#paul looks the best because of course he does

[where-theres-smoak-2]

So in my next episode of I just can't stop talking about Dune part 2, lets talk about the ending scene, specifically about the positioning of the characters during the duel and kiss the ring scene, because I think there's some really interesting symbolism there.

At the start of the scene we see everyone enter the room and take their places and what is interesting is the characters are in groups with each representing part of Paul's journey. The best image I could find of where everyone is positioned is this wide shot where everyone is bowing to Paul towards the end of the scene:

It's not the best image but you can just about make out that on the left, where the blue arrow is pointing, you have Chani and the Fedaykin, then in the middle along the back wall, where the orange arrow is, you have Jessica, Gurney, Stilgar and the fundamentalists and then finally on the right with the black arrow is the emperor, irulan and the bene gesserit. Three separate but important groups.

Just before the emperor enters, Paul approaches Chani and we get that exchange, 'this isn't over yet' and 'I'll love you as long as I breathe." To me its really interesting that this final showdown starts with Paul directly in front of Chani, looking at her, with his focus on her. Another interesting detail is that when the emperor enters Paul does not immediately turn to face him, in fact he stays looking at Chani, lingering on her, even when he first begins to speak his focus still remains on her. It is only when he says that the great houses may be curious to hear his side of the story that he begins to move. Again it's interesting that its when he is talking about 'his story' that he moves across the room and that story or journey is visually set out for us. He starts with Chani, expressing his love for her, the fedaykin are also there, the people who took him in and accepted him as one of their own, they very much represent the path that he had chosen for himself. The path that he then steps away from.

Paul begins to approach the emperor and as he does we see him walk past Jessica, the mother that he followed south, whose footsteps he followed in when he drank the water of life leading to him becoming the kwisatz haderach, Stilgar the man who was constant in his belief that Paul was the Mahdi and who became teacher to him, helping him learn the ways of the fremen, Gurney who is a connection back to his identity as the son of Leto and the house Atreides, and the fundamentalists who became the army that he was able to control in order to overthrow the emperor and who will also fight the holy war.

Finally he arrives in front of the emperor and his daughter, the final obstacle in his way, his way of getting vengeance for his father's murder and, through his marriage to Irulan, the title of emperor of the known universe. Of course the emperor isn't going to give up his throne easily which is when we have the duel between Paul and Feyd and once again their positioning throughout the duel is interesting.

At the start of the duel Feyd is positioned here:

You can see he is standing in front of the emperor and irulan, who are outlined in the grey box. Also if you turn the exposure up:

You can make out the bene gesserit there as well in the black circle. This is a visual representation of what it is Feyd is fighting for, he is fighting on behalf of the emperor but his end goal is that he wants the emperor's throne for himself. The way he gets there is the same way paul would, marrying the princess. The bene gesserit being there also shows how they are on Feyd's side, they know how to control him and so would rather have him as emperor and as a prospect for the kwisatz haderach than paul. So in the shot above we have Feyd, and then a visual representation of what he is fighting for but also everyone that is depending on Feyd winning this duel.

The same can be said of this shot here of Paul where you can clearly see Chani (in the blue circle) and the fedaykin behind him:

Like Feyd, Paul's ultimate goal is to be emperor, however whilst Feyd wants the throne for his own selfish reasons, I think for Paul his motivations are that he wants to protect Chani and the Fremen. Paul has seen multiple futures thanks to drinking the wol and he wants to guide them down the one where all his friends and loved ones live. But once again we are being shown a shot that represents what Paul is fighting for and the people whose fates are depending on him winning this duel.

So at the very start of the duel, the two sides are clearly set out and we know what the stakes for each side are. I also like how they are both almost standing guard over the side they are fighting for, like a shield protecting those behind him.

As for Jessica, Stilgar, Gurney and the fundamentalists I do think its intriguing that they are kind of separate in this scene, they way they are position makes it seem like they are almost an audience in a theatre watching to see how it plays out. I did wonder what significance this might have as they do still have stakes in this fight. But I think, and I could be wrong this is just speculation, I think it might be because even though they have stakes in the who wins the fight their fates are already sealed. I think at this point irregardless of who wins they will still unleash a holy war on the universe, the only difference would be whether Paul is actually leading them or whether they are doing it in his name as an act of vengeance for his death. Whereas the emperor, irulan and the bene gesserit's fates still depend on whether paul or feyd wins, if paul wins they lose their power, if feyd does they can control him and stay in power. Chani too I think her fate is dependant on who wins once Feyd takes notice of her, if paul wins she has choices, stay or leave (and she choses to leave) but if feyd had won you can bet she would have been taken by Feyd as some kind of prisoner of war or pet for him to play with. But like I siad that is speculation on my part.

Throughout the duel itself there are also some interesting positions and symbolism going on. For example at first when they are fighting and are evenly match they maintain their positions of Paul being in front of Chani and the Fedaykin and Feyd in front of the emperor etc. However if you watch closely whenever it appears like Feyd is getting the upper hand on Paul and like Paul may lose its whenever Paul is on the side of the emperor. When Feyd knocks him down, Paul is in front of the emperor and lands pretty much at the emperor's feet.

I interpreted this as showing Paul's downfall, showing how he lost his way, it was his pursuit of revenge against the Harkonnens and the Emperor, his desire to claim the throne, that pulled him onto the darker path he is taking. It's again that visually representation of what Paul is going through emotionally/internally. We are seeing him being pulled and pushed away from Chani and the Fremen and that life that had made him happy and being, quite literally, thrown onto this path of becoming emperor and starting the holy war.

It can also represent the emperor's and Feyd's on desires to see the House of Atreides quite literally brought down, laid at the emperor's feet and defeated. It's like we are getting a glimpse of what one potential outcome/future could have looked like, Paul defeated.

Another way you could look at this is that when Paul is kicked to the floor, Feyd is now in between Paul and what he is fighting for, his motivation for fighting. I mentioned earlier that to me their positions at the start of the fight were like they were guards, well now Feyd has broken through that shield and is a direct threat to those Paul loves.

Paul falling down at this position also means that he is now directly facing Chani and the path he's left behind. It is as Feyd approaches Chani, a looming threat getting closer and closer to her, that Paul finds the strength to get back up and continue the fight. Seeing the threat to Chani makes Paul move away from the emperor and towards her and Feyd. I think this shows the shift in Paul's motivations and what is keeping him fighting, what is giving him strength, at first he was fighting to get revenge and the throne or at least I think that was his priority, there were other reasons too but in the moment it was his wish for justice that was driving him, but here it shifts to wanting to protect Chani from a more immediate danger, I said in another post that at this moment dying is no longer an option as it will leave Chani vulnerable to Feyd if he does which is something Paul will not let happen.

Another interesting moment is that when Feyd stabs Paul he first drives him backwards, back towards the emperor, so similar to when he is kicked down the first time, we have this imagery of Paul losing and him standing with his back to the emperor and the bene gesserit, the people who have been the cause of his suffering, and who represent this path of becoming the kwisatz haderach, the madhi and the holy war etc. When they are closet to the emperor, Feyd pushes the knife in deeper.

But then Feyd flings Paul away from him and Paul stumbles back so that he is once again standing with Chani and the Fedaykin at his back. As Feyd menacingly approaches him to finish him off, instead of focusing on the incoming threat Paul looks to Chani, to get a reminder of why he is fighting, why he is doing this and to draw strength from her. When he finally defeats Feyd it is again when he is standing closer to Chani.

I just think its really interesting that during this duel whenever Paul is at his lowest we are shown him on the side of the room with the emperor, bene gesserit, the people who are seeking to destroy him, and then when he is at his strongest and at his moment of victory in the duel he is standing on the side of Chani and the Fedaykin, the ones who give him strength and who he loves.

Once he's pulled the knife out we see him once again look to Chani, all of these looks to me make it very clear that she is his motivation behind his actions, he's doing it for her, he's doing it all because of that vision he had of her death, to keep her alive, which is really heartbreaking because its his actions to keep her safe and alive that are breaking her heart and that ultimately cause her to leave him. But I digress.

After this look to Chani we then see him repeat the same journey we saw him take at the start of the scene. He starts close to Chani and the Fedaykin, crosses the room passing Jessica, Stilgar, Gurney and the Fundamentalists and arrives before the emperor. Only this time he completes the next step, making the emperor bow and kiss his ducal ring.

When everyone else in the room bows, three stay standing, Princess Irulan, the woman who is his key to the throne, Chani, the woman he loves, who taught him the ways of the fremen and the desert and Jessica, his mother who fuelled his legend amongst the fundamentalists and trained him in the ways of the bene gesserit allowing him to become the kwisatz haderach. Not only is it symbolic that its these three women alone that remain standing but their positioning is again really interesting.

They are each a point of a triangle. Triangles have alot of symbolism and often represent three sides of a whole or a cycle. There's religious connotations to it too with the triangle often being used to represent the holy trinity in Christianity. Some meanings that I think could be relevant here though is the cycle of birth, life and death. Jessica representing birth, she is his mother but also she orchestrated the 'birth' of the kwisatz haderach in the south. Chani I think would represent life, she was the life he chose for himself. Then Irulan would represent death, she's the key to the throne and the Paul we knew had to die in order to become the man he is now. She represents the death of his old life.

Another meaning is beginning, middle and end, its similar to the life cycle triangle but this one is a reminder that everything has a process, there's the start, the journey and the end. I think this ties in well with what I was saying about how Paul merely crossing the room showed his journey throughout the film. So too does the positioning of each of these women in his life. Chani was the start of his journey, where he learnt from her, where he fell in love, then he drinks the water and becomes the mahdi, represented by Jessica and it ends with Irulan and him becoming the emperor.

Triangles can also represent protection, power and strength which I think each of these women provide Paul in their own unique ways. They can also mean creation which you can argue that each of these women contributed to who he is and has become, in a way they are the ones who have created him.

What is ironic is at this moment as the emperor is bowing, Jessica communicates with Mother Mohiam and tells her she chose the wrong side to which Mohiam replies there are no sides. I just found this kind of funny considering the room is set up into three very clear sides.

But anyway, moving on, after the emperor and everyone bow we then see Paul, yet again look back to Chani, even after everything he still can't completely let go of that link back to who he was, the life where he was happy and loved as a man and not a prophet. But then Chani walks away severing that last link. Paul keeps his eyes on her until she is completely out of sight, then he half turns, looking down and closing his eyes so that he is front on with the fundamentalists and Jessica. It is at this moment that Gurney tells him that the great houses are refusing to honour his ascension. Paul then turns his back to Stilgar and facing Irulan and the emperor, he looks to the floor and takes that final step when he says lead them to paradise, unleashing the holy war from his nightmares onto the universe. His only hope now being that the fundamentalists believe in him enough that he is able to control this war in his own favour. I think its significant that Paul turns his back to Stilgar, the friend who became a fanatical follower, and looks down to the floor at this moment of declaring the holy war. It's indicative of his shame, of his pain and shows how much its hurting him to make this choice, so much so that he can't look at the fremen as he gives the go ahead.

Honestly I could be looking into this way too much but on a rewatch of the scene I just found it all very interesting the way it was all laid out and how Paul navigating the room seemed to reflect his own personal journey from Paul Atreides to Usul Maud'dib the fedaykin to the Lisan al gaib to the emperor of the known universe and how that is reflected in the people around him.

#dune #dune part 2 #dune part 2 spoilers #dune part two #dune part two spoilers #paul atreides #paul x chani #paulchani

[nataliesscatorccio]

Dead cabin guy and his technicolor dreamcoat have haunted me since the wardrobe reveal in season two, and today im going to make it everyone's problem.

Travis wears the coat first. He and Natalie take the blessing and go out to look for Javi. Travis hallucinates (prophesies?) that Javi is dead and buried beneath the snow, but Natalie shows him it's only a fox. Travis finds the strange, mossy tree stump. The next day Travis has strong feelings about which direction is best to search for Javi in, and we don't see more of him until Nat reveals the bloody pants. Not that weird, all things considered. New season, new wardrobe additions. Hiking on a caloric deficit with PTSD, you'll probably hallucinate. Pretty standard stuff.

Then Nat wears the coat. She takes it to lay Jackie's bones to rest at the crash site, and while she wears it she sees (hallucinates? prophesies? I'm not sure!) the white moose that they'll later lose to the lake (ergo the hunt, ergo Javi dies for real but more on that later).

We get to Old Wounds, the hunting competition, and Lottie wears the coat now. You see where I'm going with this but just to be thorough: she enters the realm of death dreams, talks with Laura Lee, almost freezes to death.

Episode five. Melissa wears the coat. Maybe that's not important! Maybe it's just to show that they all share the wardrobe, and that the side characters are as equally All In This Together as the main characters are. Or it could mean something that a peripheral character, wearing important wardrobe, framed in antlers (not unlike Travis in 2.01), has the line "maybe he did die, and that's his ghost." It's a little suspicious, and at this point starts to feel like a pattern.

Who wears it next, who wore it best!? That's right baby, it's Paul! For his dreamworld drifter, hallucination hunk Coach Ben Scott. Nicholas Urfe himself. Ben spends almost all of his time in a dream, until *drumroll please* Paul, very pointedly, takes the coat and walks out the door. "Where do you think you are, Ben?" he puts the coat on. "You had to have known you couldn't stay here forever. [...] What matters now is that you aren't welcome here anymore." Following Paul means committing to death (to dream), and until interruption that's the choice Ben makes. Because letting Paul (and the coat) go would mean committing entirely to reality.

Of course, the pièce de résistance is something I didn't even notice until I went looking for it. The first dozen times I watched, I thought that after Lottie's beating Shauna brought her a blanket. "Lottie's cold." But she doesn't. She brings her the coat. Lottie is laying with it when, in a fever dream, she witnesses/hallucinates/prophesies parts of the hunt.

It's there again (on the back of the chair) when she sits by the fire and speaks for the wilderness, appointing Nat their queen. Ben watches, having woken from the dream himself, as they all bow to Natalie and leave reality behind for good.

Of course, there are a lot of times when characters hallucinate strange things in the cabin while not wearing the coat, because they're all starving to death and traumatized. Mari. Shauna. Akilah. But in addition to that, it seems like a pattern worth noting that in each instance where a character wears the technicolor coat, the line between the real and the imagined seems to blur with more ease. Does dead cabin guy's technicolor dreamcoat help the Yellowjackets connect to the dream realm?

I'll be brief here with the biblical parallel: blah blah Joseph is the favorite son (you were always its favorite), his father gives him a technicolor coat (they're nothing special, they don't change color in the cold or anything). blah blah Joseph starts having prophetic dreams etc etc his jealous brothers throw Joseph down a pit (the wilderness chose) and bring his bloodstained coat back as false proof of his death (hanging on a branch. a couple miles back). You get my drift.

Does it mean anything? Who knows. But in a series where wardrobe is such an integral part of the storytelling, it felt worth paying attention to.

#yellowjackets #long post #travis martinez #lottie matthews #natalie scatorccio #melissa yellowjackets #paul yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #javi martinez #shauna shipman #ben scott #akilah yellowjackets #mari yellowjackets

[auteurdelabre]

Something to Fight For (Series) Part 18 Joel Miller x f!Reader

Rating: 18+ THIS CHAPTER'S TRIGGER WARNINGS: Emotional Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Drug Addiction, Mentions of Death A/N: I rewrote this fucking chapter about 8 times. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. It was a real hard one to write, ya'll. A lot of my own shit is mixed up in there with the story. MC is part me after all (and part all of you). So it was hard. Harder than I think I expected it to be. So I dunno how it ended up. Couldn't re-read it too much. I really need your reviews on this one folks. It's real important to me, 'specially now. I need to know how you feel, the good and the bad. I gotta get this right.

Story Masterlist HERE

You're overcome. 

There's no other word for it. You've been sobbing in your shower for the last hour. After running from the barn, taking a taxi home and bursting into your suite you immediately fell to your knees, the warm water pelting down onto your back. 

It's as close to being held, at being soothed that you can manage right now. 

You can’t stop replaying tonight’s events. The song Joel chose. The one of longing and deep yearning. 

"She may be the reason I survive

The why and wherefore I'm alive

The one I'll care for through the rough and ready years"

But also of a love gone by. A regret.

