#also the film strip of her... keeps that in his wallet

[shieldofiron]

Billy Hargrove’s Haunted Bong

For Harringrove Week March 29, Happy Billyday! Also on AO3 Here.

Specific Dialogue: “You don’t know what you put me through.”

NSFT-ish, just at the end.

Steve feels a little awkward picking through Billy Hargrove’s stuff. His dad’s gone, and now Max and her Mom are moving, they need to get rid of the excess, he knows that. There’s some of Billy’s dad’s stuff here, too, though a lot of it has been picked over by the neighborhood moms, trying to get shoes for their husbands and stuff.

There’s less of a market for teenage boy stuff, though Tommy has a few button downs slung over his arm, and apparently Max unloaded a bunch of Billy’s tapes on ‘The Freak’ Eddie Munson.

Steve is really here more as a favor to Max. He doesn’t know what he would do with a Scorpions t-shirt, or a stack of books. Who knew that Billy read so much, anyway?

Max walks over and crosses her arms, “Hey. Want you to see something.”

He shrugs, tossing the paperback he was never going to buy back in a pile, “Ok.”

Max leads him up the stairs and into the half packed house and into a mostly empty room. There’s a bed that’s been stripped, and a small cardboard box, open and half full on it. Steve catches a glimpse of a few tapes inside, and a handful of clothes. Maybe it’s stuff they’re saving.

Max holds up two cans of Aquanet, “Do you want these? I’ll give them to you for a dime.”

Steve fights to keep his face neutral, “Uh, not my brand. But thanks.”

“How about this?” She holds up a bottle of cologne, Paco Rabanne.

He shrugs, “Sure. How much?” This is probably fine, a non-weird thing to get, anyway.

“Uh... a quarter?” She says distractedly while he glances down to dig in his pocket for change. “And what about this?”

He looks up and almost chokes on his spit. It is without a doubt the biggest bong he’s seen in person.

“Put that down!” He says.

She scowls, “What’s your problem?”

“N-nothing. Didn’t Eddie want that?” Steve really would feel better if she put it down. Maybe stepped away from it too.

“He took the other one,” She shrugs, “Why? What’s wrong with it? It’s just a vase.”

Right. Just a vase.

He snatches it from her hands, just wanting to get it out of the house, “How much?”

“Uh... a dollar. No! Two dollars!” She cries.

He rolls his eyes, because this thing is probably expensive as shit, but he just wants it out of her house.

“Sure,” He pulls a couple of bucks out of his wallet, “I’ll see you, okay?”

She nods, counting the money, “You want your change?”

“No, nope, just gonna head right home,” And smash this thing to pieces, he thinks.

He hops in the beemer, throwing his vase across the passenger’s seat along with the cologne. It really is enormous, blue swirling glass that would be kind of pretty if it wasn’t dirty with old bong water and stuff.

“Never let it be said I never did anything for you, Hargrove,” He grumbles, eyes searching the road wildly.

He turns the corner off Cherry Lane, shaking his head.

“I mean, whatever. I didn’t like... jump in front of a monster. Though I did. For Max, I mean,” He tightens his hands on the wheel, “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

He glances down at the bong and the cologne.

He shakes his head, “You would think I was high already.”

The bong glints in the afternoon sunlight, reflecting the blue skies out the window and the slowly turning leaves.

“You know my birthday is tomorrow,” Steve says, to no one. “I guess I could have one smoke. Just to see what I’m missing.”

The sunlight glints, and it’s almost like a wink.

He’s going crazy, that’s the only explanation for why he heads home and takes the bong into his house instead of throwing it away. He dumps the old water in the sink, trying to take it apart so he can rinse it out. He might actually catch some kind of disease smoking out of this thing, considering Billy died in July and it’s halfway through January.

He shakes his head at himself, dunking the bong into the water and rubbing the side, trying to take off the film of hairspray and weed smoke that’s formed a crust along the sides. Probably he won’t smoke from it. It’s a lost cause.

