briefly before squeezing your chin and staring at you.

"Now," she said.

And that one word was all it took. Your body shook against Casey's, your hips riding into her again and again, desperate for the friction as you moaned. She did the same, her nails digging into the skin at the top of your throat as she rode out her own orgasm. It felt like the two of you were hurtling across space, starbursts and supernovas and whole galaxies flashing inside you as you held onto one another. You quivered against her as the fireworks dissipated, spent and sweaty and heaving.

Casey grinned and planted kisses across your collarbone, counting. "One. Two. Three..."

You laughed and groaned. "Casey," you protested.

She'd discovered early on that, if she timed it right, she could make you come indefinitely. The only thing that stopped her was you getting overstimulated.

"Twenty-two," she finished and, once again, pressed the heel of her hand into your clit, harder and harder until she had you ready again, your hands grasping the bedsheets.

Your orgasm washed over you again, like a wave this time, pouring over you from head to toe.

Casey started in again, this time with her lips at the back of your knees. "One. Two..."

By the fifth round, you were nearly delirious, and Casey was salivating.

"Casey," you groaned, your body still pressing into her hand, almost against your will. "It's too much."

"Come on, sweetheart," she said, kissing you roughly. "Give me one more."

She continued grinding her hand into you, meshing her lips with yours, her tongue roving. Your breath caught and you moaned into her mouth, your orgasm taking you over one final, quaking time.

Casey cradled your head in the crook of her arm as you continued to shake, finally letting you relax.

"Thank you," she whispered, peppering your face with kisses.

You scrunched your nose. "For what? Letting you beat your record?"

"Well, that, too." She chuckled, deep and throaty, then brushed your sweaty bangs out of your face. "For protecting me. From that asshole."

You turned to her and tucked her hair behind her ear, running your thumb across her eyebrow.

"I would die before I let someone hurt you." Your voice was so quiet that, had anyone else been in the room, even they wouldn't have been able to hear. But you did. And Casey did.

She looked at you for a moment, then leaned down and kissed your forehead, hard and purposeful.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

You lost yourself in her arms for a bit as she ran a hand absentmindedly through your hair.

"We should go to more baseball games," Casey mused after a while.

You laughed. "Only if there's no relish involved."

"Deal."

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #casey novak one shot #casey novak drabble #casey novak smut #law and order svu #svu #neurodivergent #autistic #casey novak x autistic reader #x autistic reader #casey novak fanfic

119 notes · View notes

justanotherfanartist · 27 days

Text

taps mic. ahem.

help a student write a dumb rvb research paper? pretty please?? for funsies???

This is exactly what it sounds like.

My current final of the year for my language composition class is a massive synthesis + argumentative research paper on any topic of our choosing, and Roosterteeth + RVB has too much messy junk going on that I’m knee-deep invested in mentally at this point to pass up the opportunity to write about it.

And yknow, I see a ton of media analysis posts coming out of the fandom all the time and I’ve always loved seeing it and reading into it and sharing ideas and whatnot and this feels like my way of doing that too.

Essentially what I’m reaching out for is for you guys to help me crowdsource resources and share your ideas with me to include in my term paper*.

things that would be wizard cool of you to send me are:

any interviews or behind the scenes with the cast and creators you happen to know of

your own analysis or hot takes of the characters or the show as a whole

what the show has meant to you

any clips of old Roosterteeth expos

for the older fans, a rough idea of what the release timeline looked like for the episodes and what the buildup and fan reaction was for each one

any commentary or hot takes on how the fandom has changed since you joined/that you know of

what Roosterteeth did wrong (writing wise and irl)

what Roosterteeth did right (writing wise and irl)

tropes within the show you noticed whether originated by the show or not

tropes within the fandom, things like similar portrayals or bad/good takes on characters or face canons that span artists

literally anything you can give me, media, commentary, or opinion wise

(not to say I can’t find things on my own, I already have, but this is also about varying opinions and the general outlook of the fandom as a whole and measuring the broader impact of a show like RvB and it would be incredibly cool of you to help me out even with just crumbs of character opinions)

The idea is to get evidence together from clips, personal anecdotes, and opinions so I can present an accurate read on the fandom, especially when it comes to fan interpretation of RVB vs Roosterteeth’s intentions for the show (and behavior as a company) and explore what the show was supposed to be, what it literally is, how people see it, what its impact has been, and a general overview of the it’s legacy and lifespan, that sort of thing.

My thesis is most likely going to end up something in the ballpark of “How Roosterteeth exemplifies the Franchisation of Indie Media” or “Why RvB is one of the most complicated/misunderstood/divisive shows in modern media” or “How Fandoms interpret and recontextualize media”

I’m going to guess that I likely won’t be able to post the finished paper up online without a solid buffer window to avoid the two mortifying scenarios that are (a) being accused of creative plagiarism and (b) having to tell my instructor that the tumblr account with a 100% match to my course final is, in fact, my tumblr account, are two things I desperately want to avoid.

However if I can, simply for the sake of contributing to the fandom and creating something for us to all contribute to and discuss and crediting various peoples’ help and input would be ideal and, if at all possible, that would be the end goal.

so yeah. if you’re up for it I’d love for you to dm me your thoughts or (more conveniently for the both of us) fill out this Google form down here!

*im not gonna, like, repost your detailed character analysis as my own or something. I’m just trying to find some good quotes, general opinions, and ideas from the fandom so that I can accurately represent them and do our little corner of the internet Justice. And also because the audience of a work is a massive factor in media analysis lmfao. and also to create a community sourced Fun Thing™️ we can all look at and bite the corners off of instead of watching Roosterteeth crash and burn in the backgroun

#rvb #red vs blue #roosterteeth #research #me and my dumb little projects #rvb paper

73 notes · View notes

sissylittlefeather · 9 months

Text

Hi friends! I wrote another fic. I'm just churning these out right now because I'm obsessed 😂

You really have to suspend reality for this one. Like, just let your imagination have at it and try not to think about how it would actually work out. Also, it's based on a scene from the movie, so it's probably more Austin!Elvis, but you could pretend it really happened with EP if you wanted to. The world is your oyster. Dream on.

This is a continuation of Baby What's Your Name?, but you don't necessarily have to read that one first. Basically, all my fics exist in the same timeline with the same Elvis & reader characters.

Warnings: F/m p in v, fingering, unprotected sex, public sex, cops?, smut, cussing, MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: this takes place after the riot at the Russwood Park show in the Elvis (2022) movie. Austin!Elvis x reader (y/n). You've come to comfort Elvis after they shove him in the cop car.

Always, Honey

You sit and watch in horror as the police officers drag Elvis from the stage. He's finally done it. He's gone too far and the people in charge stepped in. For a minute or two, you sit there in shock at what's happening with your hand covering your open mouth.

You need to get to him, but you know it won't be easy. You're not there in any official capacity. His parents don't know about you. The Colonel has suspicions that Elvis has been seeing someone, but he doesn't know who you are. No one knows that you've been with Elvis every time you could since that first night together when you threw your panties on the stage. What started with lust has turned into a relationship and you realize right now in this moment that you love him. Your worry for him makes that clear. You have to find a way to get to him.

You shake off the shock of the moment and stand up. You were sitting toward the back of the concert, so you can see the squad car at the back of the ballpark. That's where they will be headed. You take off in that direction, away from all the other fans who are running toward him. You make it to the car. As you stand there trying to decide what to do next, you see the crowd coming through the gates, and the officers dragging Elvis are at the center. He's yelling to his parents to get in the car they're being taken to, trying to keep himself clear of policemen and fans alike. You pretend to be just another fan as they shove him in the backseat and close the door. You're standing on the other side of the car when actual fans press in around you, screaming and grabbing at the car. You manage to get your face down to the window and knock on it, just praying that he'll look over in your direction. You pull on the door, but it's locked. You knock again on the window and yell as loud as you can, "E!"

He hears your voice amidst the chaos and turns, seeing you in the window. There's no one in the front seat yet, so he's able to unlock the door and open it just enough for you to slip into the backseat with him. He pulls you close to him and grabs your face with both hands.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, E, I'm fine. Are you okay?" He relaxes a little, knowing that you aren't hurt.

"Man, that was... I'm pissed, but yeah, I'm not hurt or anything." He pulls you in for a kiss. He's dripping in sweat, but you don't care. This isn't the first time he's kissed you after a show. Usually you're squeezed somewhere backstage together for a quick moment before he's whisked away to wherever he's supposed to be post-performance.

Just then, though, the front doors of the car open and the cops slide into their positions on the front seat. The one in the passenger seat turns to look back at Elvis, glaring with a hatred you've never seen before. Elvis glares back with the same intensity. It takes a minute for the cop to even realize you're back there.

"What the hell is she doing in here? Get her out! You can't have a damn fan girl in the backseat when you're getting arrested!"

"IF SHE GETS OUT, I GET OUT." Elvis yells. You can see his hands shaking with rage. "SHE IS NOT A FAN. SHE IS MY GIRL." Your head whips around and your eyes lock on him. That's the first time he's acknowledged what you might be to each other.

The cop opens his mouth to yell back, but the other officer cuts in.

"-- you can't open the door right now. There's too many people out there and we need to go. She's going to have to stay where she is." He drives off slowly, careful to not run over any of the fans who are mobbing the car.

"Well... just... don't touch her." The passenger seat cop growls at Elvis, who defiantly throws his arm around you.

"I'll do what I damn well please. What are you gonna do? Arrest me?"

The cop's face goes beet red and he turns around in his seat to face front. Elvis plants a kiss on the side of your head and apologizes quietly.

"I'm sorry about all this, honey." He's got one hand around your shoulder and the other on your thigh. You look up into his eyes.

"Your girl, huh?" You try to keep your smile from giving away the elation you feel in your heart. Yep. You absolutely are in love with him. He gives you a soft smile.

"Yeah, baby, that alright with you?"

"Yeah, if that's what you want."

"If it means you're all mine, then it's what I want, kid." Your heart flip flops in your chest.

"And are you all mine?" You shouldn't have asked that. You know he belongs to his fans. You prepare yourself for him to say no without saying no.

"Always, honey." He leans in to kiss you again, this time with his lips parted. You let your tongue explore his as you turn toward him and move your legs across his lap. The hand that was on your thigh moves back to your hip as he pulls you in to him as close as you can get without straight up straddling him. He leans you back in the seat until he's on top of you.