"She may be the face I can't forget

A trace of pleasure or regret"

Is that how he views you? A love gone by?

Of course he does.

Paul's engagement ring is in the velvet box it came in. It's being returned tomorrow. You'd have done it tonight if it weren't so late. 

You need to end things. It's the only way forward. No matter what, no matter if Joel is in love with Tess, no matter if you'll never be with him, you *can't be with Paul. 

You don't love Paul. It's obvious to everyone including yourself. It's been obvious for so long. You've wasted so much fucking time and energy on him. 

You think of all the boxes packed here, the ones you were going to move to Leander. You think of how strange and sad it is that your whole life can be put into less than twenty cardboard boxes. 

And even though Joel can't be yours and even though that hurts more than words can begin to say, you are so fucking grateful for him. You are so grateful you met Joel Miller because he's shown you what love is. True, caring love. 

Even if it's not yours to keep. 

You will never forget the way he looked singing tonight. The goodbye song from his heart to yours. You'd felt it. The bittersweet finality of your time. 

More tears are coming. 

"I love him," you say to the tile in front of you. You need to hear the words spoken out loud in the universe, even if it's hidden in the fall of the shower and heard only by you. "I love Joel."

You need to see Joel. You need him to hold you. Need his calming presence. You need to wrap your arms around him and press your face into his neck and just feel breathe that sweet, spicy scent of home.

He's not yours.

You don't get to see Joel. You don't get to have him. He's Tess'. You can't be his friend, you want him too much. So what does that leave? 

That leaves you replaced and alone. 

You pull yourself from the shower, shivering as you towel off, drying your hair the best you can. You go to your dresser and pull out one of the few remaining pieces of clothing there. 

Joel's shirt. 

You've washed it so it doesn't smell like him anymore. Doesn't smell like the laundry detergent he uses or that wood shavings scent he sometimes carries. But when you put it on it feels like he's there in some small way. You pull it on over your sleep shorts hiccupping a soft cry. 

You remember so long ago, standing in Joel’s den as you pondered if he just played guitar or if he sang as well.

“S’weird how something can make you feel so good and then outta nowhere become the pain”

That’s how it feels now. Joel, the thing that makes you feel good has also become the pain. The wedding is tomorrow. You need to collect yourself by then. You'll see Joel and you need to be controlled. You need to be okay. You need to not ruin this for him. 

Because you do love Joel. You love him in a way you never expected to love or be loved. You love him so much that you are determined to make his life better. Determined that you will not take away what he has carved out for himself. 

You crawl under the covers, your face buried in the pillow. 

"I l-love Joel," you whisper it again into the pillow only now it's broken by sobs. You curl up under the covers, your body trembling. "I love him I love him." 

You feel lost. So hopelessly lost. 

And then the phone rings. 

///

It's late in the Miller house. Quiet. Sarah's been asleep for hours thanks to the sugar crash Bill's cupcakes provided. 

Tommy's asleep in the basement apartment, exhausted from the evenings festivities and anticipating a long day tomorrow. 

Or, as Joel glances over at the bright neon numbers of his digital clock, later today. 

He's laying in bed, one arm behind his head, one hand over his sternum as he stares at the ceiling. In this pose he feels every breath in, every breath out. The studying rhythm bringing him peace. It's impossible to shake the image of you free from his mind. 

He'd done it out of love for you. Out of a need for you to know how much you'd changed him. Changed his heart, his outlook, even his fucking idea on the concept of romantic love. 

But the look on your face? The way it had fallen before you had dashed out? 

Sarah had been bouncing up and down in her seat when he finished his performance, hugging him tightly and throwing things at him as he tried to contain his disappointment ("Daddy you sing so pretty!" And "Daddy will you teach me guitar?")  Everyone was clapping him on the back, telling him it was wonderful, so romantic, that Tommy and Maria loved it.

He refused to let his eyes search for you, knowing you were gone. He refused to let his heart believe that you'd come back. 

Joel knows he has to stay away from you.

Knows that singing tonight was a terrible idea because not only did he make it so obvious to everyone that he’s so deeply in love with you, but he also made you cry.

Watching your face crumple, watching the way your eyes fell to the ground at the last string. He’d thought you’d be happy singing, Maria had said how often you’d felt happy when you did. But that wasn’t happiness he saw tonight. It was pain.

Joel doesn’t know what to do. He feels so lost.

And then the phone rings.

///

"Joel, I need you."

Four little words over the phone at 2 am.  

Four little words that have Joel stumbling out of bed, murmuring he'll be there before he's pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt.

He's half asleep, his mind whirring. He goes to the basement, rapping on the door. An equally tired Tommy answers, blinking in the light. 

"She- I gotta go," Joel tries to explain in a rush. "I'll explain later. Can you come watch Sarah?"

Tommy gives a few bleary eyed blinks before nodding and following his brother up the steps. 

Tommy settles himself on the sofa as Joel runs out the door. And all the younger Miller can think before he falls asleep is:

Finally.

///

Joel's shoulders nearly take up the doorframe. You notice this when the rap of his knuckles pulls you sniffling from the sofa and you open the door to him. 

His eyes are sleepy, but wide. His hair is tousled from sleep and you can see the indent of his pillow faint in his left cheek. He scans your face, concerned.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry," you say as soon as Joel takes a step towards you. "I never should have called so late. I’m so so sorry, Joel." 

"Just let me in," Joel insists, his hand coming to go to your cheek and then dropping. He doesn’t want to overstep. "Tell me what happened."

You try to make the words come out; you force them crackling and trembling out into the world. 

"I don't want... I don't want to go back." 

Joel doesn't have any context, but that doesn't stop him from rushing in. He closes the door behind him gently before bringing you into his arms. Your forehead drops against his sternum as he does this, your tears warm and free flowing.

As he rubs a soothing hand along your spine he realizes you're wearing his t-shirt again. For some reason this small thing makes Joel's eyes wet. 

You're so warm in his arms, trembling against him as you hold in sobs. He wants to kiss away the tears rolling down your cheeks. He wants to carry you to bed and strip every bad memory and experience from you with his mouth and body.  

That's not what she needs right now. She needs a friend.

He takes your hand in his, leading you to the sofa. A place where you can talk. The fireplace is on, bathing you in a warm flickering glow that makes his breathing hitch when he glances over at you.  

Your eyes are puffy, your nose red and he thinks you might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. 

He can't help himself but reach for you, bringing you to his lap as he sits. There's nothing sexual about it, just the need to hold you close, to make you feel safe there. Your arms wrap around his neck and he rocks you, his arms banding around your waist. 

"Honey," Joel whispers into the crook of your neck. "What's wrong?" 

Honey.

You melt into him just as easily as the word. This was a terrible idea. What had you been thinking? How could you ask Joel here? 

Because of the song, your traitorous heart cries. Because you love him! Because his face is the first one you want to see!

You hold him tightly to you, unable to break from him just yet. Unable to tell him the awful ugliness. Instead your mind drifts to the rehearsal dinner. Your hand plays with the fabric of Joel's shirt, twisting it under your fingers. 

"Joel . . . The song."

Immediately he tenses and you can't see his face, but you can imagine it. Eyes nervous, mouth hooked slightly to the side. The same way he’d held his face that night in his den, your hand around a glass of soda.

"Maybe one day we'll have reason to make music again.”

Joel smiles softly around his glass. "Maybe."

"Did you like it?" he murmurs into your hair. You can't help but hold him tighter, your eyes filling. He sounds so unsure of himself, so worried about what you’ll say.

"Yeah, I loved it. It was beautiful."

You feel him physically relax in your arms at this admission. The tension, the uncertainty is drained from him. You force yourself not to tilt your face to his, not to search for his mouth with yours. 

"I thought you didn't play anymore,” you tell his shoulder.  

"I don't. One time performance I guess. Shoulda charged for tickets." 

There, the humor you both needed to break the intense spell that weaves itself when you're in Joel's arms. You're thankful to him for that. Now you can pull back, still seated in his lap, but in control of yourself. 

"I hope you keep playing forever."

Joel smiles wistfully at you, nodding.  You let his dark eyes search your face. You let his hand cup your cheek, his wide thumb brushing away the tears there.

"I never told you about why I went back to Chicago," you sniffle. "Why I didn't call."

"You don't have to tell me," Joel insists. "It doesn't change why I'm here. I'll stay here all night just holdin' you if it's what you need." 

He doesn't want to push you, doesn't want you upset because of him. This time in Chicago, the separation, it feels like an ugly part of your shared history that he just wants you both to forget. 

"No, I want to tell you," you say in a sorrowful voice. "You deserve to know everything."

Joel nods and he wants to keep you there in his lap. But you shuffle back from him, sitting across from him on the sofa. It takes several minutes of staring into the flames of the fire before you feel you can begin. 

"My dad has been in and outta the hospital a lot," you explain, looking at your hands in your lap. "It's because he's waiting for a liver transplant."

Joel is shocked. The way you spoke of Chicago, of your family, he'd assumed your father was dead. 

"The thing is," you continue, unaware of his shock. "He can't get one unless he stops using and, uh, he won't." 

"Using?" Joel is still taken aback by the revelation, not thinking clearly. 

"Coke and heroin mostly," you say with a wince. "He's a drug addict."

Your father has been a junkie for most of your life.

And it's in part because you exist. 

The same year you were born he'd gone to a party without your mom. She was tired, still breastfeeding you and encouraged him to go out and have some fun. 

He did. 

The kind of fun that had started as a party drug passed around and ended with him burning through the family savings and growing gaunt in the coming years. The kind of fun that had him doing eight balls during your soccer games and shooting up on your graduation day. 

You were four when he first went into rehab at the insistence of your mother. A few weeks before your fifth birthday he'd come home sober and ready to change his life back around. You hadn't really understood what was happening. You'd just been so happy to be a family again.

That photo on your desk, the one the flood destroyed, the one that meant so much to you is from the only birthday party of yours that your father ever attended sober. 

In the passing years he turned to drugs again but he hid it well from you and your mother. You never knew the severity of it until you turned fifteen.  

Until you came home one day from your part time job at the Chicago humane shelter to find him covered in piss and his own vomit and barely responsive. 

He died on his way to the hospital, a full forty two seconds he was clinically dead. Until they revived him and he sputtered back to life. You remember all of this because it was you in the ambulance with him. 

Your mother was at work, unreachable. Your dad's sporadic unemployment meant she worked two jobs. 

So it was a fifteen year old you with tears running down her cheeks that watched this unfold, completely terrified. 

You were sixteen when he got out of rehab for the second time and promised his life was changed forever. He and your mother had almost two years of no fighting - a change of pace for you who had grown up to their constant shouting matches. 

You were eighteen when he relapsed at a friend's house party. Twenty two and twenty five when he went back to the various rehabs that your mother always paid for in more ways than one.  

And then he just stopped trying in the coming years. Still using, but not enough for your sweet mother to kick him out. 

It's like he's infected by some insidious being inside him. A forever hungry thing that takes and takes, warping your once sweet father into something subhuman. A being that is frighteningly underweight, hollowing his cheeks and making his eyes bulbous in his face. He isn't your father anymore, not really. 

But he is. That's the worst part.

Because if he wasn't your Dad you could hate him.

You tell Joel all of this, it spills from you like a stream and he sits across from you, nodding and never speaking. When your voice hitches or the tears begin fresh he instinctively moves towards you on the sofa, stopped only by your raised palm. You need to get all of this out and if he holds you, you never will. 

"That night you left, like, two hours later my mom called me to tell me that my dad had a really bad seizure," You shake your head, wanting to stop the memory. "And she sounded so scared on the phone and I just had to get back. I had to get there, back home to help. I was on autopilot."

Joel recalls the hollow look in your eyes when he went to see you that day.

"I know you came to see me but I don't even remember it," you tell Joel. "All I could think of was that I fucked up, that I should have been there in Chicago with my mom." 

Joel is stiff, watching you without speaking. 

"And I got home and it was just as awful as I thought it would be." You start to shudder at the memory. "My dad could barely talk. And when he did all he wanted to do was blame me for leaving. Telling me I was selfish for leaving my mom and him. Telling me that without me around to help pay for things that there was more pressure on him and my mom to afford their place."

You break off only to hold in a sob, breathing deeply and continuing. 

"And he was right, you know. Coming to Austin for school was so selfish of me. I could've just as easily gone to school back in Chicago." A look of disgust crosses your features as you talk now to yourself. "So fucking selfish."

"No," Joel's voice is quiet but firm. "That's not true."

You're ignoring him though, so caught up in your own devastation. Your eyes are shut tightly and your head is giving short jerks. 

"I just run from everything, Joel. I ran from Chicago and I ran to Austin because I thought that if I kept running far away enough that, that his ugliness could never touch me. But it lives in me, Joel. That ugliness is in me forever." 

Joel's eyes have grown glassy, even now he remains sitting there looking at you with unending patience and his hands twitching to hold you. 

"I stayed there for a month,” you continue, not even aware that your head is tilted so low Joel has to lean forward to hear. “A month of my dad telling me I was selfish. A month of my mom trying to tell me that it's just his disease talking. A month of seeing your name come up on my phone and wanting so badly to talk to you but just thinking about how horrible I was and how you and Sarah deserved better."

You force yourself to breathe between sentences, your air hitching in your chest.  Joel is staring at you, his eyes swimming over your features. Horrible? You?

"So when I eventually got back to Austin I was just so fucking sad, Joel. So tired. I couldn't get out of bed. I didn't want to be around anyone. Not you, not Sarah. I couldn't do that to you guys." You swipe at your eyes with the wrist of your sweater. "I should have called you and seen you but I was so selfish only thinking about me and how I felt.

Your eyes jerk open when you feel the warmth of Joel's hand on yours. He's leaning across the sofa, his wide hand placed gently over yours. A thumb gently strokes your knuckles. 

"No," Joel breathes in a voice of gentle warmth. "Never selfish. Never. It was me that fucked up."

"No."

"Yes," Joel tells you and you can see the way his dark eyes are damp. "You are the least selfish person I've ever met."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, your chin wobbling. "You know why I called you tonight? Because my mom just called to beg me to come home again. Apparently my dad's saying that if I move back to Chicago that he'll go to treatment again. That he'll stop using. That he'll be able to get the transplant."

Joel's eyes widen but he remains silent. 

"And I don't want to go," you say, lips trembling. "I don't want to go back there. I don't want to fucking go even if it would mean helping because I'm a horrible, selfish cunt."

The sobs that burst out of you are pure anguish that you muffle in a pillow to keep Maria from hearing all those floors above. Joel is physically holding himself back, dying to embrace you but giving you your space.

 All he can do is stroke your head, desperate to convey all of his care and affection for you through the gesture. 

"He was always promising he was going to get clean," you say hollowly, moving away from the pillow and Joel's touch. "And my mom, she just, she just kept carrying on like there was hope. But there is no hope. Just this endless, bleak, fucking pain."

Your eyes meet his and you're overcome. You stand abruptly, feeling the scrutiny of Joel as sharply as if he were stabbing you.

"Joel, just go. I'm sorry I called. This was a terrible idea to have you come here. This isn't your problem. I'm so fucking sorry."

Joel stands and for a moment you think he's going to leave. You think that might be a relief because you're feeling too vulnerable, too exposed. 

You aren't expecting Joel to quietly close the distance between your bodies and wordlessly pull you into his arms. You're shocked more however at how willingly you allow this, how easy it is to fall back into his embrace. To tangle your arms around his neck and hold him as tightly as you can. He's warm against you, his cheek resting on the top of your head as you press your face to his shoulder.

"I hate him. I hate what he put my mom and me through." Your chin is trembling as you blink back the onslaught of more tears. "And I hate that I love him so much because he's my fucking dad."

Your hands are gripping Joel around the middle as he holds you, his broad shoulders curling, his arms tightening.

"I hate that I just want him to die," you cry through clenched teeth. "To stop holding on. To bring my mother some fucking peace."

More tears come. 

Joel thinks of James and the cocaine and how upset you'd been. He'd thought you were justified in the way you'd acted, the heated punch across James slimy face for treating you so rudely. But now he realizes why you'd been shamed, so terrified of your own fury.

"And I hate that I'm just like him."