The bong trembles in his hands and he rears back into the kitchen island, soapy water splashing everywhere. Blue smoke comes from the top, pale denim blue that swirls in the air and shifts and then...

Billy fucking Hargrove is sitting on the edge of his kitchen sink.

He looks much the same as he always did, shirtless, tanned and perfect with a necklace glinting from his chest. Winking in the sunlight.

“Harrington,” He says with a smile.

“H-holy shit.” Maybe Steve is high. How did he get this high and he doesn’t even remember smoking?

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Billy’s eyes sparkle, electric blue. Were they always that blue, glowingly blue? They look like Kyle McLaughlin’s eyes in that freaky movie Dustin dragged Steve to a few weeks ago.

“This is not happening,” Steve shakes his head, “This isn’t happening.”

Billy laughs, full and open, and then the blue smoke is back, smelling like Paco Rabanne and cigarettes and Aquanet, swirling through the air.

“What do you wish for, Pretty Boy?” Billy’s voice sounds like it’s coming from  right in Steve’s ear, but when he looks, the Billy on his counter is just smiling mischievously.

“Uhhh...”

Billy disappears and the smoke surrounds Steve. He clings to the countertop, the only thing that feels solid. Smoke slides along his face and arms, like a caress.

“Make a wish,” Billy’s voice beacons, “Birthday Boy.”

“I-if I blow hard enough, will you disappear?” Steve mumbles, not sure what kind of weird dream this is.

“If you blow?” Billy whispers, his tongue sliding along his lower lip teasingly.

“What are you?”

“You’ve never heard of a genie? Djinn is more accurate,” Billy’s voice is behind him now, along the back of Steve’s neck, sending goosebumps down his spine. Billy hums and it takes Steve a few moments before he picks out the theme to I Dream of Jeannie. “Should I call you, Master?”

“It’s not real,” Steve half laughs, “You died. I saw you die.”

“Where did the body go, Harrington? Disappeared... like smoke...” Billy appears in front of him, sudden and solid, “Poof.”

“You’re not a genie, though,” Steve shakes his head, “They aren’t real.”

“Try me, Harrington,” Billy smiles, eyes blazing.

“Uh...” Steve blinks at Billy’s face, so very close. He’s had dreams like this. Billy Hargrove, close and within reach, kind and laughing and oh so kissable.

“Go on,” Billy’s chin juts forward, and its so much like Steve’s dreams, he gives in. Maybe it is a dream. A weird one, but one of his regular dreams.

“Is it a three wishes kind of deal?” He asks.

Billy shrugs, “Dunno. I came to in a van full of shouting Russians who shoved green liquid down my throat. And then smoke poured out of my mouth, my ears, my eyes, and I turned into... this. Tried to go home, get Max’s attention. But then I got sucked into that thing when I got too close.”

Steve stares at him, at his lips actually. Is it nighttime already, or is it just the smoke swirling around?

“S.S. Butterscotch,” He mumbles.

“What?”

“I want a scoop of Scoops Ahoy S. S. Butterscotch,” Steve chokes, “Haven’t had it since the mall... uh...”

Billy puts a hand behind his back and winks at Steve, sending an electric bolt of lust down his spine.

“Your wish is my command,” Billy pulls his hand out and there’s a waffle cone stacked with a single scoop of S. S. Butterscotch, as smooth and round as if Steve had done it himself.

Billy raises it up to Steve’s lips, his eyes going dark and cloudy blue when Steve licks along the top. A shiver runs down his spine from the top of his head, making his knees weak.

“Oh, Harrington. You don’t know what you put me through,” Billy smiles, “Never thought I’d see you again. Never.”

Steve blinks, his mouth swirling with the flavor he’s been craving since Starcourt.

Steve finally manages to dig his claws out of the counter and reaches out, knocking the cone to the side. Well, it’s his dream. He might as well get to do what he wants.

Billy Hargrove tastes like woodsmoke and butterscotch and he groans into Steve’s mouth like he’s real, like he’s oh so human again.