"E. There are COPS in the front seat." You whisper with your teeth gritted. You feel the desire starting to build up between your legs, but you know this cannot happen here.

"I know, honey, I just want to make my girl feel good. Can I do that?" Your resolve melts. Let the cops watch, for all you care in this moment.

He sits up and slides his hands up under your dress, pulling your panties down your legs and over your shoes. You feel his hand crawl back up your thigh to your center. He uses his thumb to make circles on the spot that drives you so crazy. Then, he dips his fingers into you, where you're already wet and waiting for him. He uses some of your wetness to lubricate what his thumb is doing. It gets harder and harder to stay quiet as he works, so you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes.

"Damn, baby. You look so good right now." He whispers, not stopping what his hand is doing. Your heart is beating so fast and your breathing is heavy. You know your climax is coming and you're just praying that you'll stay quiet and the cops won't turn around until after you finish. He moves his thumb faster and faster, his fingers rubbing against your inside spot. You let out a small whine as the waves of ecstasy ripple through you. You look at Elvis and he smiles as he feels the throbbing and wetness on his fingers.

Almost on cue, the cop in the passenger side turns back to the backseat as you arrive at your destination. You shoot up in your seat and Elvis clears his throat, pulling his hand from under your skirt. You can't tell if the cop is clueless, or if he's just ignoring what happened so he doesn't have to talk about it. The driver pulls around to the back of the police station to avoid any press that might be gathered at the front.

"We have to go inside and get things arranged to bring you inside quietly. Arresting a movie star is harder than you think. Young lady, come with us." You start to move toward the door, but Elvis grabs your hand.

"I told you, officer, if she gets out, I get out. She's staying with me." He says it with so much authority that even the cop relents. He closes the door and both officers walk up to the back of the building. The second they're out of view, you turn back to Elvis and undo his pants, freeing his erection.

"Honey, what..?" He looks at you puzzled until he figures out what you're doing. He whips his head from side to side looking out both windows for paparazzi or cops or anyone at all while you hike up your skirt and straddle him. As you slide down onto him, your eyes meet and you moan in unison. You know you probably only have a few minutes, so you work fast, bouncing on him vigorously.

"Oh shit, baby." Elvis groans into your ear as his pleasure is released. Between the build up, watching you orgasm, and the thrill of maybe getting caught, he didn't last long at all. You push his wet hair back off of his sweaty forehead and kiss him. He's about to apologize for coming so quickly when you notice the cops coming back out. You jump off of him and sit back in your seat while he puts himself away and wipes off as much evidence as possible.

"I hope it's kinda dark in there." He laughs and holds your hand as the cops open his door. He turns back to you and gives you one last kiss.

"I'll see you soon, baby." They take him out of the car and cuff him as the other officer helps you out of the car. When you get inside, they let you use the phone to call Margie to come get you. It's not until you're in her car that you realize you've left your panties in the cop car. You giggle. Another pair of panties lost because of Elvis Presley...

#elvis movie #elvis 2022 #austin butler elvis #austin elvis imagine #austin!elvis fanfiction #austin butler #austin!elvis fic #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis smut #austin!elvis imagine #austin!elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis smut #elvis x reader

149 notes · View notes

adore-laur · 5 months

Text

SOUTHPAW

— a heartwarming friends to lovers story set in the 90’s 🌴

——

ORLANDO, 1991

The city calls him Southpaw, a sobriquet graciously granted to the left-handed pitcher who has won every game for the Orlando Sun Rays at Tinker Field.

Harry Styles is the praised name behind it all. The tall, curly-headed boy is swiftly on his way to stardom. He's an undeniable force to be reckoned with, built with strong arms that can throw curveballs and fastballs with lightning speed. The twenty-five-year-old is the backbone of his team, the best in the Southern League, and the player who makes the others green with envy. He impressively balances the substantial titles while remaining charismatic and altruistic to everyone he encounters.

When he's not found in the ballpark wearing his usual blue and white baseball uniform, a cap sits atop his head, paired with tan skin that seems to have a new ink design each time he's spotted by an onlooker.

Then there's Sawyer Clemente. Well, she knows for sure that she isn't quite as commendable as her best friend. Standing just a smidge over five feet, she could never amount to his accomplishments or role model status. To put it plainly, she's unemployed, lives with her parents, and has an ex-boyfriend that she hates because she just found out he cheated on her last night.

She's merely Harry's closest companion, rooting for him in the bleachers even if she thinks baseball is a painfully dull sport that only inflates the male ego and makes her sweat in the merciless Florida heat.

She also has a plaguing crush on him but doesn't like to dwell on that matter too much.

It almost seems punishing not to, though, because he's naturally flirtatious. It's impossible not to think about his innocent yet butterfly-inducing touches. To tell where his feelings for her lie, whenever he hugs her tightly after a successful game or looks down at her lips while she rambles about her day, proves to be even more unfeasible.

Sawyer glumly watches the semifinal game, veering her troublesome thoughts away by appreciating Harry's legs in his form-fitting baseball pants. Nothing else seems to be working, so she borderline objectifies him while he chews his Bazooka bubblegum in concentration.

She debated not attending because of the cheating revelation unmasked to her hours earlier, but she would never forgive herself if she missed such an important game for Harry. It determines whether the Sun Rays will compete for the highly illustrious minor league title.

It's now the start of the seventh inning, and it's about the hundredth time she has caught Harry's eyes finding her in the crowd with a solicitous gaze and a frown on his lips. Her tense body language and absent-minded expression must indicate her mood. She absolutely despises how well he knows her.

Harry focuses back on the game as he gets into position on the pitching mound, ball in hand and an undaunted mystique exuding from him. With unkempt curls framing his face, a smear of dirt on his cheek that was kicked up from his teammates sprinting to the bases, and his jaw contracting with each gum smack, he finally lifts one leg and throws the ball so fast it could be missed if someone were to blink. The crack of the bat reverberates throughout the stadium, and Sawyer sees Harry glance up to find her again.

Then, every player's worst nightmare happens. Sawyer's worst nightmare happens.

A cry of agonizing pain echoes loud and clear. Sawyer is up out of her seat instantly, her hands slapping over her mouth as she watches Harry double over and hold his wrist, his baseball mitt tossed to the side. His teeth are gritted, his knees bent as he rocks back and forth on the ground. Players hurriedly signal for the medics as whispers from fans in the audience mix with panicked yelling coming from the field. All of it is in the background of Sawyer's mind since the only thing she can focus on is Harry. He's in pain, so much pain, and it brings terror-stricken tears to her eyes as he cries out again when his coach jogs over to him and tries to touch his wrist.

Everything escalated so rapidly. Sawyer doesn't know what happened, and she's petrified because she's never seen her best friend in such an excruciating condition before. The only injuries she'd seen him suffer through were a harmless twisted ankle and the sporadic cramp in his hand.

The medics cautiously escort Harry into the dugout. Sawyer doesn't hesitate to follow them. She can't just wait it out; there's a dire need in her to take care of him. She shuffles past people and quickly walks down the wide stairs toward the dugout, where his team is gathered. Some have their arms over their heads. Some are crouched with uneasy expressions.

Sawyer goes to where she's seen the medics stand by during previous games. One of them, wearing a red vest, immediately lifts their hand to stop her. "Ma'am, fans are not allowed back here," she informs, her calm tone doing nothing to mitigate Sawyer's pounding heart. "Please return to your seat."

"I can't! H-Harry," she stammers, standing on her tiptoes to try to locate him. "Harry Styles is my friend. Where's his coach? He'll recognize me. Please just let me see him."

The medic sighs and calls behind her, "Someone tell Gardenhire I'm letting a girl in! Tell him she's Southpaw's friend!"

Sawyer almost collapses with relief. "Thank you so much, miss. I owe you my life. Um, where do I go?"

"Go straight ahead and take a left." She points and guides her in the correct direction. "Don't get too close. Let everyone do their job."

As Sawyer runs to the medic tent, she can hear Harry's muffled groans and heavy breathing get louder. She puts a hand on her chest as his coach notices her and silently ushers her in.

"Get her out," Harry says from his place on the stretcher. "Sawyer, leave. Damnit, someone take her!”

His voice grows weaker as his pain worsens. Sawyer only gets closer.

"Looks like the ball hit and fractured his hamate bone in his left hand," explains a medic over the commotion. "It's swelling pretty fast, so surgery will be required as soon as possible. He won't be able to play for a while."

Harry's eyes are pinched shut as they poke and prod his skin. Sawyer's heart sinks when she notices the pain etched on his face, a face that's usually so radiant and lit up with a smile. Her feet are frozen as she watches people surround him with bandages and ice packs. His body is stiff, and he's breathing shakily through his nose. When his eyes open, he reaches out his uninjured hand. Sawyer knows he would never want her to leave when he's hurting. He would never leave her side if the roles were reversed right now.

"Come here," he says scratchily. "It's okay. I'm fine."

"Harry, no, you're not!" she exclaims, running her hands through her hair as her bottom lip wobbles. "God, why did you keep looking at me? Why weren't you paying attention out there?"

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispers, gripping her hand and tugging her toward him. "Less of that, please. You looked like something was bothering you. Tell me."

Sawyer stomps her foot and groans in frustration. He's too selfless! He's on the verge of tears but concerned about her instead.

"Don't worry about me right now. I'll tell you later, okay? You need to go to the hospital."

Harry squeezes her small hand with his large one. "Is it about your boyfriend?"

She sighs sharply. Again, she despises how well he knows her. A reply doesn't come, though, because an ambulance suddenly pulls up, the back doors opening as the sirens shriek. The medics help Harry sit up, and Sawyer doesn't let go of his hand the entire way to the vehicle.

"Go home," he says once he's sat on the edge. "Just go home and run a bath or something. I want you away from here."

Her wide, brown eyes dart back and forth between his. "At least let me ride to the hospital with you."

"Sawyer, no. Listen to me." He cradles her tear-streaked cheek and roughly kisses the opposite one. "Listen, please. I'll feel better knowing you're safe at home."

She would do anything to relieve his worry, so she nods her head with a sad sniffle. "Okay."

"Don't cry over me." He winces with an uncomfortable groan when the ice pack slides off his wrist. Sawyer picks it up and gently returns it to his bruised, swollen skin. "I'm alive. It's not like I'm dying."