You break off as Joel's large hand is cupping the back of your head, and he's gently swaying you, the way a mother would a newborn. 

"It's okay," Joel murmurs in your hair. "I've got you. I've got you."

You don't know why, but this quiet utterance from him is that breaks you, and the wall against him that you've built so high for yourself collapses. Heavy sobs break free from you, stark mournful things that you muffle in Joel's shoulder. They make your body jerk, causing Joel to hold you tighter against him.

"Shhh," Joel soothes. "Just breathe, baby. Slowly, like me."

He takes a few steadying breaths, urging you to match the slow pace. After a few shuddering exhales you do so, your breathing staggering into a steady, even rhythm. 

"Good," Joel whispers. "Good."

"I'm just like him," you again whisper the words you've only ever thought into Joel's collar. "I'm selfish and horrible and -"

"You're nothing like that," Joel assures you, pulling you back so that he can look into your eyes when he tells you this. "Not at all."

"Really? What do you call what we did in your kitchen?" You scoff. "Knowing that we were with other people? Or how about when you pushed me up against that wall over there?"

Joel is silent, only his eyes move around your face while the rest of him is like a statue. He doesn't need to look at the wall to know what you're talking about. 

"I can't stop wanting you," you say with a look of torment in your eyes. "I can't fucking stop, Joel. I try and I try and I can't. I'm just like my dad. I want what I shouldn't. I want what's only going to hurt other people and hurt myself."

"Honey-"

"I can't stop," you repeat weakly, trying to step back from him. "So I have to stay away." 

Joel hands are on either side of your face again and he's peppering your face with soft kisses and everything in you wants to rejoice because Joel is here and he's holding you. 

"Don't stay away from me," Joel's tells you as he rains compassion down on you. "Never."

You can't keep him. He's not yours.

Both of you are being incredibly selfish right now. Tess is probably at home right now taking care of Sarah and Daniel. Tess who was made to be a mother. Tess who understands Joel. What is wrong with you? 

Selfish.

Horrible. 

"Stop, Joel," you say twisting from him, out of his grip. "I told you all of this so that you can understand why I won't be around as much. But I'll call Sarah every other night, if she still wants to speak to me. And when I come back for visits I'll take her to the movies and-"

It's like Joel is only just now noticing all the moving boxes. He's glancing around as you talk, his eyes widening.

"You're not actually thinking of moving back to Chicago," Joel interrupts in a horrified voice. "You can't be."

"Just for a few months, just until he's settled in rehab-"

"No," Joel is wild-eyed shaking his head, his eyebrows saddling. "You can’t. You just. . . You can’t do this. You can’t sacrifice everything. Your work - that sanctuary. You won’t come back. I know you, you’ll feel like you have to take care of your dad. You’ll stay there."

"It's complicated-"

"It's not." 

"Joel, my dad needs me."

"That was a horrible thing to lay on your shoulders," Joel says and he looks furious and sad all at once. "And I'm sorry for your parents, I really am, but no. You can't go. You can't do this to yourself."

"I have to go," you tell Joel. You falter, pulling back from him, needing to be out of his orbit. 

Joel stands there as you pull back from him, looking so out of place in your suite with its low ceilings, the space almost emptied of furniture. He’s like this beam you can’t look away from, this tall broad angel with eyes that look at you as if you’re actually worth something.

He breaks off, uttering a pained "Jesus Christ" and you're sure he's going to yell at you about Paul just like Maria did. 

You’re sure he’ll run from the room shouting that you’re selfish. Positive that he’ll tell you that you’re not worth all this hassle.

Instead Joel does something you're not expecting. 

He crosses the room over to you and slips to his knees, holding you around the middle before he presses his forehead gently against your abdomen. It shocks you, this action and this pose from him. He sits like this in silence for several minutes, holding you, breathing against you in heavy shudders. Your hands are on his broad shoulders, glancing down at him in confusion. 

"I'm so sorry," he finally whispers, a little murmur against you. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

"I didn't need you to be," you insist, your hand going to his neck, urging his face up to look at you. He won't move his face from where it is lodged against your stomach. He can’t.

"But I should have been," Joel insists, his voice a low rasp. 

“It was so long ago.”

Almost six months since the awful incident. And you don’t carry it with you, not like Joel apparently has because now his head tilts back from your abdomen.

"I never should have walked away that day. I should have stayed. If I had none of this Tess and Paul shit would have happened. I would’ve gone back with you to Chicago." Joel's voice sounds thick with escaping emotion. "I ruined us." 

His beautiful eyes open and you watch as tears slip down his cheek. You suppose that's what makes you freeze up, your heart sinking. You've never seen Joel cry before and the sight is as shocking as it is heartbreaking. 

"Forgive me," he whispers brokenly. "Please."

You can see the anguish in his features and realize he's been living in it since you got back. This hellish landscape of grief and regret. He's been wearing it like armor weighing him down.

"Nothing to forgive," you tell him honestly, your knuckles trailing down his cheek to wipe the tears away. "Joel it was never a matter of fault. It was just how things happened."

His head drops against your stomach again and you can feel his strong shoulders begin to quake jerkily.

"I was fucking weak."

"You were human," you reply, rubbing at his shoulders, wanting to soothe him as much as he wants to soothe you. "You couldn't have known." 

"I just left you there, all hollow and quiet and I walked away," Joel's voice is ragged. "I should have stayed. That's what you do when you love someone."

Love.

It hits you with a strong, visceral acuity. Starting in your rib cage and then spreading outward, causing everything in your body to wake up.  It makes you breathless to hear it, though you've long suspected it, secretly hoped for it.

"Joel-"

"I'll never stop being sorry for it," Joel tells you simply, his face tilting up to look into yours. "Never."

Without thinking your hand is gently carding through his tousled curls. His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your hands. The moment is overwhelming in austerity and you need to break it. 

"Not even if I asked nicely?" you say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

His eyes open and he gives you a small, watery smile before he stands. He towers over you again, taking your face in his wide hands and now it’s you leaning into his touch.  

"I'd do anything you asked."

And all at once you know he's going to kiss you and that you want him to. 

He tilts his head forward and lips move over yours so gently that you sigh into his mouth. Your entire body sags towards him and instead of the fervent kisses from not that long ago, this kiss is different. It’s soft and sweet and unhurried. His soft lips move over yours, taking time to memorize how your pliant mouth moves under his, the way you inhale softly when you break apart, his wide hands still cupping your face.

Tess.

Marmalade.

Selfish.

"I'm sorry I called," you sniff, tilting your face from him. "I never should have done that. You should go, Joel." 

"You want me to go?" Joel's voice is a low aching sound. You can't look at him. You can't look into those intense, beautiful eyes of his so instead you face away from him. 

"Yes."

You feel yourself floundering, that unmistakable voice in your head screaming to run. Run from the conflict. Run from your feelings.

Run. Run.

"You're lyin'," Joel insists. 

"I'm not."

You feel his strong fingers on either side of your chin, dragging your face to meet his. But still your eyes remain closed.

"Look at me."

You shake your head the best that you can in his grip. 

"I can't have you here, Joel. I'm sorry I called you, it was wrong.”

Joel's hand is flying to slide around the back of your neck. "Stop."

"You’re with Tess," you insist with a shake of your head, pulling back from his sweet touch. "She's perfect for you. She'll make the best mom to Sarah. It makes sense, Joel. You have to see that."

"I broke it off with Tess," Joel bites off.  “I don’t want Tess.”

Your eyes fly open."What?"

"How could I keep dating her? I knew I couldn't stop wanting you. I never will." Joel feels his neck growing warm. "And she told me what she asked you to do, to stay away from Sarah."

You nod brokenly, feeling the tears gathering just at the memory compounded by this new guilt.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I just want what's best for you and Sarah. A chance at a real family."

You've ruined this for him. Joel's chance at a family, something for himself. Something for his own.  Selfish like your dad.

"Go back to Tess, Joel. Tell her it was a mistake."

"I'm not gonna do that."

"You have to, Joel. She wants you."

“And you don’t?”

It hangs there, the truth between you. If you admit it, it’s over. Any pretense you would have carried is gone. He’ll choose you because of this unknowable, untenable connection. But you’re not good for him. You’re not the kind of woman Joel Miller needs. You’ll take and take from him, leaving him with nothing in the end. It’s how your father operates, and you are your father’s daughter. Your engagement isn't even officially off. You're moving to Chicago. So what? You'll confess you love Joel? Make him feel compelled to follow you to Chicago? And what about Sarah? You're going to disrupt her life too? How is that not the most selfish thing in the world?

“No.”

Saying it physically hurts.

You love Joel. You love this man in front of you. And it’s precisely that love that sends you pushing back from him. But you’re stopped by his hand on the back of your neck again, holding you there.

"Don't," Joel says through clenched teeth."Don't stand there and lie to me of all people. You wanna lie to yourself? Fine, but not to me. Never to me. I don’t deserve it."

It is. It is a fucking lie.

"Tell me the truth," Joel urges gently, pleading. "Tell me to my face that you don't want me as much as I want you.”

You try to form the words that tell him exactly that, but you can't.

They don't exist. 

Joel nods in understanding, his warm eyes even warmer. But he can see the fear in your expression, the panic. 

"Just let me take care of you tonight," Joel whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Please." 

You're trembling against his palm, tears coating your lashes. "Okay."

Joel seems surprised by your easy acceptance but he nods, reaching down to take your hand in his. 

"Let's go to bed."

You follow him without question to the bed. He shrugs off his jacket, watching you watching him. You're eyes are owlish in your face, the tension clear. Joel brings himself up on the bed still dressed in his jeans and shirt. He lays overtop the sheet before bringing it back for you to crawl under. 

You hesitate. There is nothing more enticing than the thought of Joel making love to you right now. But it feels wrong, rushed. Too many things going on in your mind.

"I just wanna hold you," Joel explains when he sees your eyes nervously move from him to the bed. "If that's okay?"

Relief floods you and you nod, moving under the covers of your bed. And all the aching loneliness, all the terror of being lost? It’s gone. It’s gone the second you snuggle up against Joel in your bed.

His broad hand moves through your hair gently, moving it back from your flushed face before stroking it in tenderly. He stares at you, barely blinking. You muse that you could have entire conversations like this, just staring into each other's eyes. That perhaps you're having one right now. 

His eyes are so soft. How can a man made up of sharp angles and broad planes look at you with eyes so fucking soft? 

"How can you look at me like that?" you ask blinking through new tears. "After everything I've told you how can you lie there and look at me like I'm not a piece of shit?"

"Because you're not," Joel replies swiftly. "None of what your dad did is your fault. How could it be?"

"If I was there-"

"He'd still be using," Joel tells you simply. "And he'd have a new thing or person to blame for it."

"Even if that's true," you insist. "I'm his kid. I should go back."

"You're telling me if I told a grown up Sarah she had to move back home to take care of me, even if I'd barely been in her life, even if she had a whole life somewhere else, you'd tell her she was selfish for not doing it?"

Your eyes widen. Sarah. Sweet, genuine Sarah. No, you wouldn't blame her. But that's Sarah.

"She's just a kid-"

"Same age as when your dad started." Joel's eyes are watery. "How come you're so unkind to yourself? Why don't you think you deserve good things?"

"A lifetime of experience," you reply darkly.

///

And for a moment there is sudden clarity for Joel that hits him in such a way he's shocked he never understood it as easily before. 

In the job you chose, in the immediately natural way you were with the screaming Daniel, even quicker than you were with his sweet and calm Sarah.  

In the way these animals, hurt and abandoned and ignored are so much more than just pitiful creatures that pass along your desk in files. 

You see yourself in them. 

You see yourself in their haunted eyes and terrible histories. You see it in the plaintive cry of the frustrated Daniel. In this world that turns its back and its ears to them you want desperately to embrace them, to hold them to you and communicate a perfect, unending love for them.

Because no one did that for you. 

Your mom tried, Joel is sure of it. But love is hard to share when so much of it is reserved for a husband in constant crisis. When you're a frazzled mother working two jobs to keep your mortgage and your marriage and family together. Love is there of course, but it's not overt. Not like you crave. 

The kind of love that Maria gives you without question. The kind of love Joel would give to you every fucking day if you said you wanted him to be yours.

"I know I have no right to ask you to stay or demand anything from you, but, fuck, please don't do this," Joel whispers earnestly. "Don't move back to Chicago." 

You're silent. 

“If you do you’ll never come back,” Joel murmurs, his voice full of so many emotions it would be impossible to pick just one. “I know you. You’d sacrifice everything for him.”

“I. . . I don’t. . .”

Your eyes are so heavy, almost as heavy as your heart. You’ve shared so much with Joel, brought up so many painful memories it feels like you’ve run a marathon. Your head tilts against the pillow.

"Go to sleep, baby," Joel tells you, holding himself back from kissing you. "I'm here. Just sleep."

When you finally fall asleep Joel continues to look at you. His dark eyes travel the curve of your cheek, takes in the length of your lashes and the way your mouth looks half open in sleep. He memorizes each part of your face knowing that this may be his only chance to do so. 

You’re engaged. You still have that connection to your parents in Chicago. There is so much that exists in this world to take you away from him. 

He still sees it this way, outside forces wanting to rip you from him, as if he has some claim on you. He doesn't care if Paul gave you a ring. You’re his. You’re his and he has never stopped feeling this way, even though he's tried. He doesn't know he'll ever stop. 

He stops himself from kissing your sleeping mouth on more than one occasion during the night, desperate for that contact if this is really the end. 

It can't be the end. It can't.

You sigh in your sleep, shuffling closer against him for warmth or for comfort. Joel allows this, his eyes skipping closed at the calm your nearness brings him. 

I'll never ask for anything as long as I live. Just let her be mine.

He finally falls asleep with your soft breathing in the crook of his neck

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #smut #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal

[0xstarzx0]

PUPPY LOVE

S1 Rafe x Puppy Reader

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language ❗️❗️]

synopsis : it’s Y/N birthday, of course Rafe gonna be the best boyfriend she never had.

TW: plush

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"please Rafey" you say with the eyes of a beaten dog. "Love you don’t want to go to the restaurant and then to the beach like all the time?" said he was trying to convince you.

"Rafe he won’t come back and I really want to go, please?.." Rafe looks at you with frustration. Why? Because your favorite rapper came to the Outer Banks on your birthday.

Rafe sighs and nods before rising the lower lip. You jump with joy while shouting victory. Rafe did not understand, you were so sweet. You looked like a baby dog following him around being pure. You shuddered when he stirred his neck or touched you. So when you asked him to go see 21 savage, he didn’t understand.

even if you’ve been dating for several years, the fact that you asked him to go see a rapper never came to mind. You listen to a bit of everything but often it was quiet music or vontage bands. He loved 21 savage very much too, he would love to go see a conert of him with you. The problem is the people who are there, the guys will look at you like a piece of fresh meat and the girls -in his opinion-would be so different from you that they would not hesitate to make remarks even if you would not hear them, he would.

But somehow he agreed, so he would because your birthday is his favorite day

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You put on a black dress that happened to you put on your thigh with a white vest, Rafe just put on a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt. We said you had the wrong gig, you looked so coquette for this kind of event, but luckily Rafe would be the bodyguard and your boyfriend.

Rafe made sure you were close to the stage, he would lie if he didn’t pay some of the staff for it. The concert started and you were more than happy, you dancing and singing Rafe was behind you a hand on your hip or his arms wrapped around you. Making it clear to the guy watching you that you belonged to him.

Your heels are starting to hurt and Rafe notices. "Is everything okay, baby?" He asks you as he leans over your ear so you can hear. "Yes my heels just hurt!" you say on your tiptoes. Without you having time to understand Rafe stoops down and takes off your heels, he remains crouched. "Climb" He says, tapping his shoulders.

You get on his shoulders, and he gets back on his feet, he has no problem carrying you and impressed himself. You start singing again, sometimes playing with his hair, and he likes it. Luckily he wears pants wide enough, because currently his dick is hard, why? because despite your dress, he feels your panties on his shoulders.

The end of the concert arrives and 21 begins to sing your favorite music, you sing with all your strength forcing Rafe to sing too. You wave at the rapper thinking he hadn’t seen it but on the contrary, he sees it and to the general surprise, he makes you one in return, You are more than mad with joy unlike Rafe who is jealous. Why among the hundreds of girls who wear practically nothing, does he notice you?