Blue smoke trails up Steve’s spine like a featherlight touch, and he trembles, falling forward, hands digging into Billy’s hair. He’s always dreamed about boys and girls, he’s always had a lot of sex dreams, but they never felt like this.

Billy’s chest is warm, though there’s no heartbeat. But his tongue is wet and wicked and alive, and tendrils of smoke are curling against Steve’s overheated skin while Billy’s fingers dig into his hips. Holy shit.

Steve groans when Billy begins to slowly drag his hands to the placket of Steve’s jeans, teasing along the buttons. His tongue is teasing the inside of Steve’s lips, turning all of his thoughts to liquid lust.

Then Billy disappears into smoke and laughter, and invisible hands trail along Steve’s cock, under his jeans... through his jeans...

“Oh fuck,” Steve gasps, hips working. “Don’t stop.”

“Feel good?” Billy’s voice is somewhere on the ceiling.

“Fuck, yes, B-Billy... fuck...”

“Wanna make you feel so good,” Billy says softly, his voice crackling like a flame, “Wanna make you cream your jeans.”

Steve is embarrassingly close to that already, “R-Revenge?”

“For all the times you turned me on in class? No. But good guess,” Billy practically purrs when a smoky finger flicks the head of Steve’s cock and Steve cries out.

Steve gasps, “T-then...”

“Haven’t touched anyone in six months,” Billy laughs, and it echoes off all the polished surfaces of the Harrington’s pristine kitchen. “And you’re so touchable.”

Steve closes his eyes before they roll back in his head and makes an inarticulate noise, “Fuck, Billy... I’m... I’m... g-gonna...”

Billy’s corporeal in a moment, hand pressed over the invisible fingers, pressing Steve’s cock hard into his stomach, a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Come on, Pretty Boy. Get there.”

Steve’s orgasm bursts through him like a wildfire, and he screams into Billy’s shoulder, pressing his mouth against flexing muscle in a vain attempt to silence himself. Blood roars in his ears and he passes out into Billy’s waiting arms. He half expects to go right through them, but they catch him, sure and steady.

When he wakes up, his eyes are blurry and his body is blissed out, floating like it hasn’t since Starcourt. He sits up in his bed and looks around the room but there’s no one there.

Oh shit. It really was a dream. He bites down the bitterness and looks down at the bed beside him.

It’s the bong, gleaming and blue, glass colors swirled together like smoke. The morning light glints off the edge. Like a wink.

“Good morning, pretty boy,” The voice rumbles through the room and Steve closes his eyes. Wishes he was dreaming.

#harringrove #billy x steve #steve x billy #Djinn! Billy Hargrove #Supernatural Au #Harringroveweek #billysbirthdaybonanza #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfic #lemon

[staronline]

                  ꕤ ﹫ 𝒋𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒂𝒆'𝒔  𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒂  𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 …

featuring  @hour553 ′s  sooyeon  !

#╰ ♡ . 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝. … ( 𝟎𝟎𝟑 ) edits. #╰ ♡ . 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐧. … ( 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ) love you more than i can say to you. #he kept all of the sweet ones ❤ #also the film strip of her... keeps that in his wallet

[yeojaa]

wait !!!! find her jk with that prompt the other anon sent!!! can u plssss that’s literally something find her jk would actually do🥺🥺🥺🥺

[ read finders keep hers ]

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  idiots in love.  like, that’s all there is to say.  angst central, my dude.  wc.  2.4k.  author note.  i meant to make this short and end with some tender lovemaking but...  i cannot be trusted near a keyboard so you get this word vomit instead.  xoxo!

You love Jeon Jungkook.  Have, you think, since before you knew what the word love meant.

(Maybe since you were children and you’d still stood a chance against him, bursting with pride from a job well done, young enough that your parents’ kind words felt better than anything in the world.  Before he’d turned into the president of the Casanova Club and he’d just been your and your brother’s best friend.  Little Jeon with the unbelievably big eyes, always so curious about everything.