"That's not funny," she scolds, crossing her arms. "But I'll go home now. You're in pain, so I'm not going to keep you any longer. They'll take you to the hospital, fix you, and everything will be fine." She's convincing Harry, but more so herself.

"Correct," he says with a smirk.

"Correct," she repeats while standing. "Keep me updated."

"I will, Sawyer. Drive safe." He swings his feet like a child and scrunches his nose. "Tell your parents I say hi... with a broken wrist."

She smiles fondly and reluctantly leaves with a ruffle to his sweaty hair, glancing back on her way out to witness the ambulance doors shut with a bang. On her way home, she calls her mother and asks if she could start running a bath for her. She plans on sinking down in the warm water and praying to whatever higher power that Harry will be okay.

Praying his sunrays won't dim.

——

Tinker Field is empty when Sawyer arrives in the early afternoon. Harry is there throwing a baseball up and down with his right hand, just like she assumed. A new accessory adorns his left one, a bandage wrapped around his wrist from the surgery he underwent. He looks incredibly gorgeous in his purple corduroy pants and fitted white T-shirt. The bandana tied around his neck is a nice touch, along with his lucky yellow sunglasses that glimmer under the open sky. And to no one's surprise, his recycled denim cap is peeking out from his pocket.

"Hey, sunray," Sawyer says with a hand shielding above her eyes. It's what she's called him ever since they became friends. Not only does he play for the Sun Rays, but she thinks he's a ray of sunshine himself.

Harry saunters to her, chewing gum and skillfully spinning the ball with his hand. "How did you know I'd be here, shortstop?"

"Where else would you be? Also, I give you a cute nickname, and all you give me is one that pokes fun at my height? That's not fair."

"Don't care. Hug me, please." He pouts dramatically. "I have a boo-boo."

"You have a broken wrist, Harry, I'd hardly call that a boo-boo." Sawyer snatches the stitched ball from his grasp. "No more. You're supposed to be resting."

"You sound like my mother." He tries to grab it, but she holds it behind her back. "I'm not even moving my hand that much."

"How was the surgery?"

He shrugs and circles around her to try to sneakily pluck the ball. "Dunno. They knocked me out real good. The nurses told me everything went well and sent me home the next day."

Sawyer skips over to home plate and sits. Harry plops down beside her. "I'm sorry I couldn't visit. You know my parents don't like the hospital being in a dodgy part of the city."

He nudges her. "It's all right. I still got the flowers you sent. Since you're here now, I expect you to tell me what was going on during the game."

Sighing, Sawyer forms circular shapes in the dirt using the baseball. "You were right; it was about my boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. My friend saw him making out with another girl at a bar last night. You know what's crazy? I asked him if he wanted to come to the game with me, but he said he had to work early. I guess he lied to avoid seeing me."

Harry lets out a disappointed hum, then cracks his neck. "Mind if I leave right now and practice my screwball pitch on him?"

"Please don't do that," she says with a wary laugh. She knows he's getting pissed. "Trust me, he's not worth it."

"Yeah, but you are," he replies while fixing the folded cuff of her sleeve. "I'd do it in a heartbeat if my wrist wasn't fucked up."

Sawyer smiles at his generosity. "Not necessary. He was a jerk, and we were only together for two months. Let's talk about something else."

Harry tilts his head toward the sky, and Sawyer admires him for a bit. She notices his baby hair, which is sun-bleached from hours spent outside, the stubble that grows along his jaw and above his lips, the mole adjacent to his mouth that he's insecure about, and his sloped nose splattered with faint freckles that she wishes she could kiss.

Her sublime sunray.

Harry clears his throat and leans into her. Sawyer loves it when he leans into her. "I think I'm going to go tomorrow."

"To South Carolina?"

"Yeah. Even if I can't play, I still want to support the team. The flight leaves tomorrow morning."

"Oh," she says quietly, picking at some overgrown weeds. "That's... really soon."

He nods and scooches closer. "You could come with and keep me company. We can watch The Golden Girls together. You can cut up my massive pain pills and put them in food for me because I'm a big baby. You know, friend shit."

"Harry, I can't," Sawyer says hesitantly.

He tuts. "Why not?"

"Um, I actually have a job interview scheduled for tomorrow. About time, right?" She laughs, but it quickly dies when he stares at her with a serious expression. "Don't look at me like that."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She squints as the sun peeks over the nosebleed seats. "I just did."

"No, before that," he says, taking off his sunglasses and setting them on the bridge of her nose. "When did you get the call?"

"It was right before you got hurt." She crosses her ankles and shakes her head. "I guess I forgot to tell you since I was so worried about your surgery."

Harry hums understandingly. "Well, what's the job?"

"Office clerk. It's lame, I know. I'll probably be printing and typing stuff all day."

"That's not lame. It's a job; we all need one."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but you travel the country and play professional baseball. It's nowhere near the same level of cool."

"And look where that got me," he mutters. "I can't even play for three months."

Sawyer doesn't say anything as Harry picks up her leg and sets it over his. He unties the bandana around his neck and uses it to clean the dirt off her white sneakers. His bottom lip is cutely jutted out as he carefully scrubs with his right hand while the other lays limp beside her.

After a few beats of silence, he asks, "Will you have time to say goodbye to me at the airport?"

"Of course." She knocks her foot against his shin. "My interview isn't until the afternoon."

"Kay," he says with a shy, dimpled smile. He ties the bandana around her thigh and pats it. "By the way, you still haven't hugged me."

Sawyer grins and bends down in her sitting position to wrap her arms around his torso, her face squishing against his soft stomach. He gives her a noogie before setting his arms around her shoulders. For the next hour, they watch robins and sparrows swoop throughout the ballpark, the sun beating down on the field as they talk about anything and everything.

They melt deeper into each other until it's time to leave.

——

Suitcases roll on terrazzo flooring, and voices boom through public announcement systems as Sawyer walks behind Harry at Orlando International Airport.

She can't stop staring at his back. His white T-shirt is way too tight on his buff body, but she can't complain. His yellow sunglasses are on his face again, partly to hide his tired eyes and partly because those same eyes are puffy from crying. His coach told Sawyer that the healing stage after surgery is the most painful part. On the way to the airport, Harry had slumped next to her on the charter bus, and she could tell how exhausted he was from how he immediately fell asleep on her shoulder before they even started moving.

Now, they walk toward the correct terminal to wait for the team's flight to be called. Harry holds his suitcase and duffel bag stuffed with all the uniforms in his right hand while the other is still bandaged and basically useless. Sawyer occasionally sees him flex it uncomfortably, the veins and muscles protruding against the exposed skin rather attractively.

She catches up to his long strides and gently grabs his forearm. "You need to let it rest. Stop moving it."

He swallows harshly before shoving it into his pocket. "It hurts," he says, his voice laced with an undertone of strain.

"I know," she whispers sadly, squeezing his bicep. "Your pain meds should be kicking in soon."

They eventually arrive at the terminal, where people are bustling around to get to their designated boarding gates. The blinding sunrise pours through the large airport windows. As the team gets in line, Sawyer stays behind and watches Harry drop his luggage before standing in front of her.

"Bye, sunray." She frowns sympathetically at his dog-tired expression. "Have a safe trip. I hope you guys win."

Harry gives her a weak smile. "Thanks, shortstop. Good luck with your interview. Make me proud, okay?"

"Can I hug you?" she asks. Harry immediately opens his arms and winces when his wrist moves. She still hesitates. "Are you in too much pain right now? I don't want to hurt you."

"You'll hurt me mentally if you don't give me a hug," he replies while jerking his head, this time with a genuine smile on his face. "Get over here."

Shuffling toward him, she closes the distance. He hugs her with one strong arm around her neck, pulling her in and swaying her as the woman over the speaker announces that his team's flight is boarding.

Harry nuzzles his nose against her head and hovers his mouth next to her ear. "I'll call you as often as possible. Please don't worry yourself sick, okay? I'm in good hands."

Sawyer nods against his firm chest, matching her breathing with his. She'll always worry, but she won't tell him that. "I love you," she mumbles when the final boarding announcement chimes.

It's not uncommon for her and Harry to exchange those words, but this time, she wants them to mean something different. She wants to love him, not just as a friend. She wants to kiss his pretty lips. She wants to romantically hold his hand. She wants to feel his warm body pressed against hers at night. He could offer all those things, and she can't wrap her head around what's stopping them.

Even if a nagging fear deep inside her is confident it would ruin everything, why can't he just give her a sign?

——

The ringtone of Harry's Nokia phone blares at max volume, rudely cutting his nap short. He covers his ears with a pillow, grumbling about how he just got off a six-hour flight before slowly sitting up to answer the call.

Rubbing at his bleary eyes, he checks the number on the screen — it's Sawyer. His annoyance immediately dissipates, and he rolls over to hide his giddy smile in the mattress before hopping out of bed to open the hotel room's sliding door that leads to the balcony.

Pressing the button with the little green phone on it, Harry holds the device to his ear. "'Ello?" he answers, his voice cracking from sleep.

"Hi," she breathes out on the other line.

He toes the ground and scratches his stomach under his pink sleep shirt. "Hey. How are you?"

"Doesn't matter. How are you? Are you in Charleston yet?"

Based on her tone, he notices she sounds a bit jittery. "I'm good," he says with a slight hint of confusion. He can hear her fidgeting, and it's making him curious. "Um... I'm on the balcony."

"Oh, that's nice," she replies. "Really nice. Balconies are great."

Harry smirks and starts pacing, staring at the ivy climbing the exterior walls. He loves it when he makes her nervous. "Mm-hmm. Yeah, for sure."

"So, how's it going? Is your wrist—"

"Hey," he interrupts softly. "What's up? I can practically hear you biting your nails."

Sawyer huffs. "I have to tell you something. It's not bad, I promise. Just didn't want to make everything about me."

"Don't go there with me, Sawyer." He yawns, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear while he rewraps his wrist bandage. "Lay it on me."

"Well," she says timidly, "I had that job interview about an hour ago."

He nods to himself. "I remember."

"And... they hired me on the spot. I can't believe it. I got the job!”

Harry stops in his tracks. "No fuckin' way," he says with a growing smile. "Really? Actually, no shit, you got it. I knew you would."