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"Can you believe it, Rafey? He said hi!" You say very cheerful, The concert was over for about twenty minutes, Rafe had been angry all along the way, he did not understand why you were so happy for it.  It’s true it was nothing. "It’s just a handshake Y/N" he said coldly. "We don’t care about 21 savage babe, I was the same at the beginning of our relationship." Rafe turns his head, you were a few feet from Tannyhill. "What?" You ask innocently. "What did you just say?" "that you realized, he waved!" 

"no after." he insists. "oh, was I the same at the beginning of our relationship?" He nods. "Well no boy looked at me at school, they were too focused on my friends or other girls prettier than me, you are the first person who is really interested in me, You were the first and I am happy." Rafe calmly grabs your hand and kisses it, it has kept it all the way you stay from the journey.

When you finally got to Tannyhill, He opened the passenger door and carried you so you wouldn’t walk barefoot, When you walked into the huge house, Topper was in front. You were shocked to see him, Rafe not as if he expected to see him.

"Hi Y/N, how are you?" says Topper. "Hey, what are you doing here?" You ask him nicely." I came for the d-"Topper’s tired, he better be home, right, man?" Rafe cuts. Rafe gives a bad look to the blond who nods directly. "Yes I better go, Bye Y/N happy birthday again!" he says on the run. You turn to Rafe and he just shrugs his shoulders, you go into the living room and a box with ribbons and holes is laid on the little table.

You turn to Rafe and he just shrugs his shoulders, you go into the living room and a little box with ribbons and holes is laid on the little table. A baby dog is from a box, it has small ribbons on its ears, you take it gently and turn to see Rafe with arms crossed against the wall, You look at it and move slowly with the puppy. Rafey is the greatest gift I have ever received!" you say, starting to cry with joy. Rafe bends down and kisses you, you hand him the dog and he looks at you surprised, after a few minutes he takes it, his arms are huge compared to the puppy.

Rafe rocks him and you look at the scene with admiration, then he gives you back the baby dogs. "Love" Rafe looks at you intrigued." Her name Love. She’s a female." You say cheerfully smiling.

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#dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #drew starkey x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey fanfiction #rafe #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #Spotify

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 15

The beautiful mess that would’ve been The Beatles plus Yoko Ono plus Billy Preston plus Bob Dylan plus whoever else. Although I guess that is sort of what George went on to do. He really did just want a group of friends that cared more about each other than the product, and that’s what he created for himself. 

John: And the dream I had was you. The camera: zooms in on Paul’s wounded puppy eyes. John: *staring at Paul* d’you get my meaning? Imagine doing that to literally any other human being. I would not be that intimate with my best friend, my husband, my sister . . . anyone. Let alone my ex, (not literally, you all get what I mean) in front of my current SO and multiple cameras. This kind of thing really makes me wonder what kind of insane shit he must’ve said/done when they were alone, especially in happier times. 

George painted his own psychedelic guitar, and it looks gorg. Who painted Paul’s. Anyone know?

How can I Not assume “Stand By Me” is *meaningful* if, firstly, this is the second time you’ve sung it at each other during this project, and secondly, if you look at each other like This while singing it? Then again, when are they not uncomfortably intense when singing together?

“Oh, help me, Daddy. I don’t even know how this thing works.”  He says about the instrument he plays in the most successful band of all time. Paul can play whatever he needs to to get what he wants out of someone, and that includes dumb.

John’s little “Ookaay.” At Paul’s weird carrying-on about his insecurities with his bass playing. It just screams, “You’re delusional and I’m not getting into this right now.” Which is 1000% valid. Imagine being Paul McCartney and second-guessing your bass skills. Reminds me of that quote where John’s like, “He’s an egomaniac about everything else, but he’s coy about his bass playing. Which is stupid because he’s one of the most innovative bass players . . .”

John and Paul nail the harmony on “HoooooohOoOoOme.” And the LOOKs, you guys.

But also the nonverbal vocal communication! It’s one of my favorite parts about them, really. One of the things that reminds me of how special their relationship is. John makes a face. Paul goes, “brroop”. John replies with a beaming, “Yeah!” To which Paul adds another “brrrrip” as they simultaneously continue the song. It’s just unreal. Nobody does that. They are magical and they were right to think they had special telecommunicative powers. 

The lunch orders today are everything you need to know about the Beatles. John: Sparrow on toast. Paul: Boiled testicle. George: Uh, Mal? So, we’ll have whatever the vegetables are, and if they’ve got any cheese sauce for the cauliflower. Ringo: Mashed potato. That’s it. That’s them.

“Then there’s another one,” says Paul, doing a shit job of pretending he hasn’t rehearsed this to sound like some accidental discovery. “Don’t let me down. Oh, darling,” sung suddenly, and forcefully, directly at John, “I’ll never let you down.”

John, beaming like the star quarterback just told him he looked pretty, tucks his hair behind his ears and says, barely hovering in the safety of a joking tone, “Yeah, it’s like you and me are lovers.”

John has of course taken Paul’s game of gay chicken an arm’s reach farther than Paul’s comfortable with, at least in front of cameras, so he can only nod, and brush his own hair back. Stiff, expressionless. "Yeah."

(Of course, Peter Jackson cuts out what eventually evolves into John and Paul singing “we’re a couple of queers” and talking about wearing skirts for the performance) 

Am I the only one getting the vibe that John genuinely dislikes Teddy Boy? Not because he thinks it sucks or anything but because he doesn’t like the obvious similarities to his relationship with Julia? Personally, I love it. It was my anxiety song a few years back.

The original lyric to “fancy me chances” was Not “frock” I absolutely guarantee. 

Love Paul checking on Billy. Love that they're all, even with everything they've got going, making sure he's set up and taken care of.

Sorry not sorry that I’m so thirsty over literally every woman in this show, but. Hello, Pattie! She just walks in, ignores everyone else, kisses him Like That, whispers something, and gets out to go live her own life. Queen. Gorgeous. Obsessed.

George Martin praising his children for "working so well together." I love that he refused to produce them after the white album, not because they were being disrespectful to him or anything, but because they weren't getting along. And that, although he's not producing, technically, he can't stop himself coming in to make sure they're okay. He's such a good dad, literally.

John over here being emo af by himself, playing “I Feel Fine,” because he definitely does Not feel fine and he’s just as nostalgic as Paul, which is way too fucking nostalgic. Poor baby. 

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back

[lilislegacy]

you may have gotten a similar ask before, but I'm new to your blog, so i just wanted to ask: what do you envision Percy and annabeth's post-college life to be like? how many kids? girl/boy? names? (If they have kids at all?) their jobs? where do they live? what does their house look like? do they have pets? what are their relationships like with the other demigods? This might be a lot for one ask but you seem like you can literally dive right into percabeth's minds so I just thought I'd ask 😅

ok. you have just asked me a question that i instinctually want to answer with a 3,000 word essay. so i am going to keep this as short as possible (which is not short at all.) i’m also open minded, so my headcanons can be changed if i see a take i really love. but these are my own beliefs

i think they get married. definitely after college. i know some people think they don’t marry because of hera, but i can’t stand the thought of them not doing what they want because of a god. (i also have a hc that they kinda blackmail her lol. as in she goes to them needing help - a quest - and they say they’ll do it only if she swears on the styx to never interfere with or harm their marriage)

i think they both do a lot of things over the course of their careers. annabeth is an architect, but she does multiple things with that. she creates some big famous attractions, she designs a greek version of new rome, aka “new greece” or “new athens” or something, maybe she builds hideouts for demigods (suggestion from a previous asker), etc. and for percy, i think he definitely does something that involves helping marine animals. he can literally speak to them - something no one else can do. he also is very protective of all sea animals he encounters in the books. so he needs to be doing that. personally, i love the thought of him becoming an aquatic vet. but there are several other marine animal related jobs that he could do in replacement of/in addition to that. i also see him doing several things throughout this life, and i made a big post about my thoughts there. i’ll link it at the end of this post.

they definitely have kids. no doubt. they’ve been thinking about having kids together since they were 16. i love the thought of them having 3, maybe 4. i think their first is a boy with short blonde curly hair and sea green eyes. i also think he has a “p” name, since his dad is named percy and his paternal grandfathers are poseidon and paul. but i don’t have names for any of them. ive always imagined them having 2 boys close together and then a girl later on. but i don’t have exact ideas, you know?

i think they live in a few different places. they probably start off in new rome, then eventually in new athens/new greece, and then i think nyc again at some point, maybe when the kids are grown. but i think they always try and live on/near beaches or lakes, when possible. (for obvious reasons)

they do a lot of traveling throughout their lives. because annabeth loves it, and percy loves seeing her happy.

they definitely have a family dog (look in the linked post for my thoughts on that.) plus horses/pegusi will always be around their place.

i don’t have exact house details in mind.

and they keep in great contact with all their demigod friends. both roman and greek.

all i know for sure is that they remain best friends who are deeply in love. they’re always each others battle partner. and they do everything in their power to not only protect their kids, but to make sure their childhoods don’t contain the same darknesses that their own childhoods did. they’re amazing parents, and they’re gonna do great things. they’re both going to use their abilities to help so many people and creatures. and their lives will never be dull or “normal.” not even for a second. and they love it.

my thoughts on percy’s career: ⬇️

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy x annabeth #percabeth babies #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #answered ask #anon ask

[softpascalito]

We got your back - Chapter 4

Summary: You work as a new DEA agent alongside Peña and Murphy. A not-so-kind colleague reveals more about you than you would like. You also realize you can sleep better if you're not by yourself. You're not the only one with that realization.

Relationships: Javier Peña x F!Reader

WC: 10k+

Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, mention of canon-typical violence, family issues, they arent specified but reader is implied to be from a dysfunctional family, literal sleeping together, one bed trope if you squint, tac vest javi, nightmares, cuddling, protective javier peña, mention of drugs

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist

notes: we are back! sorry this took me so long, i started into the year super positive and motivated but then my best friend decided to fucking die so life hasn't been very slay. i hope you babes are doing better and enjoy the chapter <3

(i cope with humor, can you tell?)

Chapter 4

“She could no longer think, nor were there any more images in her head. She was aware only of the softness of the woollen bathrobe next to her skin, and then of the nearness and warmth of a being that did not frighten her.”

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

You have the first good day in weeks. Apart from the nagging feeling that you now have something else to hide - at least from Steve and the rest of your colleagues - you do feel well rested, getting through the assigned files and some more intel with record speed.

One of the higher-ups is celebrating a milestone birthday and orders dinner, causing more people than usual to stay late. Javi finds you in the crammed room where the plates of food have been set up and squeezes in next to you, flashing his signature charming smile, “May I?”

“Yeah, sure,” you mumble back, shifting slightly to give him more space. But with how full all the tables are, the people are a good excuse to let yourself get a little closer than you normally would. Somehow, it doesn’t feel weird, the way it likely would’ve before last night. It just feels safe.

You eat your dinner without speaking much, Javi practically wolfing his down. A frown spreads over your face at that, “You got plans after this?”

“Are you asking me out, querida?” Javi responds in between two bites, flirting so casually that it almost seems like second nature to him. Which according to the testimony of at least three women you know in the embassy, is exactly that. 

He cocks his brow as he turns towards you and for a split second, he looks serious, like he means it. The thought has you blushing furiously and you think you just may choke on a piece of your pasta when the familiar grin spreads over his face and with it, a similarly familiar warmth settles in your stomach. “I was just joking,” he reassures you again at seeing your cheeks change color and clears his throat before getting a little more serious.

“Wanted to go through some more files, not like this lot will get anything done tonight.” He nods towards the group of people gathered around the man who is apparently celebrating. They’ve finally opened up the first bottle of Aguardiente.

Of course, Javi knows that with the steadily rising alcohol level, he may just be able to persuade someone into giving him access to precisely the file he wants. Or at least provide enough distraction for him to sneak off and find it himself.

He can still hear Steve in the back of his mind, reasoning with him.

“Have you ever considered that the files are sealed because she wants them to be?”

He has, now. But he finds that he doesn’t really care. There is something there, something that might explain you to him a little more. A tiny voice in his head offers up the idea of just asking you, getting to know you like everyone else does.

But he quickly shakes that thought off. It’s nothing to him, personally at least. His interest is strictly professional of course. Nothing else.

Just as the first people start clearing out, Javi slips away too. You strain your neck, glancing around the room and towards the buffet but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Great,” you mumble to yourself as you follow suit and leave the table, heading out of the large oak doors of the conference room. A pit has formed in your stomach and it only deepens when you catch a glimpse of the time. It’s past nine already so chances are Javier really has headed off to meet some informant. You try not to consider who else he could be meeting and who else may wake up next to him in the morning.

Passing through the dimly lit corridors that lead to the DEA offices, you let out a small noise of annoyance with yourself.

It’s not like it’s any of your business what Javi does after closing time or who he meets. And it’s not really like you to judge him for it.

But today, you realize quietly, your disappointment stems from the pit in your stomach at the thought of having to go home to the apartment you’d rather forget and to spend a few hours tossing and turning on a mattress until it’s time to come back.

You haven’t met a single person on your way back to your office and you consider curling up next to your desk again. A glance around the office tells you that you’re not in luck, though. A few other co-workers still have their bags and jackets draped over chairs and desks and some will no doubt return to get them once they’re done eating. Javi finding you was one thing but they would be something else.

It takes a few seconds until the solution hits you and you take off past the open plan office and towards the smaller adjacent rooms in the back. The crammed file room that you’ve spent the last night in is sitting in darkness, the blinds almost completely closed. You decide against turning on the big light and simply make your way through the room- which is barely a few steps.

The orange glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds is enough to let your hands find the couch in the corner and you settle onto it with a small sigh, content to just be still for a moment. It’s a little eerie, especially since you’re not sure if anyone other than Peña and Murphy frequents the space. But the sounds that do drift to you are low and distant, nothing more than a couple of cars honking a few blocks away and a dog barking somewhere in the distance.

You draw your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them for the lack of actual bedding and lean back, closing your eyes.

It doesn’t become apparent to you that you’ve passed out until you wake with a start. You’re semi-aware of something above you and you squint into the darkness of the room. You can’t see his face but there is the voice you know all too well.

“That you, cariño?” Javi mutters, already a blanket in hand that he nudges against you. It takes you a few more seconds to find your voice, bringing a hand up to rub your eyes, “Thought you left.”

“I came back. Here, go back to sleep. I’ll stay.”

You’re too tired to fight him, to put up any kind of resistance against making this a habit, to bring up that this is a bad idea, for the sake of both of you. The blanket warms you up so quickly, even more so with the way Javier’s body slowly comes to rest beside you. You think you answer something before you pass out again. You can’t remember what you say.

It’s not until the next morning, when you yawn as you head into the office kitchen, that you find out precisely why Javier snuck off last night.

There is cereal. And not the shitty kind- actual Cap’n Crunch, your favorite. The man beside you, who has a reputation for being a playboy and for never staying for breakfast, remembered the way you preferred your breakfast. It’s hard not to let it get to your head.

It does become routine after that. Javi lingers around the office until he can tell if you’ll leave or stay. Most nights you stay. Most turn into all. On the second night in a row, he lights himself a cigarette as he flips through a few more files before going to sleep. On the third, it goes from a bad to a really bad night when the nightmares you never seem to be able to get rid of come for you. For a second, you think this will be one step too far for him. But he barely seems to mind the way you cuddle a bit closer to him and he mumbles soft words until you go back to sleep.

He never mentions it during the day and neither do you. It’s almost like your sleeping arrangements are part of a different world, not the one that spins around your work, that’s full of drugs and death and everything else that makes sleep difficult. But Javi just feels- safe. He never asks too many questions. He just gets the blanket, sets his alarm, makes sure there is cereal in the morning. He feels like a godsent.

Of course, it’s only a question of time until someone notices something. You’re always careful to not head into your little room until everyone else is gone but occasionally, someone will show up too early or during the night- a spontaneous raid, a tip that needs instant investigating. Javi keeps the phone by his side constantly and it takes over a week for you to realize it may not just be to get alerts on developing situations but also to be alerted to someone coming into the office during unusual hours.