Or maybe since your tenth grade White Day, when he’d bought you your favourite candies and pressed them unceremoniously into your hands, too many to hold so they fall to dirt and tumble around you.  He’d stooped to snatch them all up, shoving them into the pockets of your coat.  “Because we’re best friends or whatever,”  he’d said with this toothy, silly smile.

More likely during university.  That time you’d maybe (read: very) foolishly made out, liquor fueling the tangle of your limbs and how utterly good he felt within them, a nectarine dream in his brand new G Wagon.  You’d thought he’d laugh in your face, mumble something about no, we can’t - which he had - but he’d also taken you home, tucked you in and climbed in beside your inebriated self.

Definitely once you’d started seeing each other, spending more time in his bed than anywhere else.  It’d been nearly impossible to separate head from heart, falling deeper and deeper into the Jungkook-shaped black hole that seemed to eclipse everything else.  You’d fallen head over stupid heels, leaving bits of yourself hidden among his things.  Your lip balm in his trouser pocket, perfume on the collar of his favourite turtleneck, shape of your mouth alongside monogrammed initials. 

You hadn’t meant to.

Love him, that is.  It’d simply happened in between all the laughter, the eye rolls, the smiles.  Threaded between each action and cemented by the thud of your heart, beat into the ground like a drum.)

Sometimes, though, you don’t like him.  Oftentimes, in fact. 

You and Jungkook are as different as can be.  

You’re in business development at a tech firm;  he’s the technically unemployed son of a real estate mogul.  You invest most of your money;  he spends his as if it’ll never run out (which it likely won’t).  You grew up with an older brother;  he’s got two younger sisters.  You drink to celebrate, to wind down;  he drinks to prove a point.  You believe in love - have to, looking at your parents and feeling how you do about him;  he knows it exists but up until recently, had zero interest in it.

You wonder still, seated at the table with your group of friends and their partners, whether that still rings true.  (Deep down, you know it doesn’t. You know he loves you, wants you in a way he’s never wanted anyone else before, but your brain is a fickle thing, playing tricks when it shouldn’t.) 

Would he be happier without you?  Better off without you? 

Your thoughts mock you - just as he does, roguish smile turning his entire expression into sunshine.  Inescapable, all-encompassing, so blinding it’s almost hard to look at.  Trained on the girl he’s chatting up at the bar.  

This is what Jungkook does.  What he’s always done.  You should be used to it, really.  The man’s charm is always turned up to eleven, always in full effect even when he doesn’t mean it to be.  It’s simply part of who he is- young and rich and devastatingly, heartbreakingly handsome. 

Still, you can’t help the emotion that swells somewhere deep in your stomach, jostles the meal you’ve just had and turns your insides into a sea of nausea.  You know when he’s just being friendly and you know when he’s flirting.  It’s a terribly thin line but one you recognise, intimately familiar with the two sides of his personality.  

Right now, he’s flirting.  Doing that thing he does, one arm folded on the counter top, unblemished hand resting somewhere along his hip, silver of his rings acting as a beacon beneath the dim restaurant lights.  His other hand slots itself into the pocket of his coated jeans, tattoos thrown into stark contrast against his skin and the black of the denim.  There’s that smile of his, more a smirk but sunny, radiant, beautiful.  It lights up his entire face, steeping his expression in something warm.  The dimple in his cheek winks with each laugh - you can only imagine the one on the other side does the same, cut deeply into his skin.

Don’t be mad, you tell yourself.  He’s your Jungkook, bad habits and all.  

You love him.  You love him.  You love him.

If he notices your stoicism, he doesn’t comment on it.  Doesn’t ask what’s wrong or if you’re okay or what’s up.  Barely even speaks to you, save to toss his arm around your shoulder and tug you close, practically tug you into his lap while his friends share stories of their week.

It’s your usual Friday night dinner.  Something you’ve done with this ragtag group for as long as you’ve known them.  An excuse to go out and drink and eat some damn good (and often free) food. 