Sawyer releases sweet laughter, and he closes his eyes to picture how she looks. Is she all cozy in bed? Is she pacing around her room while twirling the phone cord around her finger? Is she watching The Golden Girls and wishing he could be beside her? God, he misses her already.

"They said I start next week. It's only a five-minute walk from my house, so I don't have to worry about driving. It's—"

"Excuse me?" he butts in teasingly. "You'd rather walk instead of letting me pick you up?"

Another giggle from her, making his heart soar. "You shouldn't drive with a broken wrist, silly."

"I drive with one hand anyway." Harry sits in the balcony's single plastic chair and crosses his legs. "Speaking of picking up, did you want to meet me at the airport when my flight lands?"

"What time?"

He sputters his lips as he foggily tries to recall. "Tomorrow, a little after four in the morning. Don't have to, though. I know it's early."

"I'll be there."

No hesitance. All confidence. Harry swears if she was next to him, he would kiss her lips until they ached.

"You're the best, Sawyer."

She hums delicately, almost sensually. "I'll see you then. I miss you, sunray."

At the sound of his nickname coming from her, Harry's cock twitches under his denim shorts. "Yeah? I miss you more."

Her smile is evident when she replies, "I'll bring your favorite blanket from my house in case you want to sleep while I drive."

"Fuck, I can't wait for that." He doesn't tell her it's his favorite blanket because it smells like her, an irresistible blend of coconut and pure sunshine.

"Me neither." The sound of her car starting is muffled in the background. "I have to run to the grocery store, so I'll let you go. Good luck with the game tonight."

"Thank you. Hey, can you buy some toaster strudels for me while you're there? The apple kind, please."

"I got a job, and now you want me to buy you food? Absolutely ridiculous."

"I'm injured. That's my excuse."

"Bye, Harry." He can totally tell she's rolling her eyes. "Get some rest, okay?"

"I will," he promises while toying with his bottom lip. “Bye. I miss you so much that it hurts."

She snorts before his phone beeps twice, indicating she hung up. Harry uncrosses his legs, a brutal mistake that has him hissing and palming his bulge. There's a tender ache that isn't painful, but it's still present and will definitely be an issue he needs to take care of before seeing anyone.

The things she does to him without even trying. He got so horny over a friendly conversation that it's almost shameful the way he's about to jerk one out in a Holiday Inn bathroom.

Sawyer. She's all he can think about when he steps under the hot water, biting down on his thumb and bucking his hips as he unravels from just the thought of her sweet voice and smile. The image of her doesn't leave his brain until he falls asleep again, but even then, she manages to seep into his dreams like it's some unconscious sign sent to him.

——

There's no one else Sawyer would do this for. It's four in the morning, and she's in the airport parking lot waiting for Harry's plane to touch down. It's raining; downpouring, to be precise. The droplets hitting her car lull her to sleep, her head leaning against the headrest as the squeaky windshield wipers do their best to clear the continuously pelted glass.

September in Orlando brings torrential precipitation most days. It's peak hurricane season, so the palm trees seem to constantly be swaying in the wind. Florida has been Sawyer's home since birth, but she wishes she had been raised elsewhere. Someplace where it isn't so humid, the citizens aren't so entitled, and the traffic isn't so unbearable. The only thing keeping her in the city is her best friend. He makes it worthwhile.

The passenger door suddenly opens, and Sawyer jolts awake. She slowly opens her eyes and stretches uncomfortably.

"Can I ask why your door was already unlocked?" Harry asks hoarsely, his morning voice causing a shiver to run down her spine.

"There's no one here," she grumbles as her seatbelt clicks in time with a distant thunder rumble.

He throws his luggage in the backseat and says, "It doesn't matter. There could be creeps lurking around."

Sawyer hums monotonously and turns on the interior light to look at him. He's wearing a grey hoodie, the right sleeve covering part of his wrist bandage. Black sweatpants are loose on his legs. Strands of wet curls stick to his face and fall across his forehead, officially labeling him as the epitome of handsomeness. Somehow, he's gotten more tan in the single day that he was gone. The sun in South Carolina must have kissed his skin with kindness, leaving more freckles across his perfect nose and cheekbones.

"Where to for an early morning snack?" Harry asks, adjusting the air vents.

"7/11 is open. Slurpees?"

He nods eagerly, so Sawyer reverses out of the parking spot and heads in the direction of the convenience store. She turns on a rock radio station. They quietly sing "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You" by Heart the whole way there, the thunder and lightning outside providing the background ambiance for their duet.

Once they arrive, the orange and green neon sign reflecting off the puddles on the slick sidewalk, Sawyer parks and grabs her fleece blanket from the backseat so she can gently lay it over Harry.

"Blue raspberry?" she asks him, even though she already knows the answer.

"Please and thank you," he murmurs, putting his lanky legs on the seat. He tucks her blanket under his nose and inhales deeply.

She steps out and walks through the glass doors. No one else is inside except the lone cashier, who looks like he's about to tip over from exhaustion. She pays and gets the cups, then walks over to the machine to fill them up—a blue raspberry for Harry and a Mountain Dew for herself so she can stay awake during the drive home.

When she returns outside, the slanted rain falls even harder, and she can see Harry with his head pressed against the window like he's in some depressing music video. She hopes he isn't too sad about the unfortunate outcome of yesterday. News quickly spread that the Sun Rays lost the title championship game. Deep down, everyone knew a win would be asking for a miracle without Southpaw pitching on the field.

Sawyer sits in the driver's seat and hands him his drink. "I'm sorry about the loss."

Harry sighs and takes the cup from her. "I think we all knew what the result would be. We were in our own heads, which unfortunately translated to how everyone played."

She gives him a warm smile before taking a sip of her drink. "That sucks. I'm sorry."

"There's always next year."

After a minute of tranquility, Sawyer finally turns off the radio and musters up the courage to ask the question lingering in the back of her mind since yesterday.

"At the airport, why didn't you say I love you back? Or did you not hear me?"

Silence. Harry seems to be internally debating a response while he stares straight ahead and sucks on the straw in his slushy, his cheeks hollowed as he takes gulp after gulp. Sawyer is genuinely worried he'll get a brain freeze.

Eventually, he puts his drink in the cup holder and clears his throat before tilting his head back on the headrest. "Fuck it," he exhales in a single breath. "I knew if I said it then, it would've changed everything for me. I wouldn't have meant it the way you did."

There's the sign. She asked for it when she hugged him goodbye at the airport. The one that's been hidden deep down in both of them for so long, trying to crawl up to the surface but always shying away to avoid potential rejection. Always creating a barrier between the fine line of their friendship and something more. Constantly on the edge of a confession but never taking the leap.

"How do you know the way I meant it?"

"Friendly, I guess," Harry mumbles, plucking imaginary lint from his sweatpants. "Because we're friends. I don't know."

"You don't know. You have no idea."

He looks at her, narrowing his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You're wrong," she says vaguely. "I didn't mean it like that."

He shakes his head, not understanding what she's getting at. "Stop speaking in riddles. What do you mean?"

Cracking her fingers anxiously, she murmurs, "What do you think it means?"

"Cut me some slack, shortstop. I don't know, all right? I like to think I know what goes on in your head, but I'm clueless right now."

"Then answer this question." She shifts in her seat to face him. "In what way would you have meant it if you had said I love you?"

He sighs and rubs his temples. "Sawyer, don't."

"Tell me," she demands.

"No. Let's just go home."

"You might as well just say it."

"Say what?" He runs a hand through his damp hair. "Just drive."

She takes her key out of the ignition. "I'm not moving this car until you tell me."

"You're so stubborn, do you know that?"

"I'm not just going to drop it, Harry."

"I would really appreciate it if you would."

"Then we'll be here for a while because—"

"I'm in love with you, okay?!" Harry leans over the console and grabs her cheeks, glancing down at her lips for a fraction of a second. "Okay?" he says more softly. "Does that answer your question?"

The sign is beautifully clear.

"Yes," Sawyer chokes out. "Yes, it does."

He slowly settles back in his seat and crosses his arms. "Wonderful. Now start driving."

Lightning strikes. Rain batters. Hearts pound. She doesn't listen to him as she opens the car door and steps out, letting the downpour mat her hair and saturate her clothes.

Harry hastily gets out and walks around the car toward her. "What in the world are you doing?" he asks, completely dumbfounded.

Every fear about whether or not it will ruin everything disappears like grey skies after a storm. The sign has been spoken, and it now hangs in the cloudburst as it seeps into Sawyer's veins like the raindrops on her skin.

"I'm in love with you too," she says over the sound of the rainfall. Harry leans back against the car like he physically took a blow from her admission. "I mean it," she continues more firmly. "That's how I meant it at the airport."

After a laugh of disbelief, he prompts, "And you made me admit it first because...?"

"Because you make me nervous!" she says, spreading her arms. "You make me so nervous, Harry, but in a good way. In a way that makes me wonder if all those times you'd be flirty or handsy with me were on purpose."

He steps closer, flexing his hands. "Of course they were, but I never wanted to just blatantly throw a confession of love on you. You had a boyfriend, and I would never screw that up for you. Even if he was a total birdbrain and didn't deserve you."

Sawyer smirks. "Yet you flirted with me anyway?"

"Well, I-I..." he stutters, scratching his head. "To be fair, I was flirting with you way before you were taken. The first time we met, to be specific."

She laughs loudly. "We're so stupid! Why were we so blind?"

He wrinkles his nose and squints up at the sky. "I don't think we were blind. I think we were scared."

"I'm not scared anymore."

He uses his uninjured hand to tuck strands of her hair behind her ear, then moves it to caress the side of her head. "Then kiss me."

Her chest visibly deflates. "But your wrist…"

"I really don't give a fuck about my wrist right now."

"Okay, but I do," she argues, pointing at his gauze that's now soaked through. "You just had surgery—"

Harry's blue-stained mouth shuts her up. His teeth clash with hers, but his soft, wet lips quickly take control and remedy the slight pain. Placing both hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs tilt her jaw upward to coax deep and perfectly messy kisses out of her pliant mouth. Sawyer settles her hands on his narrow hips and leans into him, doing her best to return his constant kisses. His hoodie is drenched, and his hair tickles her face as his nose nudges against hers, slick from the rain. They're both breathing heavily, and she hums into his mouth when he tilts his head to kiss her from a different angle. Faint groans and whimpers come from the back of his throat when she returns his affection.