So when two weeks have passed and someone does catch you, Javi is glad it's Steve who is clearly just grabbing some files early in the morning and freezes in the doorway. He stares Javi down, who in return gently puts a finger onto his lips and motions for them to head to the hallway, gently closing the door behind himself as he steps out of the office.

“I have no way to be certain about Messina’s stance on this, but something tells me she wouldn't appreciate you bringing your hookers into the embassy,” Steve hums, unable to keep a small smirk off his face. Javi rolls his eyes in return, “I'm not an idiot, do you know that?”

He pauses for a moment and raises his hand just as Steve opens his mouth, “Don't answer that.” His mind is racing with too many thoughts at once. He’s not sure why, of all the things he could choose to tell Steve, he picks the truth when the lies would be so much easier.

“She was assigned a shitty apartment, hasn't been sleeping well. I remember you and Connie having similar issues after you arrived down here. With her, I figured we didn't use the room anyway and she-” he trails off. Steve brows have knitted together as the pieces slowly fall into place, “Somehow, a hooker would have been less complicated than a colleague.” There's another roll of eyes from Javi, the air a little thick with tension.

“I'm trying to help her. That's all.”

“You are trying to help her? Do you really expect me to believe that?” Steve shoots back, raising his voice until Javi motions for him to quiet down, nodding towards the door. The blonde man makes a face, but he does lower his voice as he repeats himself, “You expect me to believe that? You’re just helping her, no motive? It has nothing to do with you feeling the need to fuck your way through half the office by the time we finish the case?”

Javier actually groans at that, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He moves his fingers to the side, using them to gently rub his tired eyes. His free arm is resting against his belt, the fingers twitching ever so slightly.

“Fuck you, Murphy. Just leave us alone and get your files in the morning.”

Steve looks like he wants to say something else, but then he thinks better of it. A small glare is sent towards his partner regardless.

“If you fuck this up somehow, Javi, I swear, I will make sure you get in real trouble. She’s too sweet for whatever you are trying to do here.”

It's two nights after the encounter with Steve- who has much to Javier's relief actually left them alone- when it happens again. It's been a particularly exhausting day for both of you, which actually made Javi hopeful that you'd both fall into a deep sleep as soon as you hit the couch. But it's been as mentally draining as it's been physically. And your mind clearly just won’t shut off.

It wakes him. The small stirring, the movement of your body beside his. He’s never been a particularly deep sleeper and Colombia has only made it worse, his brain seemingly always on alert to danger. So when he does wake, it takes Javi a few seconds to realize that the danger his brain is alerting him to is not a sicario sneaking into your room, it’s not a gun held to his head. It’s an entirely different kind of danger, one much less life-threatening but so much more complicated to fix.

A small groan escapes him as he reaches for the small light perched on the file cabinets, pulling the string attached to it. He blinks groggily as it flickers to life, bathing the room into a dim, dusty light. A few moments pass before he hears another whimper behind him and turns towards you, eyes already laced with concern.

Your features are scrunched up, lips slightly apart as the noises find their way out of your dream and into reality. Occasionally, a muscle twitches in your hands or your leg, making the whole scene even more eerie. But what gets Javier the most, what makes the pit in his stomach feel like one that could reach the ground floor, is the wetness on your face. Tears, undoubtedly slipping from your closed eyes and finding their way down the side of your face. It looks absolutely heartbreaking.

“Cariño,” he mutters under his breath, bringing his hand towards your arm and beginning to rub it in a gentle, circular motion.

“Wake up, it’s just a dream. You’re-” For a split second, he wants to say home. But he knows it's so far from the truth. He's not sure you consider any place in this country a home. Actually, he's not sure which place you do consider one.

“You’re alright,” he mumbles instead, adding a little more force to his touch and voice alike. His gaze never leaves your face as your eyes finally fly open, practically choking on the whimper that had just been leaving your throat. The panic is evident in your eyes, in the way they fly around, searching for something, anything to reassure you, to replace the pictures still floating in your mind. They find soft, brown eyes. It’s something to hold onto.

“There you are,” Javi hums, bringing his free hand to your face, his thumb catching the next tear that rolls out of the corner of your eye. “It's okay, you're safe. Just a bad dream.”

You blame it on the panic still sitting in your throat or the way you've just woken up, the way you don't even think about your movements as you move yourself into Javis arms, sneaking your arms around his waist and you think you feel him hesitate for just a moment before he wraps his arms around you in return, whispering reassurances into the dimly lit room and stroking your back.

You cry a little more, when the memories of the dream feel too overwhelming and he holds you through all of it, not once complaining about how long you’re taking to shake the thoughts off.

It’s a good half hour before you’re both lying down again, his back resting against the edge of the sofa, right arm wrapped lazily around you, “You want me to keep the light on for now?”

The idea seems a little silly to you but it takes you right back to evenings in your childhood bedroom, to what felt like endless nights of asking your father to plug in the small night light you'd gotten for christmas. It looked like a sheep, carrying a smile and enough light for you to be able to tell that there were no monsters hiding in the dark corners of your room.

“Querida?” You nod your head quickly, resting it back on his chest, “Yeah, I- let’s keep it on. If that’s okay.”

“Por supuesto que está bien,” (Of course that is okay,) Javier mumbles softly, his left hand reaching below your makeshift bed and producing a pack of Marlboros. You watch the movements of his hands, the ones you see him do at least ten times a day, his fingers reaching for a cigarette, placing it between his slightly parted lips. Pausing to search two pockets for his lighter before finding it.

At a small nudge from you, he pauses, raising a brow, “¿Sí?” You nod towards the pack that’s still resting next to him, “It’s really rude not to offer me one.”

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” he says, seeming genuinely confused for a moment and you almost take pity. You sneak your hand over his torso, drawing a cigarette from the half-empty pack, “I do now.”

To his defense, he does try and look stern for a moment. But he knows it'd be hypocritical at best if he of all people tried to stop you.

“It's a bad habit.”

“Well, then it's our bad habit.”

Javi thinks, for a split moment, that something entirely else is his bad habit. The way he looks at you when you fall asleep before him or the touches that seem to become more and more frequent the longer your sleeping arrangement continues. The way he jerks off in his shower at home, picturing your face, your body draped in his shirt a few nights ago when your blouse was simply too uncomfortable to sleep in. Spilling into his own hand with a groan at those thoughts. Yeah, that's definitely his bad habit.

“Are you going to light it for me or are you hoping it’ll disintegrate if you think hard enough?” You joke gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Teasing again already, are we?” Javi hums but he does reach for his lighter and brings it to your face, careful not to get too close.

He waits until you’ve both taken a few drags to ask his question.

“So what was it about?”

You swallow a bit at that, taking another long drag before you shake your head, “Nothing special. It’s already disappearing.” After another moment of thinking, you add, truthfully, “There was something with drugs in it.”

“Not very creative, I’d say. Five out of ten.”

You stare at him in disbelief, “Are you rating my nightmares, Peña?”

“I like to keep track,” he responds, giving you a small wink that you almost miss. You watch the smoke rising from the cigarette between his lips, sighing softly. You don’t like lying to him. Then again, it really was about drugs. Just not in the way he may think. It’s not your fault he’s stupid, sometimes.

“You’re silly. Go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep yourself.”

You do end up falling back asleep first, head still resting on his chest. Javi stays awake a little while longer, just in case the nightmares come back. At least that’s what he tells himself. And if he happens to use that opportunity to study your face a bit more? Well, it’s noones business.

end notes: if you enjoyed this, please reblog and/or leave a comment <3 also subscribe on ao3 or follow me here to catch the next update!

#javier peña #javi peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña / you #javier peña / reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #smut #narcos #narcos fanfic #softpascalito #we got your back #pedro pascal fanfiction #nightmares #family issues #slowburn #colleagues

[scintillyyy]

tim owns a gibson les paul and dick canonically plays guitar and they never discuss this potential shared interest together and this offends me <3 set in robin 32 my beloved because paris to gotham is a long flight and i'm sure they chitchatted (lewis's tim who says he's not a music oriented guy you can't hurt me, the boy doesn't own a gibson les paul for nothing)

"You know," Dick says, peering over Tim's shoulder at the page of the flight magazine the kid seems to be stuck on. "Duty-free only applies up to $800 in purchases. I think a $5000 guitar is just a little bit over that cap."

Tim looks up at him--startled, almost. He's been a little out of it ever since he and Dick left Paris. 

Truthfully, he's been a little out of it since they realized that the Clench could reactivate at any moment. Dick supposes he can't blame Tim for that--he's been holding his breath everytime Tim dozes off himself. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can see Tim sitting at the wall, breathing heavy but still managing to joke around as blood started to seep out the bottom of his mask, his horrified realization at what that meant, the terrified look he gave to Dick right before he slumped over...

It's fine. It's fine. Once they get back to Gotham and find Ra's and get the real cure this'll all just be nothing more than a bad dream. 

Tim looks down at the page, like he's actually seeing it for the first time despite the fact that he staring at it for about five solid minutes before Dick decided to say something. "Oh. I, um, I wasn't actually thinking of buying one," he says, like he thinks Dick might've actually been serious about thinking Tim was going to try and buy a custom Fender Stratocaster tax free. "I mean, I don't need one of these anyways. I already have a Les Paul at home."

Which. Jeez. Leave it to Tim to just drop the fact that he owns a...probably $3000 guitar oh-so-casually, like it's really nothing out of the ordinary for a fourteen year old to own. Tim is usually so down to earth it's easy to forget that his family has...a lot more money than the average person. 

Every so often he does like to remind them all, though.

"Really?" Dick teases. "Don't tell me. You had to have it because that's what the lead guitarist in Green Day uses." Which. It is a weird fact for Dick to know, but Tim seems to really like them--so of course he had to at least check them out, watch a few music videos. And *Dick's* played guitar since he was a kid, of course he was going to recognize a Gibson Les Paul, even if he is more of an acoustic guy himself. 

"I didn't exactly ask for it," Tim replies, a little sullen and pouty at Dick's teasing. "It's just--after dad got out of the hospital, I think he thought I'd like it after, y'know, everything. I don't think he realized I hadn't actually played in a couple of years."

Dick was unaware Tim ever did. It's interesting--a little kernel of a kid who, despite being the kind of person who can probably make conversation with a rock if he tries hard enough, can be surprisingly very guarded about himself. "You used to play?" he asks, tone casual, pretending he's not digging. 

Tim flushes and looks away, out the window. "Not really," he says. "I learned a bit when I was younger. After I got into listening to, like, real music." He hesistates. Even with his face turned away, Dick can tell by the tension in Tim's temple that he's debating on if he's going to continue what he's saying. Dick doesn't say anything, keeps quiet instead. In his experience, the best way to get someone to keep talking sometimes is to just let them go at their own pace. If they want to say it, they will. But only if you give them the chance. "Um. It was actually after I went to Bern with my parents over winter break once. It was--I was excited. They didn't take me on trips super often--they usually wanted to spend my school breaks at home. So it was the probably first time I'd been on a plane, actually. I always thought--I guess I always thought plane rides would be way more exciting than they actually are. Anyways, um. I was bored and I was just flipping through the in-flight entertainment and I ended up on the music video channel and--that might've be the first time? I think that was the first time I saw a Green Day video. And I--I was like wow. I was so impressed. And I turned to my mom and I said--I said I want to learn how to play just like that. And she said of course."

Unlike Jack--who Dick hears about constantly--Tim doesn't really talk about his mom much. Or ever really. Dick can probably count on one hand  the amount of times he's heard Tim bring her up since the funeral. And when one of those times was just a few weeks ago, during one of the many times Dick called Alfred to check on Tim and he could hear the kid in the background, sick and delirious with fever, wimpering for his mom, dad, Dana, anyone-

Well, anyways. Tim really doesn't talk about his mom much.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. Clearly the nice thing to do would be to drop it here, before he really depresses the kid. But he can't deny that he's a bit curious to hear Tim go on, hear more about this. He really shouldn't ask though--he's trying to cheer Tim up, not make things worse.

But, Dick supposes. If Tim really didn't want to talk about it, he would have found a way to change the subject instead. He's pretty good at that, in Dick's experience. 

So he must want to talk about it. And Dick is curious. He's not a total saint, after all. "So you got lessons?" he asks. 

"Um. Kind of. I mean, usually that's what they would do whenever I expressed an interest in anything. Um. At least my mom did. She'd always do a ton of research to find the highest rated courses and make a ton of calls, even if she was a thousand miles away, just get me signed up for the best one as soon as possible. But, no. This time--this time, she--um. She kind of taught me a little bit herself instead." Dick's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn't even a remote possibility. Tim swallows hard. "Yea, um. She said. She said she used to play in college, y'know. And after we got home, we went up to the attic of the townhouse and got out her old acoustic. It was just this cheap old thing. We must've spent all afternoon trying to get it tuned, god, my dad left the house, said his ears were going to start bleeding if he had to listen to us anymore." Tim looks down at his hands now. He clasps them together, twiddling his thumbs a bit. "We gave up by dinner, just went to go buy a new one instead. And then she taught me the basics, y'know. I'd practice, and then whenever she was home, we'd play together. I was never very good. She was a lot better." Tim frowns. "But still. She got me an electric guitar for my tenth birthday. Not anything too fancy, just enough so I could feel like a rockstar, she said. And that I'd get there, I just had to keep practicing."

"But you didn't?" Dick asks. It is a bit surprising, now that he's heard the whole story. It seems like something that would have been important to Tim to keep up. The kid's a bit sentimental like that. "You said it's been a couple of years, right?"

Tim's face shutters ever do slightly. "Well, ah, that is-" he says, floundering a bit. Now he's trying to sidestep. "The electric guitar broke. Um. On accident. Right before school let out back when I was eleven. And after that, I just. Couldn't find it in me to play anymore. I could never bring myself to tell my mom what happened, so I just said I was bored of it instead." Tim's mouth twists. "She was a little disappointed. I think she always hoped I'd pick it up again someday. I dunno. I thought about it. When I saw the new guitar in my room. But looking at it I just couldn't. It was too, too--" Tim sighs. "Maybe I should've. Given it another chance. I just, I wasn't--and now, who knows if there'll be one before-" Tim stops. He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't have to.

"Ah." Things start clicking together for Dick in a terrible way. Tim, who's been quiet and melancholy. Worried that the Clench could come back any minute, that he won't have a chance to do things that he maybe thought he could push off for the someday.

He suddenly seems so young. So young and lost and scared.

Tim's going to get a chance to play that guitar again. Dick's not sure how many people he's going to have to punch to make it happen, but he will. And once he does, maybe, just maybe Dick can casually mention that he plays on occasion too. They could make an afternoon of it. Order a pizza, maybe argue about music a bit. And Tim can say something like, hey, I think my mom would be really happy to see me doing this again. 

It'll be nice.

#dick and tim #listen shhh i know you probably can't buy guitars at the duty free shop but #i want them to talk about guitars so in comic book world you can #constantly thinking of tim's les paul

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.5

Idiot.

The voice in my head is persistent. It’s been over two months but it’s not letting up.

I try to focus on the lines, struggling to keep the faint remnants of my Tartosan accent from creeping into Llama Man’s commanding voice. It’s always more difficult just after I’ve been home.

Idiot.

Images from the last year keep flashing by, little details seared into my brain. Her green eyes. Her smile. The delicate birthmarks artfully strewn across her face. I used to insist on kissing each of them goodbye before I left and it always made her laugh.

It was the best sound in the world.

Idiot.

The more recent images are a different story. Her tears. The look of shock and confusion in her eyes. She didn’t understand, of course, and some days I’m not sure I do either. Am I an idiot for leaving her? Or for letting myself fall in love with her in the first place?

Both?

“Alright, Paul, that was good, but let’s do an extra take just to be sure.”

I nod at the sound technician and start over.

“I’ve sent the files off to Mike. Personally, I don’t think he’ll demand another round, the last two takes were flawless.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry for dragging you in for pick-ups again, I’ve been feeling a bit off lately.”

“Hey, it’s a pay check. And I’m going to need it for the move. We want to get settled into the new house before my son’s wedding so we’re already packing.”

“Did you find a job in Henford yet?”