You wish you could enjoy it like you normally do.  Instead, you’re preoccupied by the way a perfume that isn’t yours lingers on his collar - seeps beneath the fabric and marks him up like a possession.  It’s too sweet - cloying sugar apples and coconut - nothing like your usual earthy wisteria and dewy rose.  It stings your nose when you inhale too deeply, nestled into the familiar shape of Jungkook’s frame, settled between the vertebrae you know best.

You hardly notice when he does speak to you, rousing you from thought you can’t quite place any longer.

“Ready to head home?”

The rest of your friends are going about their business, slipping their coats on and exchanging ideas for plans the following morning.  (Saturday brunch is a very popular thing, though it tends to lean late lunch versus true breakfast-brunch.)

You nod and slip from beneath your lover’s arm, plucking your purse up as you rise.  You’re ready to get out of here, ready to scrub away the melancholy that lingers like a thin film across your skin.  

He must have realised sometime between your silence in the car and your lacklustre kisses in the elevator.  You think he must, as he nearly slams the front door of his penthouse shut, kicks off his Chelsea boots and lets them tumble together just off the welcome mat.  (Not the reaction you’d expected, but you’ve learnt to never expect anything from him.  As much as he might be your best friend, Jeon Jungkook plays by his own set of rules.)

He doesn’t wait for you to undo your own shoes, carefully undoing the straps of your Jimmy Choos and setting them where they belong before you follow the sound of his footsteps.

When you find him, he’s stripping off his jacket and tossing it haphazardly across the back of his desk chair, keys and wallet and phone dropped none-too-gently upon wood.  He says nothing even as he crosses to his closet, steps inside and slips off each piece of jewellery:  assorted rings and his Rolex - everything but the bracelet you’d gotten him for graduation.  

His belt goes next, set back within the confines of its velvet lined drawer.  Through the hole goes the button of his jeans, down goes the zipper, and then he’s in nothing but his vaguely sheer dress shirt, boxer-briefs, and silly printed socks (yellow bananas on black fabric, for reasons), looking every inch the adonis he is. 

You still haven’t said a word, carefully hanging your dress in the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.  You don’t really know what to say - how to approach his apparent frustration when you don’t know where it comes from.

Is he upset with you?  Had you, somewhere along the line of your own sadness, done something to upset him?

You’re running through all the scenarios, lost in thought, when his voice breaks the quiet.  Snaps forth and hits its mark - a perfect shot.  “Seriously?”  There’s a fickle quality to his tone, a pettiness that you recognise when he hasn’t gotten his way, when he’s not quite sure what to say but knows he wants to have something.  (It doesn’t come out often with you, but you’re intimately familiar with it still.  His I-want-to-fight voice.)

“Pardon?”  You’re not expecting him so close, close enough to reach you but far enough that you can tell he’s purposely put this distance between you.  It feels strange - further apart than it is.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

You blink.  Once, twice, three times.  When you speak, it’s full of confusion, paired with your brows gathering in a little knot of bewilderment.  “Anything about what?”

“What happened at dinner.”  

He sounds so utterly deadpan, you can’t help but laugh, a sound of disbelief rather than amusement.  

“You mean you flirting with that girl?”  Even saying the words feels awful, makes you want to crawl into bed and forget about it all.

Jungkook, on the other hand, looks like you’ve just handed him the answers to all of life’s questions.  His entire face rearranges, all the pieces matching back up to form a proper puzzle.  There’s a certain smugness to it now, caught in the round of his cheek and how it ticks higher with his grin.  “So you did notice!  I fucking knew it.”

“Of course I did.”  You want to be appalled.  Know you should be.  (But it’s Jungkook and you love him.)  “Kind of hard not to.”  

He’s the devil in disguise, snapping you to him with a flex of his arms, hands curled around your waist.  It’s clear he’s pleased, absolutely tickled pink that you’d fallen for his silly little trick.  “Gotta keep you on your toes,”  he croons, eyes twinkling, mouth wobbling with the strain of keeping his laughter hidden. 