They make out until the rain causes their teeth to chatter, forcing their aching lips apart. Sawyer pulls away first, feeling a bit dizzy. "Damn, Southpaw. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet."

"Please don't call me that," Harry says breathlessly, kiss after kiss being placed on her forehead. “I only want to be your sunray. Forever."

"I can't call you my boyfriend?"

He turns to the side and awkwardly coughs into the crook of his elbow. "Is this… am I your boyfriend? Wait. Don't… aren't you supposed to ask or something?"

"Sunray," she says, cradling his cheeks like she's wanted to do for so long, "will you be my boyfriend?"

He gives her a noogie. "Duh. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Sawyer nods elatedly, and Harry pumps his fist in the air before bringing her in for a suffocatingly affectionate hug. The two lovers stay in that position until the rain lets up and the sunrise lightens the sky. They sway like the palm trees do on the boulevard, kissing until their lips are numb. They hold each other until their clothes stick to their skin. They fall deeper in love since life's too short to not act on buried feelings.

The storm has passed.

The sky has opened.

The sign is crystal clear.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles #friends to lovers #southpaw #adore-laur

75 notes · View notes

robertreich · 1 year

Video

youtube

The Dark Side of Sports Stadiums

Billionaires have found one more way to funnel our tax dollars into their bank accounts: sports stadiums. And if we don’t play ball, they’ll take our favorite teams away.

Ever notice how there never seems to be enough money to build public infrastructure like mass transit lines and better schools? And yet, when a multi-billion-dollar sports team demands a new stadium, our local governments are happy to oblige.

A good example of this billionaire boondoggle is the host of the 2023 Super Bowl: State Farm Stadium.

That's where the Arizona Cardinals have played since 2006. It was finally built after billionaire team owner Michael Bidwill and his family spent years hinting that they would move the Cards out of Arizona if the team didn't get a new stadium. Their blitz eventually worked, with Arizona taxpayers and the city of Glendale paying over two thirds of the $455 million construction tab.

And State Farm Stadium is not unique. It’s part of a well established playbook.

Here’s how stadiums stick the public with the bill.

Step 1: Billionaire buys a sports team.

Just about every NFL franchise owner has a net worth of over a billion dollars — except for the Green Bay Packers, who are publicly owned by half a million cheeseheads.

The same goes for many franchise owners in other sports. Their fortunes don’t just help them buy teams, but also give them clout — which they cash-in when they want to get a great deal on new digs for their team.

Step 2: Billionaire pressures local government.

Since 1990, franchises in major North American sports leagues have intercepted upwards of $30 billion worth of taxpayer funds from state and local governments to build stadiums.

And the funding itself is just the beginning of these sweetheart deals.

Sports teams often get big property tax breaks and reimbursements on operating expenses, like utilities and security on game days. Most deals also let the owners keep the revenue from naming rights, luxury box seats, and concessions — like the Atlanta Braves’ $150 hamburger.

Even worse, these deals often put taxpayers on the hook for stadium maintenance and repairs.

We taxpayers are essentially paying for the homes of our favorite sports teams, but we don’t really own those homes, we don’t get to rent them out, and we still have to buy expensive tickets to visit them.

Whenever these billionaire owners try to sell us on a shiny new stadium, they claim it will spur economic growth from which we’ll all benefit. But numerous studies have shown that this is false.

As a University of Chicago economist aptly put it, "If you want to inject money into the local economy, it would be better to drop it from a helicopter than invest it in a new ballpark."

But what makes sports teams special is they are one of the few realms of collective identity we have left.

Billionaires prey on the love that millions of fans have for their favorite teams.

This brings us to the final step in the playbook: Threaten to move the team.

Obscenely rich owners threaten to — or actually do — rip teams out of their communities if they don’t get the subsidies they demand.

Just look at the Seattle Supersonics. Starbucks’ founder Howard Schultz owned the NBA franchise but failed to secure public funding to build a new stadium. So the coffee magnate sold the team to another wealthy businessman who moved it to Oklahoma.

The most egregious part of how the system currently works is that every dollar we spend building stadiums is a dollar we aren’t using for hospitals or housing or schools.

We are underfunding public necessities in order to funnel money to billionaires for something they could feasibly afford.

So, instead of spending billions on extravagant stadiums, we should be investing taxpayer money in things that improve the lives of everyone — not just the bottom lines of profitable sports teams and their owners.

Because when it comes to stadium deals, the only winners are billionaires.

#youtube #video #videos #super bowl #philadelphia eagles #Kansas City chiefs #sports #NFL #politics #scam

235 notes · View notes

blondeboyfriend · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is an old fic for a collab where my prompt was fucking in an alley. [ SYNOPSIS ] You’re the world’s cutest cleat chaser and your only wish is to grab the attention of your favorite ball player, Zeke Yeager. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.6k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, dubcon (power imbalance), exhibitionism, public sex, rough sex, finger sucking, degradation (whore, tart), vaginal fingering, impact play, oral sex, spit, creampie, Zeke's a bit of an asshole but it's fine alright like it's tolerable.

Night games were never particularly kind to you. A wind chill swept through the city and the fog rolled over the hills. You shivered outside the ballpark in your gameday outfit which consisted of dolphin shorts, thigh high socks, and your favorite team's jersey with Yeager emblazoned on the back.

A drunk man pondered, "Could our offense be any fuckin' worse, dude?"

It was another loss for your team. You listened to drunken fans lamenting another losing season. Another year dead last in the standings. Another year all the new players from the farm would disperse to better teams, greener pastures. Lucky for you your favorite was loyal; Zeke was committed. He like many players worked his way up through the farm system, toiling away in the minor leagues. But unlike others he was content to continue playing for a lackluster team.

When asked why he stuck around he answered, "Who knows? I'll probably leave once the lease to my place is up."

It later came out he in fact owned his penthouse apartment.

"At least our bullpen has their shit together," another drunk said, smacking the other on the back of the head. His hoppy breath visible in the cold air. You slowly stepped away from him and his stench.

"What's the point of a good bullpen if they can't get run support, dumb ass?"

You sighed heavily and kept your eye on the exit gate. It was a slow parade of luxury cars: a Lexus here, a Bentley there. But you failed to see the black Rolls-Royce Wraith that Zeke drove.

Going home was always an option; curling up like a kitten in your warm bed definitely had its appeal. But so did Zeke. I mean, you spent a greater portion of the game gazing at him longingly. And he even gave you a little wave after making brief eye contact with you.

Shelling out money for a seat by the dugout had paid off.

You were blessed with a perfect view. When Zeke took to the mound in the 9th inning to close out the game you salivated at the sight of his ass in his tight baseball pants. It was criminal how they hugged every muscle in his long legs. His entire uniform was perfectly fitted; none of that baggy nonsense for him. It made him standout in a team of leathered veteran players, desperately holding onto their careers, seemingly unaware they were washed up. They looked positively slovenly next to Zeke. You wondered if he wore the same intense, determined expression while fucking. The mere thought made your pussy throb.

A gust of wind brought you back to reality. You looked around and saw people starting to disperse. The two drunks wandered across the street, still shouting about the lack of run support. Disappointment washed over you. You desperately wanted to see Zeke, even if just a glance.

"Shit," you muttered. "Oh well."

You stood around, looking dejected as ever. You felt like an idiot shivering in the cold. You pulled out your phone and checked the bus schedule.

"Of course."

You had missed it. All because you wanted to make eyes at a star player.

"Oh god, were you really waiting around for me?"

You quickly spun around and saw Zeke. He was still in his baseball pants but now they were paired with a fitted black v-neck. He smirked at your doe-eyed expression, clearly relishing in your admiration.

"Uh—No, I."

Words escaped you. You couldn't tell if you were shivering because of the cold or the beautiful man that stood in front you. He was even better up close. His beauty was significantly more pronounced. You were transfixed by steely gaze, utterly enamored with his grey eyes.

Zeke looked you up and down.

"I like your jersey."

All you did was nod. He snorted at your inability to speak.

"Are capable of talking? Or should we pantomime?"

"I... I don't know what that means."

He rolled his eyes.

"I honestly shouldn't expect a baseball fan to know any words more than two syllables," he playfully asserted.

Speech eluded you. You certainly knew a significant amount of words with varying numbers of syllables, but that was neither here nor there. He stepped closer to you. His eyes lingering on your bare thighs.

"You must be freezing dressed like a little tart."

"A tart?"

"Let me redo that one." He cleared his throat. "You must be freezing dressed like a dirty whore. Could those shorts be any shorter?"

"I—I guess."

He stared you down. It never occurred to you he didn't expect or even want an answer.

"You're not very bright, are you?"

"I'm nervous. Not stupid," you said quietly.

He frowned and pulled you into a hug. His hands trailed down to the small of your back and then slowly put them underneath your jersey. The feeling of his rough hands on your bare skin was almost too pleasurable comprehend. It was a miracle you didn't faint or melt into a puddle.

"Aw, no need to be nervous. I promise I'm a nice guy 50% of the time."

"Not all the time?" You asked nervously.

"No, no, no. That would be too boring. Life's about excitement."

He lifted your chin.

"Don't you agree?" He asked.

"I mean, within reason."

He traced his thumb along your lips.

"What do you consider within reason, pet?"

Before you had a chance to answer he weaseled his thumb into your mouth. You eagerly sucked on it; your tongue gliding up and down. It was second nature. Almost like his fingers simply existed so they could be in your mouth.

"So this is within reason, huh? Is this?"

Zeke pulled his thumb out of your mouth and attempted to kiss you. There was a brief moment of panic when his lips touched yours. You hesitated.

"Open your mouth," he demanded. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

You parted your lips and accepted his tongue in your mouth. Who were you to deny your favorite player? You'd dreamt of this moment for so long. So many nights spent touching yourself, pretending his callused hands were the ones delving inside you. So many nights quietly moaning his name as you writhed on your bed in the midst of an orgasm.

His breath tasted like peppermint and tobacco, a combination that would normally make you gag. But this was uncharted territory; there was no reason to let something so trivial ruin the moment. If anything it was intoxicating. You moaned through the kiss and wrapped your arms around him. He held you closer to him, his grip tighter. You fidgeted a bit, attempting to ignore how wet you were getting, but lust overcame you. You reached down and felt for his hard cock.