“Not yet, but my wife got an offer. We’ll make it work. My kid is the only family I have left, so if he moves abroad, we follow. And I never liked staying in one place for too long anyway, I get restless.”

“Well, best of luck over there, Charles. The new sound tech will have some big shoes to fill.”

“Thanks, Paul. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

Charles leaves, and I turn on the coffee machine.

I’ve just finished pouring two mugs when Lee arrives.

“Oh, you must have read my mind, love, I am positively dying for a coffee right now.”

“When are you not?”

Lee settles onto the sofa with a sigh.

“It’s been one of those weeks, deadlines put such a damper on my creativity. But how was Tartosa? Did you have a nice birthday?”

“It was fine. I didn’t feel like making it a huge thing, but my mother had arranged a family dinner at the vineyard.”

“Ah, just an intimate and completely non-threatening gathering with fifteen to twenty people, then.”

I lean back against the counter and take a long sip of the coffee to avoid responding. It’s still too hot, and I grimace as the liquid burns my mouth. Idiot.

Lee isn’t so easily deterred, though.

“So, that’s it? You’re just never going to see her again?”

“Lee, first of all, she blocked me. On my birthday, no less. So I’m going to take that as a big fat hint and respect her wishes. Second, I broke up with her because it was a dead end. She’s not going to settle down for another decade, and when she does, she’s not going to pick some fifty year old relic.”

Lee raises an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, I said it. Sorry to break it to you, Lee, but you’re old. Ancient. Practically dust.”

“I’m choosing to ignore your hurtful remarks because you’re clearly heartbroken and out of your mind with grief.”

I snort. “Sorry. I’m fine, really, I’m just annoyed at myself.”

“For irrationally breaking up with the love of your life or for stubbornly refusing to reconsider?”

“For being an idiot in general, I guess. I knew it was a bad idea. I even told her as much the first time I met her. But then I just had to go back and talk to her again like a complete dumbass and she practically invited herself back to my hotel. How could I say no to that?”

Lee chuckles. “Oh, but you couldn’t, of course you couldn’t. I mean, she’s not exactly my type, but I can still appreciate the aesthetics, as it were.”

“Right? And that might even have been fine if it never went any further, but I got carried away and kept seeing her even though everyone could tell it was going to end badly. We’re both better off like this, I’ll get over it.”

Lee just looks at me over the rim of his glasses.

“Are you sure? I may be a dusty old relic but as far as I’m aware, the only way you could possibly know that she blocked you is if you spent your birthday trying to look her up.”

“Thanks, detective. It was a moment of weakness, you don’t need to rub it in my face.”

“I’m not trying to rub anything in your face, love, I know it’s not your thing. But you were clearly serious about her if you were planning to bring her to Tartosa. And just because the poor girl understandably got slightly intimidated, you drop her like a newborn giraffe. Why not give her some more time?”

“I didn’t… Lee, it was the sensible thing to do! I just turned forty, I can’t just spend years waiting for her to make up her mind and hope for the best.”

“I don’t share your fetish for monogamy, but I believe all relationships are like that, you can never be certain. But you’ve always been stubborn so I’ll just give you the usual break-up advice. Get a haircut, hit the gym, put yourself back out there. Will you at least see my stylist?”

“Never. I am not brave enough to let Jessica Clemons near my wardrobe.”

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen5 #paul romeo #charlie ward #lee thompson #oh hi charlie #bye charlie? #two protagonists? in this economy? #it's more likely than you think

[pettydollie]

”what would you do if jess proposed?”

a/n: WARNING: i wrote this late and it’s mostly dialogue. also it’s not really a romantic jess x reader it’s a very causal thing. but i promise i’ll edit it soon to make it cuter. wc: 2.6k

paul anka barked at the door where a knock was heard. you and your mom lorelai were sitting on the couch watching a movie. “just a minute!” she yelled, picking up paul and handing him over to you where you held him in your lap, petting him slowly. you looked over your shoulder to the front door, wondering who it was.

lorelai opened the door to reveal rory’s current boyfriend of three years, logan. “oh hey!” she greeted. “hey.” logan replied blandly.

“oh, you just missed rory. she’s on her way back to school.” rory had left back to yale after visiting at home to study for her finals.

“i know, im actually here to see you and y/n.” his voice shook slightly. he seemed nervous, which was weird because from the few times you met him, he was a very confident and down to earth guy. “oh, okay. come on in.” she invited.

“thank you.” logan stepped inside and walked over to where you were sitting in the living room. “do you want, um, any food or drink? we ordered way too many fries.” lorelai asked, inviting him to sit on the couch. you smiled and muttered a small “hello” to which he nodded back and sat down next to you.

“no thanks, i’m all good.” you moved over slightly so lorelai could squeeze in next to the two of you. “um, so how was your trip?” you asked kindly, trying to rid of the awkwardness.

“oh, it was really great. actually that’s what i wanted to talk about.” he folded his hands as he manspread. you raised your brow so only lorelai could see. she looked at you and then back to logan.

“oh, god. i know nothing about that world. uh, apple, ibm, microsoft, im out.” she joked, making logan chuckle. his face then turned serious again. “well, i’ve been offered a position with an emerging internet company.” he informed before pausing.

“wow, that’s great!” you congratulated, grinning. “yeah, congrats.” lorelai agreed. “thanks, it’s pretty similar to what i was doing in new york, but actually, they’re willing to make me a full partner i’ll be getting in on the ground floor.”

you had no idea what the ‘ground floor’ was, but you nodded and continued to smile like you did know. lorelai seemed at a small loss for words too. so she settled with “that’s exciting!”

“it is. it’s gonna be a lot of long hours and an incredible amount of work building the company, but i really feel this ‘venture has a bright future. i mean, these are serious people.” he grinned softly.

“and you’re a serious guy.” lorelai complimented, her eyes softening. a serious guy? you weren’t totally sure about that, but you stayed quiet. “look, you don’t have to convince me. i voiced my concerns, and you told me your plans. we had pie. i’m cool.” she sweetly told him.

“thank you. i appreciate that. that means a lot to me.” he thanked. this was getting weird. you wanted to know the reason that he came here. god, would he just hurry up already??

“you’re welcome.” lorelai hummed back, her face falling to a frown. logan cleared his throat. “so, the thing is.. well, as the you guys can imagine, i’m pretty excited about all this.” 

“yeah, of course, i mean it’s really cool.” you spoke. “but it-it does mean a move to san francisco. palo alto, actually.” he dropped the bomb. he’s moving. poor rory, she was going to be devastated! your mom’s face fell into an ‘O’ shape and your face saddened at the thought of him breaking up with rory.

rory was your best friend (besides from your mom, of course) and she loved logan deeply. you would hate to see her get hurt, but it has to happen. it’s not like she can move with him. oh. 

“that’s big. that’s funny, rory didn’t mention it. did she say anything to you?” lorelai questioned turning the spotlight to you for a minute. “nope, not a thing.”

“well, i haven’t told her yet.” he said, voice shaking slightly again. “and you’re here because you want us to tell her for you?” lorelai asked, trying to get the point across. logan chuckled again.

“no, no, i’m gonna tell her. i just, um, i wanted to talk to you guys first about it.” he took a deep breath while looking at the floor before speaking. “look. i love rory. she means the world to me and i want her to come with me to california.” oh no. now he’s dropped the bomb.

you saw lorelai close her eyes and take a breath before opening her eyes again. “oh.” was all she had to say. you shook your head. “but, not just as my girlfriend.” he said deeply. “which is why i’m here. i’m here to ask for your blessings. to ask rory to marry me.”

“chris, hi.” lorelai picked up the phone. you were standing next to her because rory was talking to some DAR ladies. you excused yourself and followed your mom away from the two women you were talking to. you saw chris standing outside and that was your cue to leave them alone and walked towards your boyfriend who’d finally arrived

“hi, honey!” you greeted. jess smiled and kissed your cheek. “hi, i’m sorry for being late. work was right up my as.. hello emily.” he greeted your grandmother who came up to you two. “hello, jess. hi, y/n.” she smiled at you before kissing your cheek.

your grandfather richard came over and quickly greeted you before turning to emily.

“emily, i think now is a good time.” he mumbled. “oh, excuse us.” emily and richard walked to the front of the room next to the grand piano. emily tapped a glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention. richard straightened his shoulders and held a piece of paper.

“ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen. first, let me thank you for coming to celebrate my granddaughter rory’s graduation.” he spoke clearly. emily walked up next to him and pinched his arm. “ouch!” he winced. “oh i-i do beg your pardon. celebrating our granddaughter rory’s graduation.” he corrected himself, making you and rory giggle quietly standing next to each other. you also waved quickly to your dad before turning back to richard.

“i can’t let him take all the credit, have you seen her? can you blame me?” emily joked, making the crowd laugh. you and rory gave each other a look almost to say ‘she’s been drinking.’ 

“so, when my wife and i sat down to write our toast,” he continued. “we ran into something of a problem. all of our words sounded too mundane, too insignificant to mark such an auspicious occasion, as rory’s graduation from yale. so, instead.. maestro.” richard turned to the pianist.

rory’s head turned slightly and furrowed her eyebrows. you were just as confused as she was. “please excuse us. we are not singers.” emily somewhat nervously apologized. “never let them see you sweat, dear.” richard soothed. 

lorelai turned to her daughters, raising a brow causing you three to chuckle. your grandparents raised their papers in front of them and stood tall. richard began the song as the pianist played a joyful tune.

you’re the top

you have graduated

you’re the top

your grandparents are elated

newspaper editor, phi beta kappa WOW!

you’re a relegation, a huge sensation

you should take a bow

you are done

no more school for you

there is nothing now that you can’t do

you’ll make us proud, we’ll sing it loud

it’s true cause now rory, you’re a bulldog through and through!

you clapped loudly, laughing with your sister. the crowd applauded and “aww”’ed at the sweet song. logan yelled out a “yeah!” before rory ran up to her grandparents and gave them both a hug. “oh, thank you, thank you. wow!” she smiled.

“we meant every word in that song.” emily cooed. “we certainly did. even the ones we sang off key.” richard agreed. rory thanked them again before expressing her love and appreciation for them. you loved that rory went to college, even if you didn’t. she had begged you to go with her so she wouldn’t be alone, but this experience had given her a new pov of the world.

chris’ phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “oh, it’s the babysitter calling to see if g.g can watch an hour of television.” he said aloud. “i don’t think she’s ready for ‘the pussycat dolls yet’.” you teased, causing chris and lorelai to grin. “i’ll be right back.”

but before he could leave to answer the phone, logan stopped him. “actually, would you mind waiting?” he jumped quickly. chris’ head turned up to look at logan for a second before nodding. “sure.”

“thanks. trust me, you’ll want to stick around for this.” he dismissed himself and walked to rory. “okay.” he replied shortly. your face fell and you could see lorelai’s did too. “is he gonna..” chris pointed towards him. you’re assuming your mom told chris about logan wanting to propose.

“not here. not now.” lorelai shook her head in disbelief. you really hoped he wouldn’t do that to rory. especially in front of everybody. what if she says no? truth be told, you didn’t want rory to get married and leave to san francisco! she was only 22 and you wanted her to stay with you and your mom for a little while longer.

she can’t just up and leave. she won’t. she’s been away at college while you’ve been working and things will finally get to go back to normal after her graduation. you mentally shake of these thoughts and focus on the present.

“if i could, i’d also like to say a few words about my girlfriend of the past three years.” logan began. you had also told jess after you’d found out logan wanted to propose. but he still looked appalled. rory was like a little sister to him, you knew. 

logan turned to look rory in her big blue eyes. “you amaze me, rory gilmore, every day, everything that you do, everything that you are. this past year, i realized that i don’t know a lot more than i thought i knew if that makes sense. i’m sorry, i’m a little bit nervous. didn’t think i’d be.” he chuckled shyly. 

“what i’m trying to say is that.” he sighed softly before taking a quick breath. “i don’t know a lot. but i know that i love you. and i want to be with you.. forever.” he sighed again and pulled out a velvet blue box from his pocket. rory’s eyes widened and she realized what was happening. you wish you knew what was going on in her head.

the crowd began to murmur. your eyes widened in anticipation. emily’s mouth was wide open with joy while richard’s happy face contorted to an serious one. “rory gilmore.” he opened the box, still looking at her. “will you marry me?”

that’s it. the question was asked and out in the open. it was silent for a few moments. “um..” she muttered and turned to you and lorelai for a moment. she looked back and struggled to find words. “um, wow.” she chuckled breathily. “i- wow..” 

“is there a yes in between those ‘wows’?” logan asked eagerly. the crowd laughed lightly. “um, im just, im so.. surprised. i-i just, um, would, um..” she ran her fingers through her hair quickly before grabbing his hand. “w-will you come talk to me outside?”

“sure.” he walked as she led them outside. “yeah, okay,” she stumbled quickly out the door. emily ran to the pianist. “play something now.” she demanded before looking out the window.

“my poor girl.” you pouted as jess wrapped an arm around your shoulders. emily walked over to where you and lorelai were standing. “well i don’t know what to do! should i continue to stagger the hors d’oeuvres or just tell the kitchen staff to send everything out?” she cried.

lorelai shrugged. “i don’t know.” she mumbled. “why didn’t she just say yes?” emily threw her arms down like a child, clearly upset. your eye twitched for a moment. “i’m not sure she wants to marry him, grandma.” you tried to make her understand. but who are you kidding, this is emily gilmore.

“that’s ridiculous, he’s a huntzberger. an offer like this doesn’t come around every day.” emily whined. “it’s a marriage proposal, not a sale on linens.” lorelai folded her arms as richard approached, handing a drink to his wife. “clearly, rory was caught off guard, all of us were.” your phone rang as richard spoke.

you pulled your cellphone out of your pocket and answered. “i’m sure she just needs a moment to get her bearings-“ you cut your grandfather off to speak. “hi, ror.”

you motioned for lorelai to follow you, removing jess’ arm from you quickly. “did she say yes?” emily called out as you and lorelai exited the house. “we’ll be right back.” lorelai told chris and jess.

you two found rory and your eyes widened. “is that a carriage?” you laughed. “wow, how romantic!” you cheesed jokingly. “get in, now please!” rory pleaded. lorelai went in first, rory followed second, and you last.

the horses began to walk and rory turned to you. “i just kept saying ‘i don’t know, i’ll have to think about it’ and it was awful! and he was obviously disappointed and upset.” she began ranting. “well that was kinda on him. imagine if you said no in front of all those people!” you thought.

the girls agreed silently. “you know, he made all these plans about the house we’d live in and the avocado tree in our backyard.” she continued. “you do like guacamole.” lorelai threw in. “i-i just had to explain to him how it if the blue this is. like super out of the blue! the deepest, darkest, naviest blue. and why are you so calm by the way?”

“we knew. he came by the house to ask for our permission.” you told her. “we were dying to tell you!” you whined. lorelai jumped in after you. “and she almost did, but i threatened her to no more sleeping in on weekdays.” she said. “you sleep in on weekdays.” “that’s not the point.”

“anyways, what do you think i should do?” rory asked desperately. “oh, honey, i think it’s your decision.” lorelai put simply. rory pushed her head forward waiting for more. “you have no opinion?” she questioned in disbelief. “only you know what you want.” she briefly answered. 

“hm, okay. what about you, curly? what would you do if jess proposed?” rory asked. “well, moe, i would definitely wait a few days before answering. id really think about it first. id make a photo collage of what our wedding would look like and then show you, then make a pros and cons list, and then answer once i’m fully confident.” you finished. 

“that was actually a very good answer, dude, nice.” lorelai spoke in her surfer-bro voice and fist bumped you. “i love him. i do. i’m like a circus freak with all the hands. i’m all over the place!”

“you’ll get through this. just mull over it for now.” you gave her a big hug. rory grinned sweetly and hugged back. “group hug!” lorelai cheered, leaning in. “if you get married, can i be the flower girl?” lorelai asked in a high pitched voice. “no. paul anka will be the flower girl.”