He expects you to agree - maybe roll your eyes and pat his cheek, laughs along with him and give him some sort of shit about how he’s an idiot - and visibly starts when you push yourself away, two palms flat against his chest. 

“Sure.”

One word.  Nothing like he’d imagined.

“Baby?”  You’ve made it two steps - two whole steps, which is two too many to Jungkook - when he’s pulling you back, trapping you against his chest with his arms looped around your shoulders.  “Where you going?”  He’s kissing along your shoulder, trailing warmth everywhere he touches. 

He still smells like that girl’s perfume.

“Can you get off me, please?”  You’re more polite than you normally are, working hard to keep calm when he only tightens his grip.  Of course he thinks you’re kidding, thinks you’re pouting and playing just like he had when you’d returned home.

When you repeat yourself - a little harder, a little quieter - he seems to realise how wrong he’s read the situation.

“Angel—”  You’re swept around, left to stare into the neat white of his shirt as he peers down at you, waits for you to meet his eyes.  You don’t, staunchly focused on the buttons of his Oxford, how they strain over his broad chest.  “Baby.”  Now he’s the one full of reprimand, disapproval colouring the single word that’s normally so sweet.

“What?”  It’s just as bratty as he was earlier but somehow worse, touched blue.

“What’s wrong?”  Jungkook seems genuinely perplexed, concerned and maybe, just a tiny bit frustrated.  He’s not used to you lashing out like this, soft and yet unyielding, hidden behind a door he’s fumbling with the keys to.

“You.”

“—me?”

You’re not one to throw out things you don’t mean, carefully picking and choosing your words.  It’s something you’ve always done - far more responsible than your idiot best friend who’s never had to worry about a thing in his life.  

The line of his mouth dips, pulls into a frown as he studies you and tries to crack open the windows to gain some insight.  It doesn’t work well;  he’s faced with a stone wall.

“Why’re you mad?” 

You want to laugh.  Do, actually, so short and abrupt it’s more of a scoff.  “What’s wrong with me?”  You’d pull away if you could. (Realistically, you could, but you’ve always been too soft for him.)  “You spent almost all of dinner flirting with someone else.”

“Yeah— to make you jealous.”  As if that makes it better.  As if that doesn’t tear a giant hole right in the centre of your chest, launches your poor heart out of the airlock to fend for itself in the emptiness of his expression.  

You don’t know why it feels worse to hear it out loud.  You’d figured as much. 

(Jungkook had done this in the past, though always jokingly.  He’d rarely been invested enough in a girl to go to such lengths but you’d seen it once or twice.  Always the age old adage of wanting what you can’t have.)

You wish you could separate the then from the now.  Remind yourself that he does care, that this is his twisted, stupid way of showing his affection - of keeping you around.  (You know he’s just as vulnerable as you - maybe more, sometimes - but he shows it poorly.  Pushes you away when he tries to pull you in.)

Tears are welling, spilling across your lashes faster than you can yank them back.  Something about being an angry crier.  

“Good job,”  you mean to snap, to make him feel how you do.  (Small - so very, very small.)  Instead, it’s terribly quiet.  A whisper that gets lost to the cotton poplin.  “Now I’m jealous.”  And miserable and insecure.  All things you usually aren’t, that only Jeon Jungkook manages to bring out in you.

“Baby,”  he tries again, crushing you to his chest, jut of his chin resting atop your head.  His hugs had always been your favourite - swallowing you whole, making you feel safe - but it’s too much now, a prison cell rather than your familiar bed.  “I’m sorry.”  He’s kissing again, stamping his affection into the dark of your hair, brushing over and over with the soft of his lips, his rounded adorable nose,  “I thought—”

You know what he thought.  Know where he’d been coming from (a place of immaturity, a gilded golden room with Jeon Jungkook stamped across the door) but it doesn’t make it any better.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less.