"Whoa there. Let's go somewhere a bit more secluded."

He took his thumb and wiped away the drool near your mouth.

"And where would that be?"

"That alley over there."

Zeke gestured towards an alleyway not too far from the exit gate.

"Is—is that gonna be any better?"

You looked around. Sure, the street was deserted at this point but it was still woefully public. You failed to see how an alleyway would be a better option.

"Come on. Don't worry about it."

Zeke gently took your hand and led you to the alley. It was dark and dingy. The only light came from rogue cars speeding down the street. In any other circumstance this would have been horrifying. But it was him. The man you longed for. Nothing seemed horrifying with him around. He lit up a cigarette and offered you one.

"I don't smoke," you said, coughing.

He shrugged and took a drag. "Your loss. You might as well just get on your hands and knees then."

You looked out towards the street again, weighing your options.

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No," you answered, lowering yourself to the ground. "I have ears."

The pavement was cold and unforgiving. Your socks did little to protect your tender skin from the concrete. However there was something invigorating about your discomfort.

"Pull your shorts down."

You did as you were told, slowly pulling down your shorts revealing your bare ass to Zeke.

"Nice," he said, getting on his knees behind you.

He gave you a firm spank. His hand was freezing. You shivered as he took his fingers and prodded your folds. He slowly slid his middle and index fingers inside you.

"This might sound weird but you have the cutest asshole," he said candidly as he continued to finger fuck you.

"Oh, th—thanks," you choked out.

"What would you do if I started fucking it, huh?"

"Probably cry, honestly."

"Is that supposed to discourage me?"

You winced as Zeke slipped yet another finger inside you.

"I w—would hope s—so."

"Hmm. I would hope my biggest fan would know I'm absolute filth," he chided.

"I'm usually too busy calculating, oh fuck... Calculating your ERA to think about that."

A blatant lie. It was true you did spend quite a bit of time figuring out earned run averages. But you constantly thought about the things you'd let Zeke do to you. Your go-to fantasy being one where he fucks you in the locker room while the rest of the team cheers him on as he fills you with his cum over and over again.

He chuckled. "You know your shit then, huh?"

"I'm a baseball fan fir—first and a whore second."

Zeke grabbed a chunk of your hair and pulled on it so you were forced to look at him. His glasses were slightly fogged up which made you laugh.

"You're pretty audacious. I like that. It's a pleasant surprise."

You flashed him a smile, proud that you impressed him. Your night couldn't have gotten any better.

Zeke leaned over you and whispered in your ear, "Are you ready for me, pet?"

The sound of him pulling down his pants zipper had you frothing at the mouth. You arched your back, presenting your warm, slick cunt to him. Zeke took his thick cock and guided it inside you. It was larger than you were expecting, you couldn't help but yelp as he started to thrust.

"Aw, is it too big for you? Do I need to be gentler?"

You nodded.

"Too bad."

He slammed his full length into you; your clit throbbed as he thrusted.

"Ah, please. I—it's too much."

"You're a big girl, aren't you? You did come here all by yourself."

Zeke was right. You had shown up to the game alone; none of your friends could give a shit about baseball, or sports in general. But you weren't sure how this related to you taking his cock. He gave you a firm smack on the ass.

"I asked you a question."

"I am," you whined.

"That's what I thought. You can take it."

Your knees were chafing against the concrete; you felt your socks tear from the friction. Zeke grabbed onto your hips and drove his cock deeper and deeper inside you. He dug his thumbs into your hips.

"You would've fucked whoever came up to you, huh?"

"No," you answered in between moans.

"Really?"

His tone indicated he didn't believe you. Frustration plagued you. You desperately wanted to explain yourself, to tell him, "No, you fucking idiot, I only wanna get railed by you." But that was wishful thinking, a pipe dream.

"I find it that hard to believe," he continued.

"I—I, shit." Words continued to fail you. You felt like you would never be able to communicate with another human again after he was through with you.

"Come on; you can do it. Use your big girl words, pet."

His hand came down hard on your ass as if he was trying to knock some sense into you.

"You—you're the only one," you choked out, reeling from the ache his callused hand left behind.

"Really?"

This time he seemed genuinely surprised. Your head was spinning, but you trudged on.

"Everyone else is kinda leathery and old. That's not my type."

He yanked on your hair, forcing you to crane your head back. You got a good look at his face; he was fucking smiling.

"Watch it, pet. Those are my teammates."

You let out a little laugh and he loosened his grip on your hair. He grabbed you gently under your chin and planted a small kiss on your lips. Your cunt had finally adjusted to his thick cock and you grinded up against him, sending it deeper inside you. Zeke moaned as his cock hit your cervix.

"Shit, you feel so good."

Your cunt tightened around his cock, almost holding it hostage inside you.

"Oh fuck, yes. Just like that," he moaned as he bottomed out, his balls slapping against your taint.

You clit ached as he praised you. His thrusts grew wild and his pace quickened. He gripped your hips harder, driving his cock deeper inside you. Your body was slack, totally limp. Drool pooled in your mouth and gradually dripped from the corners of your mouth. Zeke let out a groan and filled you with his cum. You welcomed its warmth inside you.

"Shit," you muttered.

Zeke pulled out and you collapsed on the pavement.

"I'm not done with you."

He flipped you over so that your back was against the cool ground. He slid his fingers inside you, and pulled them out slick with his cum.

"Open your mouth."

You did as you were told and licked the cum off of his fingers.

"Atta girl."

Zeke spread your legs and started to suck his cum out of your cunt. You ran your fingers through his soft, flaxen hair. He looked up at you, his grey eyes flooded with desire. It would have been pretty sexy had his glasses not fogged up again.

You giggled. "You're so cute."

"Hmm?" He looked up at you and wiped his mouth.

"Your glasses. I don't know, they're adorable."

He took his thumb and started to rub circles around your clit. You let out a heavenly sigh.

"Adorable, huh? Haven't heard that in a while."

"It—oh fuck. It's true."

Zeke went back to eating your cunt. His lapped at your clit. His beard was rough against your thighs.

"P—ple—please don't stop," you whined.

Zeke started to suck on your clit. Your body became deadweight and your skin grew hot. You panted as he continued to suck and you bucked your hips against his mouth. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, too heavy a burden to carry. Was this bliss? Had you ascended to heaven?

"I—I'm gonna."

"Say my name, pet."

You moaned his name over and over again as he traced his tongue along your folds. You held his head in place and rutted against his face, repeating his name like it was your mantra.

"Oh Zeke," you said breathily. "That—that was—"

"Incredible, I know," he answered, pulling your shorts back up.

He stood up and helped you to your feet.

"So, you need a ride home?"

"No, I'll probably just get a Lyft or something."

He took you by the hand and led you back towards the street. It was still empty, not a soul around.

"Fuck that. Let me drive you. It's the least I can do."

"I live about an hour away though."

Zeke shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "Fine with me. More time for you to help me figure out my ERA. I suck at math; I need that beautiful brain of yours."

He winked at you and smacked your ass. Calculating an earned run average wasn’t particularly hard so you assumed he was joking.

"Come on. You're really gonna turn down getting fucked again in the back of a Rolls?"

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #x reader #reader insert #.fics #.aot #.zeke

181 notes · View notes

preservationofnormalcy · 6 months

Note

For Jenny: How much of the office is non-normal, percentage wise? And how many are non-human? Is it a safe work environment for non-normal people?

Ballpark, I'd say about a quarter of us at the office are extranormal in some way, with a little over half of the extranormal folks being fully non-human.

I've found the Office to be a super safe place to work, I've never been discriminated against or felt disrespected working here. It's probably one of the safest career options for folks like me, I couldn't exactly get a job at, say, Target, without a significantly stronger (and more expensive) glamour than the one I have.

Side note, I'm not a huge fan of the term "non-normal." I know it still has a lot of circulation in some academic circles, but it always struck me as a little myopic. We are normal, for our species, that species just happens to not be human!

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #ask jenny #intern day

24 notes · View notes

entomolog-t · 1 month

Note

Hey! I’ve been a fan of G/T content for quite a while, but I’ve mostly stuck to Deviantart&Wattpad. Pretty recently I decided to create a Tumblr account in an attempt to find more content, and I’ve been amazed by how interactive the community is here! However, I noticed something that I find pretty weird, and just wanted to get an opinion from someone who seems to be a pretty active member of the community, at least from what I’ve seen.

In all the posts I’ve seen, I’ve never seen VR mentioned even once. I might just not be looking in the right place, but I just found it weird. I’ve been an avid VRChat player for a while, and having spent a large amount of time there I noticed the potential it holds for genres like G/T. I was expecting to find at least a single mention of it somewhere here, but I never have. I see lots of posts from both sides of G/T that mention something like, “I really wish I could just hold/be held by someone, etc.” and, well, I’ve had experiences like that. I’ve fallen asleep and woken up in a friend’s hands before. I’ve had friends sitting/standing on my shoulder. They don’t even know this community exists, these interactions just happen naturally.

I just want to share some of the experiences I’ve had, and when I went looking, nobody here seemed to know it was even possible. So yeah, that’s what finally motivated me to interact directly with the community. To at least let someone know that it is possible, and far more accessible than most seem to realize.

I’ll also make a standard post, but considering the fact that I’m a very new account I don’t expect many to see it. Thus why I messaged directly. I know this was a bit of a ramble, I'm still a little nervous about finally interacting with something I've only passively watched for quite a long time. So thanks for taking the time to read through, and I’d love to hear your opinion on why it isn’t mentioned, or anything else you wanna say! Take care out there!

OH! This is quite the interesting ask!! I may not be the best person to answer as I am far from techie.

First off, that sounds incredibly fun! I've only ever tried VR with an escape room - which oddly enough had a silly sizey experience; There was an issue with the calibration or something on one of the headsets and a friend who's just a little over 5ft had their in game avatar show up ballpark around 7ft tall.

I love that g/t seems to happen naturally with your interactions too! I'd love to hear more!

Now for the meat of the question- why isn't this mentioned? Again, keep in mind, I'm no techie or avid gamer so this is really biased towards myself. In no particular order,

Age

Price point

Tech Difficulty

Privacy

Missing sensations

My first guest would be age. I myself am in my mid/late twenties, and just never really grew up with that kind of tech, so theres just a lack of knowledge and not more than a passing interest in it. I think with age there also comes issues with free time, though I'll speak on that more with privacy. I think in general there tends to be a perception that VR chat rooms have a lot of minors (whether this is true or not, I have no clue, but as an adult that is a concern).