#this is trash sorry #gilmore girls #jess x reader #jess #jess mariano #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #logan huntzberger #𝓳𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓸 ☕️

[marvelobsessed134]

How about an NSFW one where Paul Stanley gets pranked by a rocker dudette fan (I'm talking leather jacket, jeans, wristbands, band t shirt underneath, the whole nine yards) but then it turns into a little something spicy *Wink Wink*🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Prank call gone wrong

Pairings: Paul Stanley x Fem!reader

Warnings: smut, rough sex, degradation, dumbifacation, size kink, and I think that’s it.

A/n: this might be my longest one yet

Summary: your prank on Paul Stanley goes amazingly wrong.

You’ve found the number to Paul’s hotel room. You’re still stoked that you’re staying in the same hotel as him! You had a couple hours to spare before the Kiss concert and you wondered if he was still in his room or if he was at the stadium. Either way, you wanted to prank call him.

Having thought of a script before hand, you excitedly dialed the number. How you got the number? You overheard a groupie telling it to her friend. And you have a pretty good memory.

It rang for a few seconds before he answered, “Hello?” His voice sent chills down your spine. God you love his voice. “Oh my god, Robert is that you? You’re with another girl aren’t you?” You responded trying your best to sound like an angry girlfriend.

“Umm my names not Robert I think you have the wrong-“

“Okay, so you’re just gonna pretend it’s not you. I’m not stupid, Robert. You’re with Brenda aren’t you? That skank.”

“I-“

“We were supposed to get married, Robert. How could you? I hate you so much pack all of your shit and get out of my house.” You fake cried before slamming the phone down. You laughed maniacally before deciding to go down to the hotel restaurant to get a bite to eat before the concert.

—

Paul was confused. So he asked Gene about it. “You’ve been prank called.” The bassist replied simply.

“‘Prank called’ what does that mean?” The singer asked.

“You can’t be that stupid. Put the two words together. Prank and call.”

Paul then realized what Gene was talking about. “So some chick just prank called me that’s great. Who was it? Because she woke me up from my sleep.” He grumbled. The other man shrugged his shoulders.

-at the concert-

You standing amongst the rest of the screaming fans as Kiss made their grand entrance onto the stage. As usual it was epic. Pyrotechnics, lights, dancers. And of course, the music. You were right up against the barricade. “Wooo! Hell yes!” You yelled as you did the rock n roll sign with your hands.

For some reason during the show, Paul kept looking at you. Which made you flustered. Who wouldn’t be? The show went on and after it ended, you waited to be one of the last to leave so you wouldn’t have to deal with the crowd.

You walked, the stadium was pretty much empty, you were alone. You felt someone grab your shoulder. You turned to see non other than the Starchild himself.

“Holy shit Paul Stanley!” You shouted but not too loud. “Shut up, people will hear. Now come with me.” He hissed before gripping your arm tightly and dragging you to his dressing room.

He slammed the door shut and pushed you against it. His grip firm on both of your arms as he looked down at you. “So, you’re the one who prank called me?” He asked.

“How’d you find out?” You asked in response.

“I have my ways. I just want you to know that you disturbed my sleep and you should know I need every hour of it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay? So you dragged me all the way here just so you could complain that my little call woke you up?”

“You better watch that mouth, missy.”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”

“I’ll give you something better to do with it.” As he said this, Paul undid his belt before pulling down his pants and boxers. His large cock sprang free and your eyes widened. He used his other hand to pulled you down onto your knees.

“You gonna suck my cock like a good girl?” The singer asked as he stroked his large cock in front of you. You were shocked by the whole situation. How did it lead to this? Not like you’re complaining, though.

You moved to grab his thighs to stable yourself but was quickly stopped. “Ah, ah. Hands behind your back.” And so, you put your hands behind your back allowing him full control over you. Paul grabbed your hair and pushed his cock in your mouth. You closed your lips around his length before he began bobbing your head back and forth.

“Fuck, you have such a good mouth, baby. This is all you’re good for isn’t it? Such a dumb little thing that only knows how to suck dick.” The singers’ filthy words made you extremely wet. He continued to fuck your face before pulling you off his cock. “I see my cock barely fit in your mouth, didn’t it? You’re so fucking tiny it’s pathetic. I can rip you in two if I wanted.”

Paul grabbed your hair to pull you up, and he dragged you over to the couch and sat down pulling you onto his lap so you were straddling him. You could feel his hard cock through your leather pants. You started to grind on him as the two of you made out.

The singer began to kiss your neck down to your collarbone before throwing your leather jacket off your shoulders. A tank top with his face on it was underneath. He smirked, “Well, I see you must really like me huh?”

“I just like your voice.” You lied.

“Are you sure you don’t like my dick too?” He chuckled when your face went red. He pulled his shirt off before pulling yours off, groaning when he saw you wore nothing underneath. The raven haired man massaged your breasts, tweaked your nipples and bit and sucked on them. You were in complete bliss.

In one swift motion you were laid on your back. He was roughly taking your boots off and pulling your pants and panties down. You instinctively spread your legs.

“You think I’m gonna lick that pussy after what you’ve done? You’re just gonna lay there take my cock like a good slut.” He said before ramming into you without warning. You squealed in both pain and surprise. “Oh my god you’re so fucking tight. My cock can barely even fit this tiny pussy.” Paul moaned as he began to pump in and out of your tight wet hole.

You couldn’t think straight at all. You only laid there as Paul fucked you, used you. But oh you fucking loved it.

He pulled you up so you were straddling him again, his cock still inside you. The singer gripped your hips and slammed you up and down on his large cock.

“You like this baby? Bet you didn’t think about this when you called me today huh?” You couldn’t respond to him, and he was getting a kick out of it.

“Aww is my baby going all dumb on my cock? You had so much to say moments ago.”

You gripped his shoulders as he used you as a flesh light, feeling yourself get closer and closer to the edge. You finally clenched around him, “Ah!” You screamed in surprise.

“Fuck that was hot. Get on your knees again.” The singer commanded. You quickly got on your knees and grabbed his cock, putting it into your mouth sucking hard and fast, wanting his cum more than anything.

Paul put his hands behind his head as he leaned back with a cocky smile. “Yeah, you want my cum don’t you? Pathetic, really.” You jerked him off a couple times before his cum squirted all over your face.

Tears were in your eyes cause some of it got in them. Your mascara was smeared and so was your lipstick. Your hair disheveled and cum all over your face. “You look so fucking beautiful like this. Get cleaned up, I’ll give you my number for next time.”

#kiss band x reader #kiss band #kiss smut #paul stanley x reader #paul stanley #gene simmons #tommy thayer #eric carr #80s kiss #paul stanley smut #kiss band smut

[a-room-of-my-own]

As a barrister, I see many victims of domestic abuse being sued for ‘defamation’, for daring to speak about what their perpetrator did to them. Meanwhile, the world questions whether they’re a ‘real victim’ | Charlotte Proudman

“If she was scared to death, why didn’t she leave?” asked everyone’s favourite Hollywood heartthrob-turned-bad-boy Johnny Depp in court.

He was talking, of course, about his ex-wife Amber Heard, who he is suing for libel in the US over an article she wrote for the Washington Post in 2018. During her testimony, the actress has accused Depp of physical and sexual abuse.

If Depp’s phrase feels familiar, that’s because it is: survivors, families of victims and domestic abuse campaigners have worked tirelessly to stop society using such victim-blaming tropes. Instead of asking a woman why she didn’t escape abuse, ask the man why he abused her in the first place. That would be a good place to start.

Escaping an abusive relationship is one of the most dangerous times for victims. Just because the relationship ends, it doesn’t mean the abuse ends. Post-separation coercive and controlling behaviour is one of the most insidious and corrosive forms of abuse that I’ve ever seen.

Depp lost his defamation claim in the High Court in London in 2020. He was greeted with adoring fans throwing roses at him, blowing kisses and holding supportive banners. I stood next to him after we passed through security, he smiled and I gave him my best dead eyes.

The judge later found that Depp physically assaulted Heard (including headbutting her, tearing out clumps of her hair, and holding her by her neck) and she said she had feared for her life. Depp is alleged to have sent texts to his friend, Paul Bettany, threatening to burn Heard and “f*** her burnt corpse afterwards to make sure she is dead”.

It is telling that Depp is dragging Heard through a second high-profile trial in the US, hoping for a better outcome. He is suing her for a whopping $50m – this looks to me like serious financial control.

Both cases in England and the US centre on silencing Heard from speaking about the abuse she says he inflicted on her. I see many victims of domestic abuse being sued for “defamation”, for daring to speak about what their perpetrator did to them.

The world sits in judgment, questioning whether Heard is a “real victim”. Does she look like a victim? Does she speak like a victim? Does she cry like a victim?

Where are the headlines asking if Depp is a perpetrator, judging him on every move that he makes? There are no special measures in court – Depp sits there smiling, while Heard relives abuse and trauma.

Depp’s lawyer is used as a pawn, a weapon to revictimise her for the world’s entertainment. The court has become a tool for a perpetrator to continue his abuse and control. What message does that send out to victims? Victims who don’t have money, fame, photos of injuries and texts threatening to harm them? How do they think they will be treated by the justice system?

The court is asked to pathologise Heard as being “abnormal”, “mentally ill” and “mad”. All too often, victims of domestic abuse are labelled with sexist diagnoses such as “histrionic and borderline personality disorders” by psychologists, rather than understanding that they are suffering with trauma caused by domestic abuse. Heard is no exception.

Dr Curry, a psychologist, suggested that Heard could have two personality disorders, while Dr Hughes diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder. But why isn’t Depp pathologised? Where is his mental health diagnosis?

After all, this is a man who explained his abusive behaviour by calling himself “the monster”. Every headline that has commented on Heard’s mental health has stigmatised people with mental health challenges, while simultaneously undermining the credibility of victims who come forward.

Heard is due to be cross-examined by Depp’s team. I can tell you now how that will play out because I see it every day in courtrooms: “Why didn’t you say no? How drunk were you? You provoked him. You were abusive. It’s your fault.”

These questions blame the victim and render the perpetrator invisible. It’s a tactic that continues to be very effective and persuasive, because it plays on all of the myths we are taught about how abuse works. She lies; he’s a hero.

So, when I see hashtags trending on twitter like, “AmberHeardIsALiar”, I realise how deeply entrenched misogyny is in our society. It doesn’t matter that there is a High Court decision proving that Depp assaulted Heard, it wouldn’t matter if the world watched Depp physically assault Heard in public, people would still support Depp. Why is he above the law?

Is it because Depp is the definition of masculinity? Every man wanted to be him at one point. If even he can be a perpetrator of domestic abuse, with all the fame, glory, money and power that he has, it sends out a strong message to men that anyone can be a perpetrator of violence. Anyone can fall from grace – even you.

#i stand with amber heard

[crepesuzette2023]

“To the best of our ability Paul!”: The Paperback Writer session [and fashion show]

By Johnny Dean. From: The Beatles Book Monthly, Issue 35. June 1966.

As we walked down the corridor towards E.M.I.’s No. 2 studio (where else would one go when sitting-in on a Beatles recording session), the commissionaire pointed out to us that the boys were in No. 3 instead. So we made our way back to the front of the building and as we approached the studio door, the red light went on—which meant that they were recording. So we waited for them to finish. Three minutes later we walked in.

On entering the studio, we found John and Paul surrounded by a mass of equipment—most significant of all, were their new massive amplifiers. Paul was clad in his distinctive casual recording gear of black trousers, black moccasin-type shoes, white shirt with fawn stripes, a black sleeveless pullover and to top it all orange—tinted specs. John sported green velvet trousers, a blue buttoned up wool vest and black suede boots.

The basic track of "Paperback Writer" had been recorded the previous day, and now John and Paul were working out a detailed backing. Paul was perched on a stool thumbing away at a red and white Rickenbacker guitar, (moving with the music as he does on stage) whilst the Iyrics boomed through the studio speakers—so we were very honoured at being the first to hear their new single besides George Martin and of course, the Beatles.

We then spotted Ringo's head behind the screen in the far corner—he was playing chess with Neil. So we walked over. "Who's winning?", I asked. "Neil's the expert”, Ringo replied, and went back to the chess board to concentrate on how to get his king out of danger from an attack by Neil's bishop and castle.

The music stopped. George Martin came into the studio from the control room to have a tete-a-tete with Paul as to what they could do to improve the backing.

"What are you trying to do with this one?", I asked Paul. "Have you heard the lyrics?", came the reply. "Yes, I think it's very unusual”. "The trouble is", said Paul,"That we've done everything we can with four people, so it's always a problem to ring the changes and make it sound different. That's why we have got all these guitars and equipment here." That must have been the understatement of the year, because the studio was littered with pianos, grand pianos, amplifiers, guitars, percussion instruments, and other odd bits and pieces which were strewn over the studio floor.

The studio was sectioned-off with brown canvas screens and what seemed like thousands of black cables running from the amps and other electrical equipment to the control room over the heavily marked wooden floor. To stop the echo, E.M.I. have covered some of the floor with old carpets.

The big heavy sound-proof door which stops any of the noise of the outside world seeping into the studio, burst open, and in strolled George looking very elegant in his Mongolian lamb fur coat with black cap and oblong metal specs.

He was obviously on top of the world and bubbling over with enthusiasm, ready to record a dozen numbers. He threw his coat along side Paul's fur jacket and got down to work out the backing with John and Paul.

John, George and George Martin huddled round Paul, who was seated at the piano trying to work out a bass bit, before asking George Martin to play it. John leaned on the piano while he listened to Paul's ideas for a while. Then he picked up his orange Gretsch guitar and proceeded to pick away at it. At the same time Paul transferred to a Vox organ.

Although John and Paul were both working on the song together, it was originally Paul's idea. He asked the engineer to play it back at half speed so that John and George could do some vocal bits.

They were now all set to go. George Martin gave the O.K. The recording light went on and the basic sound track was played back through the "cans" they each had clamped over their heads. They did several takes. John and George hit some very high notes, but their voices kept cracking. "I don't think I can make it" said George, "unless I have a cup of tea. Where’s Mal?”

Right on cue at the end of the fourth take Mal emerged into the studio laden with tea, biscuits and something very special—toast and strawberry jam. Everything was immediately dropped and a sudden swoop was made on the toast and jam. Ringo, who was still in the corner trying to work out his next move, only got one piece of toast, so Mal offered to make another batch as it had proved so popular.

Meanwhile Beatles Book photographer Leslie Bryce was clicking away.

After the toast and jam had been devoured it was back to work. Paul suddenly got an inspiration he dived across to the piano and started playing bits of "Free Jacques" he was highly delighted at the thought of having it in the new single.

"O.K. let's try it", said George Martin. So John and George gathered round the mike and off they went. But it was a false start. Paul's head appeared over the top of the piano and he queried "Did you come in at the right place?". "We can't hear it properly" , said John, "anyway I thought that was the end of it.” George promptly told him it was the beginning!

After they had finished taping these bits, the tracks were played back into the studio while everyone listened in silence. George Martin was the first to speak-"I think that the best thing we've added are the 'Frere Jacques’ bits. Ringo who had finally beaten Neil at a game of chess by check-mating him in several brilliant moves involving a queen, a bishop and a castle, said that he thought John and Paul sounded as though they were singing through water! Highly uncomplimentary, so Paul then made for the organ once again and started to work out a sound which resembled that of Scottish bag pipes.

John then came swooping across the studio and shouted out—“You've got it. You've got it". Paul then started dum-dee-dumming away at everyone else—it was just like a scene from "My Fair Lady”!

George Martin appeared over John's shoulder and said "I see what you mean”. Paul announced that someone else should play it—meaning George Martin. John and George then went back to their mikes and added the vocals over the top.

After the first track Paul looked over the top of the piano and asked John and George if they were singing it right.

George turned round, lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose and looked down at Paul in a typical school-masterish fashion and said "To the best of our ability Paul!" And so the boys went on getting the sound that you will hear on "Paperback Writer”.

It was a long session. It took something like ten hours to record because the Beatles insisted on sticking at it until they were completely satisfied that they can do no more.

When you listen to "Paperback Writer" bear in mind what went on beforehand to achieve this really great sound, and I'm sure you'll appreciate it all the more.