#anon.eml #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts drabble #bts angst #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #incoming.eml #work.zip #drabble.zip #finders.doc #jungkook.doc

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 10

Jason woke up around five am, bleary and in a tangle of blankets again from yet another nightmare…Sweat-soaked, he peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace and stripped first himself, then the bed, tossing everything into his washing machine before turning on the shower and stepping inside. Lukewarm woke him up a little better than hot right now, and felt better on his scarred skin; he leaned heavily against the tile, head tipped back as his waterfall nozzle rained down on him. The familiar sound of the washer going was a comfort, and piece by piece, he brought himself back to the present, breathing slowly, evenly, just as Bruce had taught him all those years ago…

“…Fuck.” He sighed out, and started washing up, glad for the indie shop he supported down the street that made its own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. They were bar form, of course, but the natural scents helped ground him…anything heavily chemically scented was too triggering, too much like the factory he’d died in. A lot of things triggered that…tannerite, for one, which was why in all his varied explosions, he’d only ever used C4. Iron…He unconsciously touched the cheekbone that Talia had had her surgeons rebuild, for even the Pit couldn’t do everything. Not on a body that had been so badly brutalized that it’d been a closed casket funeral…

“Knock it off, Todd.” He growled out to himself, scrubbing furiously now. Fuckin’ don’t go down that path again, Jason…you know where it leads. Besides, you promised you’d make waffles this morning. Can’t leave a lady waiting. Steph’s smile filled his mind, and Jason relaxed, as he had for months now around his Batgirl…and he felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. He didn’t have a waffle iron; he rarely did more than griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon for himself, and that’s when he felt like cooking, so it was a good thing he’d woken up before his alarm; he had time to run to the nearest Lux-Mart. He finished his shower, relaxed now, and other than rescuing his book from the floor and setting it on his nightstand, left his bed to airdry for a while; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Dark jeans, boxer-briefs, a soft tee shirt, socks, his boots, and a hoodie, and he was ready to brave the pre-dawn crowds. He twirled his keys on one finger as he made his way down the stairs to his garage, and side-stepped the engine for Roy’s Corvette, unlocking the truck and opening the door with a flick of a button. It was dark still; small wonder, it was just barely five forty-five, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so…the garage door slid closed behind him with a whisper, and Jason set out for the Lux-Mart, following the main roads this morning, since they weren’t clogged yet by the early morning commuters. A few early birds passed him, and he waved at the Batmobile as they both continued on out of the city, since the nearest of Lux Luthor’s monster all-in-one stores was in the suburbs on the mainland.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on the dash with a grin, glad for his blue-tooth dashboard connection.

“Hey Pops.”

“I thought that was you, Jason…what has you out so early?” Bruce’s voice was warm, exhausted, but for once, actually pretty damned friendly, and Jason hummed a little, smirking to see the ‘mobile keeping pace with him.

“Well, I promised I’d bring Steph waffles this morning as incentive to get her homework done…and then I realized I didn’t have a waffle iron.” Bruce laughed at that, low and surprisingly genuine, while he heard a squawk from Tim. Now, he didn’t…completely hate his replacement in the Robin line-up; certainly, he adored Steph and Damian. But Tim was…well, everything that Jason hadn’t ever been, and Jason was still too aware of how similar Tim and Bruce really were. Dick had commented on it, last time he’d come up from Bludhaven, and if Dick could see it…well. Jason still felt like he’d been the downgrade from Dick, and that Tim was the super upgrade.

It wasn’t true…but emotions could be ugly, ugly things.

And Tim had stolen his ex-girlfriend’s waffles.

“Well then, that makes complete sense…do you two need anything from us? We had a busy night dealing with Boyle again.” Jason winced; Ferris Boyle had been a problem since Bruce’s early days, even before Dick, and Jason hated the man almost as much as he hated Joker. Totally aside from how he’d fucked up Victor Fries, his actions regarding Nora had been absolutely appalling. He wanted custody of her so that he could experiment on her…and since Victor is now a supervillain…goddamn, I’m glad Bruce was able to win custody of her.

“Bastard…was he after Nora again?”