My second guess would be price point. Now, again, I am not a tech wiz, so I really don't know too well what would be a good headset (if any ol' cheap one would work, or if the oculus is the way to go), but I know the well known headsets are not at all cheap, and do also require a something to run them on (from my understanding thats just a good enough gaming pc? I have no clue.) Basically, there is a monetary component at play.

Thirdly would be tech difficulty. Some people are just bad at technology, and don't want to learn a new form of it.

Now privacy is what I would think is a big factor- and not online privacy. Roommates, siblings, spouses, family- if someone lives with another person they may not be comfortable being seen interacting on VRchat (especially with how paranoid some of us get with g/t), and then finding alone time is just an absolute pain with work, school, clubs, responsibilities etc.

Lastly, I think some people are hesitant about the missing sensations. Essentially, "who cares if all I can do is see it, I want to feel it." I think for some people it may have the opposite effect, and the degree of realism mixed with the very obviously "not real" cues could be more upsetting- being so close to having something you fantasize about but being reminded its not actually real.

Those are just my thoughts- and I hope others will add some of their own! This is quite the interesting topic and I'd love to hear more about it! As I mentioned earlier, I have very limited experience with VR, but from what little experience I did have it was a ton of fun! I feel like VRchat could be something a lot of people in the community could enjoy if they knew more/had access to it.

#Whew #Long one #I have no clue if I'm accurate about this one #I am a hick who has very limited tech knowledge #I am a whiz with spreadsheets #Thats about it #g/t community

13 notes · View notes

hopelessromantic423 · 1 year

Text

Red Carpet Kisses

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fake Dating!Reader

Summary: You work as the Avenger’s PR manager. You’re also Bucky’s fake girlfriend while trying to get his image up in the public eye. While walking on the red carpet, Bucky motions you over and you become the talk of the town.

Warnings: not proof-read. Kissing. Fake dating trope

You didn’t plan for the night to go as it did, really. You were just assigned to be Bucky Barnes’ fake girlfriend for the night, but of course, you were also the Avenger’s PR manager. It seemed like a perfect fit. You knew Bucky personally and you also knew how to boost his image as he became a fully-fledged Avenger.

It was the night of one of Tony’s big philanthropy galas. He made it mandatory for the entire team to be there, so you tagged along as Bucky’s date for the night.

The red carpet outside the big museum was packed with celebrities and stars from every era. If there is one thing you could rely on, it was that Tony Stark knew about every rich person within a 500-mile radius and that’s an understatement.

The team went one by one, which you tried to organize without making it seem too obvious you were the person in charge. The flashing lights were blinding while ushering each person onto the carpet for photos. Finally, it was down to one more team member who happened to be Bucky Barnes.

"Over here Bucky! Barnes look over here!"

You looked on as Bucky stood confidently in his new suit. He was doing just as you taught him. A real pro in your opinion. He looked handsome with his hair slicked back and the all-black attire made him look like the sophisticated man that you knew personally.

Next thing you knew, people were looking over at you and smiling. Then your eyes tracked to Bucky who was waving you over towards him. Your face became red as a cherry while you shook your head in disbelief. You didn't think the two of you would be taking any pictures together, especially on the red carpet. You were just the girlfriend.

Bucky waved one more time and with the crowd cheering for you, you couldn't say no. Smiling and waving to the fans above, you made your way to Bucky's side. His hand naturally rested at the small of your back as he smiled lovingly at you.

"I saw the occasion and I took it," Bucky whispered with a smirk. The clicking of cameras and the crowd almost made it impossible to hear him.

You and Bucky stood together confidently looking in each direction toward the flashing cameras. Your sleek black dress complimented his all-black attire nicely. For someone who specialized in PR, you had never really been the center of a red carpet. You just sat at the side and watched, so this was a whole new ballpark you were stepping into.

"Kiss! Kiss!" The crowd began to cheer as the two of you stood together.

The two of you couldn't help but laugh nervously as you looked at each other. As if it were planned your lips met together in perfect unison. Your hands rested on his chest as he dipped you slightly, deepening the kiss. His warm hand cupped your cheek while his left hand supported you. The crowd was absolutely going crazy as the two of you pulled away from the kiss. Bucky placed his hand in yours, grinning ear to ear, as you made your way off the carpet.

Standing to the side watching was Sam and Steve clapping along and the rest of the team looking off from the side of the carpet smiling and cheering along.

"Well, that'll be everywhere tomorrow," Sam stated as the entire team began walking into the gala.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #fanfiction #fanfic #fake dating

220 notes · View notes

justagalwhowrites · 8 months

Note

Hii!!!

For those of us really missing Lavender I was wondering if you had any fic recs that had the same sort of vibe as Lavender?

I hope this was ok to ask.

OMG Hi Bestie!

Thank you so much for reaching out and I kind of love that you're missing Lavender, is that bad?? I miss them too, though.

Anywho, I'm not sure it's fair to say these have the same vibe as Lavender because I feel like putting Lavender in the same ballpark of these is seriously overestimating Lavender lol BUT I found some overlap in some of my favorite fics:

Fear of God by @netherfeildren - This is probably my favorite fan fic like... ever. I read it when I was like half way through writing Lavender and I seriously skipped updating that night I got so sucked into this I couldn't put it down to write. I reread it every month or two. The smut is glorious, there's gorgeous angst, Joel is feral. I live for this fic.

Carnal by @pascalsbby - This is an AU fic and Joel is on the dark side in this one but I LOVE it. The writing is gorgeous and there's coping with trauma and smutttttttttt. Love it.

Take Care of You by @theidiotwhowritesthings - An AU fic that's got a lovely slow burn going if that's what you loved most about Lavender. There's also some fabulous angst happening here! Far less traumatizing than Lavender but that may be a feature, not a bug!

Left in Lincoln by @toxicanonymity - It's both got some slow burn and not, Joel is questionably a monster but also soft, the smut be smutting, there's some trauma coming you can just tell. I love this fic so much!

I hope this helps! I'm not sure I did a great job answering - I don't really compare things to my own work as I read it so I had to think on it lol

Thank you so much for being here! Love you!

#fanfic #fic recs #send asks #kit answers

26 notes · View notes

artbyblastweave · 2 years

Text

Thinking about Purity

I have two thoughts on Purity. Here they are:

One. Her trigger event consisted of her being trapped in a lethal environment with no resources, gradually going insane, and developing overwhelming firepower in order to fight off a horde of assailants who didn’t actually exist. I can’t imagine what that’s a metaphor for. Haven’t the foggiest.

Two. Purity is interesting, from a worldbuilding perspective, because at the start of the story there’s an actual niche archetype from the comics that she’s fulfilling.

“Hardcore street-level hero who actually turns out to be a racist lunatic that the actual heroes need to take down” isn’t quite a chestnut at the big two but it’s a story beat I’ve seen multiple times; Nightwing vs his building’s insane janitor in Dixon’s run, Captain America vs Jack Monroe and to a lesser extent USAgent, I feel like Batman’s deal with Lock-up from the animated series inches towards this, although that one wasn’t explicitly racialized. Punisher’s done this a couple times, It’s Peacemaker’s whole bit, there’s definitely a few more I’m forgetting.

So the subversive element here isn’t that she’s an openly racist superhero; it’d that she’s still allowed to be a racist superhero. It’s that a thematically appropriate hero like Legend hasn’t come to town specifically to drop the hammer on her for daring to be an openly racist superhero.

And to be charitable, what’s usually going on in those other stories is that the racist heroes are almost always explicitly bad knockoffs of the protagonist. They’re intended as a dark mirror, because the obvious failure mode of heroic vigilantism is that it’s extremely appealing to racists, glory hounds, egomaniacs and egomaniacal racist glory hounds, but the flip side of that is that people with those characteristics go down like chumps in a fight with a true-blue hero. They exist in the story as a one-off warning for the real heroes, who give them a chance and then chuck them in the bin when they show their true colors.

Worm, though, doesn’t have a just-so structure. The racist idiots who get superpowers and develop delusions of heroism don’t provide the courtesy of also being weak and incompetent enough that the “real” heroes can root them out with minimal fuss. Purity won the goddamn power lottery; she’s one of the most powerful capes in the Bay, with hit-and-run capabilities that all of the heroes working together are textually incapable of countering. (And this isn’t like The Boys where they’re all secretly in bed with each other- New Wave has serious beef with the Empire! They would absolutely pin her ass to the wall if the opportunity arose, but they can’t!)

So in a very real sense, The Protectorate is pussyfooting around her, letting her exist in the gray zone of self-deluded vigilantism, because.... well, the second she can’t sustain her self-deception anymore, the second someone really pushes, her go-to reaction is to commit a mass casualty event. She was always a time bomb, and so the strategy of just continuing to label her as a villain, while she continuously hopefully refreshes PHO to see if any helpful fans have updated her wiki page yet, is, you know, I get it. It’s not great but I get it. A hands on approach only works if you can actually lay hands on them.

But! As far as I can remember, she was functionally operating as an Independent Hero as the setting defines it! Everyone in power pretends she isn’t but she was still in that ballpark, hand in hand with how selectively racist she was being about it! She was a vigilante, she was out to target “criminals” and clean up the streets using her powers, she had a costume and a secret identity- actually one of the few capes we see in Brockton Bay with a full-time day job- and she was really really really racist.

So with Purity, Worm is being honest about the inability of a superhero community to clean house, to effectively police who gets to be a part of it, who gets to actively consider themselves a part of it. There was never going to be a righteous beat-down where she gets “kicked out” of the fraternity, no “you are not affiliated with me” moment that finally gets through, even though many heroes in the setting would dearly love to deliver such a thing. A certain level of power purchases the right to think of yourself in whatever terms you want, and the heroes just have to stand around looking uncomfortable and swearing up and down that, no, her vigilantism is different from good vigilantism, honest, completely different underlying models.

#worm #wildbow #parahumans #worm meta #worm thoughts #worm web serial #thoughts #meta

357 notes · View notes

lolahasmoxie · 9 months

Text

Even More Wayne H.C.

Yeah, this is totally self-indulgent. What can I say? When your dad is a little league ump/coach you become a fan for life.