"The very first shot of Paul we took when we arrived in the studio." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

"Paul's hit on something. Waving his 'ciggie' he dee-dums his way through the bit he's just thought up while George sings with him." (Photo by Leslie Bryce)

Ringo's chess pieces and John's green velvet trousers. (Photos by Leslie Bryce)

#the beatles #george martin #paul mccartney #john lennon #george harrison #ringo starr #mal evans #paperback writer #lots to unpack #lots to unzip #George had so much more fun here than in Get Back #Paul and George Martin comma huddling #amazing creative energy #ten hours

[seiya-starsniper]

For the flower prompts...

Calla Lily (it's my favourite flower) - Something at first sight.

I leave it to you to do any Sandman pairing you have an itch to write. 💜😊

Ooooooo this one is so appropriate for me as one of my fave fics I’ve written (not for this fandom) is called Calla Lillies 💖💖 I also added a little personalized twist on this, just for you 😘

Flower Prompt Game!

(Also, for anyone still wondering, I am in fact still accepting prompts! Gonna be a bit slow and answer one or two a day, but I’m so glad this has been such a hit!)

—---

When Morpheus Endless (and isn’t that the name of the century?) enters the coffee shop in a whirlwind of taut anxiety and indignant rage, Simon Snow does not even say hello, he merely takes up residence at the espresso machine to start preparing the most absurdly complex drink known to man.  

“Your man is here,” Penelope deadpans, and Simon rolls his eyes. Morpheus is not his man. He’s very nice to look at, yes, and he may or may not bear a striking resemblance to Simon’s hopelessly secret crush arch nemesis, but they’re too alike in temperament to be anything more than friends. But he can see where the confusion comes from. 

When he finishes making Morpheus’s regular order, he calls for his break and walks over, drink in hand, to the corner Morpheus and his terribly bad mood have taken up residence. 

“Bad day?” Simon asks, placing the absurdly sweet concoction down on the table where Morpheus has sprawled all his notebooks and laptop. He’s not looking at any of it though, more preoccupied with whatever social media scandal is happening on his phone.

“Cory left me,” Morpheus growls, tapping angrily at the screen. “For Alex Burgess. Who, as you recall, is currently still in a relationship with Paul Mcguire, the unfaithful bastard.” 

Simon has no idea who these people are besides Cory, who has come into the shop with Morpheus once. He doesn’t pay attention to the campus gossip. More specifically, the rich people campus gossip. Because Simon is here at the university on scholarship, working part time at the local coffee shop for a little extra spending money, and Morpheus is part of the very small, elite group of legacy family admissions. 

No one, not even Penelope, Simon’s best friend since childhood, understands why he and Morpheus get along so well. Simon knows it’s partially because he’s the only one willing to make Morpheus’s stupidly complicated order, and partially because they’re both grumpy bisexuals who fall in love too easily with the wrong people. 

“You were too good for him anyways,” Simon replies, plopping down into the chair next to Morpheus.

“Damn right I am,” Morpheus answers, picking up his coffee that is actually more syrup, sugar and milk than anything resembling coffee. And that was after Simon added four shots of espresso. He groans happily as he takes his first sip. “He was awful in bed anyways.”

Simon snorts. “Maybe you should try not dating rich assholes,” he offers.

“No? I should only pine for them hopelessly from across the rugby pitch?” Morpheus answers pointedly. 

“Wow, you’re lucky I’m on shift or I’d tip that sad excuse for coffee into your lap,” Simon bites back, feeling the familiar heat of anger rise up in him. Because of course Morpheus knew about Simon’s complicated feelings towards Baz. But he didn’t have to be an asshole about it just because he got dumped.

Morpheus sniffles. “These jeans are Gucci,” is all he says back, before taking another sip of his coffee and letting the subject drop. 

———————

Simon’s break is over before he knows it, and not a moment too soon. He and Penelope are swamped by the late-afternoon rush. Simon doesn’t know how so many people could be craving coffee this late in the day, but to each their own. Morpheus had ordered a second cup of his ungodly drink right before the rush hit, and it’s when he’s finishing up that drink and getting ready to leave that half the rugby team decides to walk into the cafe and ruin Simon’s day. 

“Snow,” Baz Pitch sneers at him when he gets to the counter to order. Simon rolls his eyes.

“Let me guess, black tea for the blackness in your soul?” he retorts, smirking when Baz’s face goes tight with annoyance.

“Ooooh, this guy’s got you down to a T,” a brunette answers, coming up from behind Baz and draping an arm over his shoulders.

“Shut up Hob,” Baz replies, rolling his eyes and shrugging his friend off before turning back to Simon. “And yes, black tea, but do try not to over-steep it this time Snow.”

“I’ll have a caramel latte,” the man called Hob adds, “with extra caramel syrup since Bazzy’s paying.”

“Hob I swear if you call me Bazzy one more time—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll sue me for defamation somehow, hey, can I get a couple of cake pops too?” Hob answers all in one breath. Simon gets the impression the man is something like a golden retriever in human form. 

“Sure, anything for a friend of Bazzy's,” Simon chuckles before he turns to work on their order. He can practically feel Baz seething from behind him as he prepares their order. 

As he’s getting ready to prepare Hob’s latte, Simon catches Morpheus out of the corner of his eye approaching the counter, and he instinctively starts preparing a drink for him as well. Seriously, how the hell could Morpheus stomach one of these, let alone three in a single sitting?

“The line is behind me, Endless,” Simon hears Baz say. 

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken, Basil,” Morpheus replies smoothly. “There is no line when you’re the favorite.”

“Who the hell says you’re the favorite?” Baz snaps 

“I do,” Simon cuts in, bringing over the order, and making sure to hand Morpheus’s drink over first. He can just tell Baz is irrationally mad about the whole thing. “Unlike some other customers, Morpheus is a sweetheart.”

“Thank you, dear heart,” Morpheus practically coos at him before turning back to Baz and Hob and smirking. “The cake pops are quite good, by the way.”

“Good to know!” Hob answers cheerily. “Did you want one, by the way? Didn’t realize how large they were,” he adds holding one out. 

Morpheus looks taken aback, but accepts the cake pop with a meek thank you and then with their order complete, the rugby team starts making their way towards the exit. Morpheus stares after them as they leave, cake pop still in hand. 

“I think I’m in love,” Morpheus says once the cafe has totally emptied out.

“You’re what now?” Simon exclaims, then groans. “Please tell me this isn’t about the cake pop.”

“He has nice eyes,” Morpheus argues. “And if he tolerates Basil’s awful attitude, I’m practically a ray of sunshine in comparison.”

“You're not wrong,” Penelope cuts in, leaning her elbows down on the counter next to Simon. “And if Morpheus can get Hob, maybe he can help you get Baz, Si.”

“That is a terrible plan,” Simon says. “And anyways, Baz hates me.”

“It’s an excellent plan,” Morpheus replies. “And also, you’re an idiot. Basil was ready to stab me with my own fountain pen for touching you so casually.”

“He was not!” Simon squeaks.

“No, he definitely was, I’m with Morpheus here,” Penelope says. “Maybe you two should pretend to date and see how long it takes for Baz to crack.”

“Absolutely not,” Simon says at the same time Morpheus answers “That’s an excellent idea.”

Simon groans. 

“I don’t have a choice in the matter do I?” he asks.

“Not at all,” Morpheus replies, biting into the cake pop.

#dreamling #hob x morpheus #dream x hob #snowbaz #baz x simon #sandman fanfic #simon snow fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling #I have literally only read fangirl and carry on so hopefully I captured the snowbaz pre-relationship dynamic okay for my first time lmaoooo

[msbigredmachine]

MY WRESTLEMANIA 40 PREDICTIONS

Wrestlemania 40 starts tonight. Wish I was in the States right now 😭 I had to put in my 2 cents on how the show is going to go down.

This is my opinion and nothing more.

-----------

NIGHT ONE

Rhea Ripley (c) vs. Becky Lynch for the Women's World Title - I think someone else is dethroning Rhea. She’s way too popular right now too.

Gunther (c) vs. Sami Zayn for the WWE Intercontinental Title - same as above. Someone more formidable is dethroning Gunther.

The Judgment Day (Finn Balor and Damian Priest) (c) vs. #DIY (Johnny Gargano and Tommaso Ciampa) vs. The Awesome Truth (The Miz and R-Truth) vs. The New Day (Kofi Kingston and Xavier Woods) vs. A-Town Down Under (Austin Theory and Grayson Waller) vs. New Catch Republic (Pete Dunne and Tyler Bate) in a Six-Pack Ladder match for the Undisputed WWE tag Team Titles - apparently the titles are getting split, so there’s that.

Jey Uso vs. Jimmy Uso - Jimmy has essentially been booked as a joke. He needs this win more than Jey does. Jey will be fine, but for some melodramatic reason I see Jey sacrificing himself for his big brother’s sake.

Bianca Belair, Jade Cargill and Naomi vs. Damage CTRL (Dakota Kai, Asuka, and Kairi Sane) - no brainer. WWE are not letting Jade lose her very first match.

Latino World Order (Rey Mysterio and Dragon Lee) vs. Santos Escobar and Dominik Mysterio - Dragon Lee has been replaced by Andrade. The result won’t change because Carlito will turn on Rey for looking him over again.

Roman Reigns and The Rock vs. Cody Rhodes and Seth "Freakin'" Rollins - Why have another standard main event match when Bloodline Rules stipulation has been thrown out there? Also, Rock pins Cody. The storyline has focused much more on them and this heaps more adversity on Cody to win.

NIGHT TWO

Seth Rollins (c) vs. Drew McIntyre for the World Heavyweight Title - Seth’s done all he can do with his reign. Drew has earned a title win in front of fans. The Bloodline may cost Seth. No comment on that guest hypocrite commentator.

Iyo Sky (c) vs. Bayley for the WWE Women's Title - No brainer. Bayley gets her redemption story. Iyo has been good but her title reign has run its course.

Logan Paul (c) vs. Randy Orton vs. Kevin Owens for the WWE United States Title - I honestly couldn’t choose, so I picked KO because I like him the best. The match will be fire though.

LA Knight vs. AJ Styles - I’m not very invested in this match. May the better white man win.

Bobby Lashley, Montez Ford and Angelo Dawkins vs. The Final Testament (Karrion Kross, Akam, and Rezar) in a Philadelphia Street Fight - I’m DEFINITELY not invested in this match. Get Bobby, Montez and Angelo out of this garbage feud, pronto!

Roman Reigns (c) vs. Cody Rhodes for the Undisputed WWE Universal Title - My Tribal Chief has had one of the greatest title reigns and orchestrated one of the most compelling storylines in pro wrestling history. He’s beaten the entire roster. It’s time to move the responsibility of ‘Face of the WWE’ to someone else. I like Cody. Wrestling with a torn pec for 30 mins earned my respect. I think he will do a great job of carrying the company and the matchups will be fresh. It will be Bloodline Rules to make way for all the overbooking that’s going to take place in this match. The Rock will turn on Roman to cost him the title and kick-start their feud for WM41.

-----------

Thoughts? Am I thinking too much into all of this, lol. Mania is going to be awesome!

#roman reigns #wwe #the bloodline #jey uso #smackdown #wrestlemania 40 #jimmy uso #cody rhodes #the rock #rhea ripley #becky lynch #seth rollins #bayley #drew mcintyre #the judgment day #sami zayn #rey mysterio

[david-powers-simp]

What the lost boys call you

Whats good my homies, im back with a short lil something for you. This is just a preference I whiped up real quick , of what the boys call you. I am writing all the preferences for the boys separate, because I suck at writing poly! Relationships . So I hope guys enjoy this lil piece I typed up. :)

Paul

Paul is very eccentric, so I feel the nicknames he comes up with are too. Of course we have our basic ones i feel he would use a lot are " babe" or "baby" I think it would roll off his tongue so naturally. " come on baby I wanna show you something", he would say as he links hands with yours and pulls you through the crowded boardwalk. Or " you look smokin' hot today babe" he tells you as he throws his arm around you. I 100% feel in my bones this man would come up with his own nickname for you tho. One that sticks out to me is "honeybun". Now I know at first it sounds a little cringe, but it honestly isn't because Paul gave you this nickname specifically because he thinks your very sweet like honey, and honeybuns happen to be his favorite snack so... ~my mans Paul is calling you a snack~ like just imagine Paul muttering sweet nicknames under his breath while he buries his face into your neck ( which is something he does a lot) he'd mumble things like " m'love you so much baby". Or if your ever caught up doing something and not paying him attention for a hot minute hes gonna ~whine~ " honeybun how much longer till your done, I want to spend time with you." Paul is such a sweet,horny, clingy man and im here for it. He just has so much love and energy to give you he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Marko

Now marko my sweet boy marko, how do I put this in the best way possible. Marko is a little sly bastard. With that being said he's a major flirt like his brother paul, but for some reason I feel marko is slightly more bold than paul. Don't ask why because frankly I don't know why I feel this way I just do. That being said marko calls you " hot stuff", " sexy", "gorgeous" marko is one smooth mf'er. He'll purr those nicknames all the time. " hey sexy thing" he'll say with a lop sided smirk when he greets you. He 100% lightly smacks you ass almost everytime you walk by, he can't help himself. " gorgeous could you come here for a sec?" He asks real sweetly and as your walking over to him he snakes an arm behind you so he can give your ass a nice little pat.He really loves you and your ass, he also adores making you laugh and smile so naturally he cracks a lot of jokes, which leads to him saying things like. " love seeing you smile gorgeous, its mesmerizing" marko is very creative we all know this,so hes great with flattery i feel. " come on hot stuff it'll be fun,and I'll know you'll do so good just trust me, you trust me right sweet thing?" This was marko's response when he was trying to teach you how to ride his motorcycle. You always rode with him on his bike, but he was try to teach you how to drive. He's not gonna lie he thought you sitting on his bike was super hot you were a smoke show. It made him very horny.

Dwayne

Ok so my mans dwayne is a sweetheart he is so soft and sweet but here's the thing, you have to know him a while to find that out. I don't think dwyane is as quiet and closed off as people think. Honestly when you get to know him he's so sweet. He has no problem w with his brothers knowing either,he loves you. They tease him and tell him he's a sap, he pays no mind to it though. A nickname dwayne likes to call you is "dove" its probably one of his favorites he loves it because he says it just suits you, your delicate like a dove to him. " let's go for a ride dove" dwayne says as he hops on his bike and holds his hand out for you to take. " I found these for you sweetheart, I hope you like them." He says as he hands you some shells he found on the beach. Dwayne likes to look for shells and picks up ones he thinks you'll like. He also will make you jewelry with the shells he finds " does that feel good my love" ( gets yalls heads out the gutter) he'd asked as he plays with your hair braiding it then unbraiding it. Dwayne just loves have you close and holding you. He also really enjoys cuddling, he'll often put on some music and dance with you when you guys are alone in the cave. " I had no idea you could dance so well sweetheart." He says with a little chuckle.

David

Oh David my beloved. I think david would come up with classic nicknames like " darling","dollface",or "sugar" but the way he says them- it'll make you swoon. Just the way when he talks to you he keeps eye contact and will smirk or smile at just the right time. He says that he picked those nicknames because they are pretty self explanatory, your are just darling to him he can't help but think that. You also according to him have the face of a doll it's perfect in his eyes and well sugar of course because your just sweet and he like how you blush when he calls you that. David is a flirt, however he doesn't come off as horny as his brother marko and paul. He comes off more subtle. He'll say things like " whatever makes your heart content darling" he often says that when you see something you like or want. David will find a way to get it for you, no questions asked. " have I told you how much i love you today dollface?" That's something he asks when you two are sitting together in his wheelchair, while you might be reading a good book and david will just admire you. " keep the jacket sugar, looks better on you anyway." You recall him saying that on one of you're earlier date with him, he gave you his trench coat and actually let you wear it home. David never heard the end of that from his brothers but he honestly couldn't care less because you looked like a dream in his coat. So needless to say david is some what of a romantic but let him hear you say it because he will deny it till the day he dies- well I guess he's already technically dead so, he will deny it for the rest of eternity.

Alrighty besties that brings this lil preference to a close, I apologize for any mistakes I did not proofread this. So hopefully it doesn't suck too bad, but until next time. I'll catch you later. :)

#dwayne the lost boys #paul the lost boys #paul tlb #david the lost boys #dwayne tlb #david tlb #marko the lost boys #marko tlb #the lost boys #preferences #fanfic