P.S. I need my Diamondbacks to get their shit together ASAP.

WARNINGS: Language

One of the things Eddie loved about you, was how kind you were. You made high school bearable for him and his sheep by sticking up for them whenever you needed to. You had the best heart of anyone he knew......except during baseball season.

While Eddie abhors sports, you and Wayne have a deep love for baseball.

When Eddie comes home during the spring and summer, you and Wayne will already be seated on the couch, drinking beer and yelling at the TV.

He often drops things or chokes on his drinks when you really get into the game.

"That was a strike, you blind-ass bum! I hope your wife cheats on you, you fucking cunt!"

CRASH

"Eddie, baby, you okay?"

One summer, you and Wayne drive to Indianapolis for a day trip to see a farm team for the Pirates. It's a two-hour drive, and Eddie can't help but smile as you both drive off in the morning, classic rock blaring from Wayne's truck speakers.

He spends the morning cleaning the house and prepping dinner for your return home. After putting the laundry in the dryer, he practices on Sweetheart, works on a campaign, and takes a quick nap.

It's early evening when Wayne's truck pulls into the driveway. When you walk into the house, he quickly approaches you and pulls you into a big bear hug.

He asks how the game was, and you and Wayne tell him about the food and how great your seats were. When Eddie asks who won the game, he grows concerned when you and Wayne grow silent and look at the ground.

"Well, the funny thing about that is...."

"Your girl got us kicked out."

"Thanks for having my back, Wayne!"

Eddie has to hear about how a couple of meathead jocks sitting in the row ahead of you didn't appreciate you calling the umpire a "limp-dicked blind moron" and how you hadn't taken kindly to being called a "loudmouthed bitch". Of course, Uncle Wayne got involved in defending your honor, resulting in the lot of you being escorted out of the ballpark.

"Jesus Christ, I can't let you people out of my sight."

"C'mon son, like you haven't gotten into trouble for running your mouth on multiple occasions."

"Yeah, Eds, Wayne was just defending my honor."

"Have you ever thought of keeping your colorful commentary to yourself?"

"Babe, the ump was doing a terrible fucking job; how else will he learn if I don't tell him?"

Wayne can't help but chuckle as Eddie's right eye starts to switch. Best not to tell him now that the two of you were banned from the park for the rest of the season.

#eddie munson #wayne munson #eddie munson headcannon #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

39 notes · View notes

catofadifferentcolor · 2 months

Text

Terrible Fic Idea #85: The Old Guard, but make it Assassin's Creed

My brother has always been a big fan of Assassin's Creed, but I never gave the games a shot until recently, when it seemed a natural progression from all the Crusades research I've been doing for The Old Guard fic I want to write but probably never will. Once I realized Isu bullshit could be a perfect explanation for TOG immortality, this (incredibly self-indulgent) crossover was born.

Or: What if Merrick Pharmaceuticals was a competitor of Abstergo Industries?

Just imagine it:

Pharmaceutical research is an expensive, cut-throat business. Viagra is a $2 billion dollar a year industry. Humira, the blockbuster drug of 2018, sold nearly $20 billion in the US alone. So I imagine if you're a pharmaceutical CEO of limited morals and great ambition, it might seem like a better idea to steal ideas from your competitor who seems to hit it out of the ballpark every time instead of pouring billions of dollars into what may turn out to be an unfruitful venture.

Enter Hugh Merrick, father of Steve Merrick and founder of Merrick Pharmaceuticals. Needing a blockbuster and desperate to get one over on Abstergo, he hires a hacker to slip into Abstergo's servers and find him the ripest, juiciest plum they can sometime in the early 2000s, before the (modern) events of the games or the 2019 TOG movie.

The hacker comes back with the schematics for the Animus.

The idea of genetic memories seems absurd, but Hugh figures that if Abstergo has been using the Animus since the 1980s to get ahead, there's no reason he can't do it too - all he needs is a single Piece of Eden and all his problems are solved.

Hugh builds the Animus and has the hacker go back into Abstergo's systems looking for a candidate to put into it. But finding someone with Assassin blood seems dangerous - they're likely to be an assassin too and could be dangerous if they try to escape, plus the Templars killed off nearly all of them. Templar descendants are out because most are Templars themselves and if Hugh's plan is to succeed he heeds to stay off their radar for as long as possible.

The hacker returns with Abstergo's list of people who may be useful if all other avenues fail. It contains a list of people who were peripherally involved during the invents that interest them - mainly high-ranking courtiers close to Popes Alexander VI and Julius II - and their descendants. They might know things about events of Ezio's time.

Enter Joe and Nicky.

For the past few hundred years, their primary cover identities involve being the children or grandchildren of their previous cover story, all the way back to their first deaths. There are fewer questions and you get to "inherit" all your old stuff.

This method has worked quite well for them - until Merrick learns that their "ancestors" were part of the court of Pope Julius II from 1497 (when he was still Bishop of Ostia) until his death in 1513. Nicky was his private secretary, Joe was a court painter, and contemporary sources suggest they were highly placed enough to know whatever Pope Julius II knew about Ezio's apple. Such as where Ezio might have hidden it.

It's not an unreasonable plan, except for the pesky fact of Joe and Nicky's immortality. After all, the animus is designed to draw on genetic memory, not the subject's own memories. And even if it can be used to view memories laid down in their own genes 500 years ago - which is doubtful, - there's a high likelihood of it killing them - and if Hugh were to learn of their immortality, things would only get worse for them. But they have little choice once they're captured and brought to Hugh's secret research bunker somewhere north of Inverness.

What follows is a largely self-indulgent stroll through the more interesting episodes of Joe and Nicky's life together.

Nicky's first go in the animus is a jumbled, confused mess as Hugh's tech minion learns the ropes as she goes. Nicky ends up hopscotching through his early memories - for instance, a memory where he's learning how to use a sword as a young squire jumps to him using the same move during the Siege of Jerusalem. That strand of memory continues on for a bit until another interaction gets him sent into the memory of another battle/training session/conversation with the person in question and so on.

Joe's first time in the animus goes a little better, as Hugh realizes that his minion needs to learn how to program the animus before they put their most valuable subject into it, and so let's her learn with Joe. Hugh's minion (who is really beginning to regret taking this job) succeeds, pulling Joe into the genetic memory of one of his ancestors: al-Kahina, an Amazigh religious and military leader who led indigenous resistance to the Muslim conquest of the Maghreb. There should be suggestions of a Sword of Eden somewhere in events, but since they don't share Precursor knowledge, Hugh's not interested in letting the memory play out.

Nicky's second session gets them to the time period they want, but his memories have next to nothing to do with the PoE. The same holds true for Joe, when his second session puts him through his POV of that time period. And though Hugh has his minion take them up and down every memory of that time period searching for the smallest hint of anything that might point them in the right direction, there's nothing to find.

Or, rather: Nicky and Joe did meet Ezio once or twice, in waiting rooms or reception areas or the like, but they spent that time talking about art, or the weather, or philosophy - nothing about politics, or Ezio's travels, or PoEs at all.

Otherwise, most of Nicky and Joe's memories of early 16th century Rome involve Joe's rivalry with Michelangelo, who among other things persisted in flirting with Nicky even after he made it clear he wasn't interested. (Joe was, among other things, responsible for getting Michelangelo the commission for David in Florence to get him out of Rome and away from Nicky.)

There's some Vatican politics as well - Nicky's part in organizing the Swiss Guard, Joe's in organizing the Vatican Museums, and the removal of the Borgias from power - and some global politics - the 1503 dispensation for Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine of Aragon, etc. But most of their memories are largely Joe and Nicky being Joe and Nicky in the High Renaissance (and rather hating their jobs, as neither of them particularly like working for Julius II but were blackmailed into it to avoid being labeled as Ottoman spies.)

This goes on for several days until Hugh orders his minion to start looking for the memories of other "ancestors" - essentially, to refine the animus and her technique while he gets his hacker to find better candidates for the animus. And if this accidentally destroys Joe and Nicky's minds in the process? So be it. The plan was always to kill them at the end of their usefulness anyway.

Hugh's minion spends a day doing as asked - there's a few tantalizing glimpses of Joe and Nicky at the court of Kublai Khan in the 1270s - before she has an opportunity to act on the guilty conscious that's come to plague her.

The minion helps them escape - destroying the animus, wiping the records, and blowing the place sky high to cover the bloody swath they have to cut to get out of the secret research bunker. Amongst the casualties is Hugh Merrick, propelling his son Steve into position as youngest CEO in Pharma.

Joe and Nicky rejoin Andy and Booker - who'd been doing their best to cut their own bloody swath through anyone tangentially related to the mercenaries who kidnapped their brothers - and decide to turn their attention to tracking down PoE and destroying animus technology wherever it can be found, believing there are no peaceful uses for either. As a glad you escaped present, Booker tanks Merrick Pharmaceutical's stocks so badly the company never recovers, eventually going bankrupt.

As for the minion? Maybe she's a young Rebecca Crane prior to her recruitment by the Assassins and it’s her experiences with Hugh's animus that get her recruited by the Assassin Order. Maybe she's just a random OC who sets herself up with a new identity halfway around the world and watches gleefully as Merrick Pharmaceuticals and Abstergo Industries both eventually crash and burn.

Bonuses include: 1) Joe and Nicky being the most passive aggressive kidnapees in the history of kidnappings - on the face of things, going along with exactly what Hugh asks of them, but doing their best to focus on innocuous memories and figuring out how to purposefully make memories "skip" between similar episodes without Hugh ever noticing the glitch. Also, playing up the Bleeding Effect so that by day three they're only speaking in Medieval Italian; 2) Hugh being a better class of villain than his son. Immoral? Unethical? Yes, but in a sophisticated businessman way, not a jacket and hoodie, stab a man with a letter opener type way. For some reason I'm imagining him as Jean-Luc Picard, if Picard ever had a Mirror Universe alternate; and 3) Interludes of Andy and Booker searching for Joe and Nicky after they've been kidnapped. This should be part action-thriller along the lines of Taken, part buddy comedy, and involve an arc wherein Andy learns of Booker's deep unhappiness with his immortality and helps him come to terms with the feelings that would have otherwise eventually led to the events of the 2019 movie.

And that is surprisingly more than I thought I would have had. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you decide to do anything with it.

More TOG Fic Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

13 notes · View notes