“And Victor. We convinced Fries to come back to Wayne Inc. and talk to us about Nora’s future; we’ve made some serious progress towards a cure, and with his research, we might just have what we need. And I’ve been working on something to help him as well…But we can talk about it later.” A yawn broke his sentence, and Jason smiled fondly.

“Go home, Pops; Steph and I will take patrol tonight. You two take the night off.”

“…Thank you, Jason. I really appreciate it; Damian and Tim do too.”

“Yes, thank you, akhi.” Damian’s voice was softer over the phone, tired, and Jason smiled, though he grit his teeth when Tim spoke up.

“Sure, thanks Hood. Hope you two actually get some patrolling done, and don’t just make out on a roof.”

“…Well, Timmy, I’m quite certain we’ll keep our professionalism at the fore. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract undue attention…like Kon did the other night.” Jason responded, voice sickeningly sweet as Tim choked over the phone call, and Bruce made an inquisitive noise.

“We were going over tactical plans!”

“Tim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Bruce’s voice was gentle, but curious, and Jason felt his grin stretch to maniacal proportions.

“Oh, of course you were! Silly ol’ me, ‘tactical plans’, of course! Must’ve been wall plans!” Jason replied sweetly, and Tim choked again, a strangled noise coming over the line. Bruce snorted suddenly, clearly understanding now, and Damian just sighed; Jason could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Drake, do not give Todd grief for kissing; we all know you regularly have intercourse with Kon-El.” Tim’s voice was pitched even higher now, babbling as Bruce snorted again, clearly holding back laughter, and Jason snickered.

“Damian, Lil D, I want you to know how much I love you right now.”

“As I love and cherish you, akhi. Please do tell Grayson this.”

“DO NOT TELL DICK ANYTHING, JASON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Then don’t steal Stephie’s waffles again, and I won’t~” He purred, and Tim let out a heavy sigh.

“…I apologize to her later.”

“So good to work with you, Tim, it’s just such a pleasure!”

“God, I hate you sometimes.” Bruce was laughing now, deep and highly amused, and Jason gave the ‘mobile a salute as he turned off towards the Lux-Mart, still snickering.

“Love you too, Timmy; good night, you three, I’m off to waffle-maker hunt.”

“Love you too, Jay; good luck! And tell Steph we love her too for me, will you?” Bruce asked, over the other twos’ groaning, and Jason chuckled.

“Of course, Pops. See ya.”

“See you.” The call winked out, and Jason pulled into the Lux-Mart, still grinning. He grabbed up his phone, double checked his wallet, and headed into the store, grabbing a cart. He didn’t want to buy a ton of stuff…but he knew he’d need more room than a basket. Appliances first; he grabbed a waffle-maker, one with interchangeable plates, and from the small selection, picked a Millennium Falcon and an Eevee (both for Steph), since they’d traded favorite Pokémon a few weeks ago, then favorite films. He was always looking for Pride and Prejudice/Sense and Sensibility stuff, or even just basic literary things, but hey, he liked Eevee too (even if his favorite was still Rapidash), and Star Wars was a familiar favorite from his childhood.

From there, he grabbed utensils that he knew he didn’t have, then a few things from pharmacy to cover his personal stores for the week. Bandages, wraps, gauze, alcohol…all the usual stuff, and then he made his way to the grocery area, where things were getting a little bit busier. Two boxes of waffle/pancake mix, maple syrup, and a carton of eggs; a package of bacon made the cut too, as did a gallon of milk, a bottle of his favorite fancy protein juice smoothie, and as he made his way into the produce section, a bag each of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. He also got a couple apples, good for a snack as well as baking into the batter, and a pair of pomegranates. Bananas too, just as small bunch, and a small tub of butter.

On a whim, he also grabbed sugary snacks for later, mostly Hostess cakes and some Little Debbie stuff, and a big bag of Chex Mix; not healthy, no, but they held up to patrols well, and he’d gone hungry too many nights to ever feel good about not having food around. Besides…his stay in the Lazarus Pit hadn’t just accelerated his healing factor…it’d forced his metabolism onto a higher level, and now he could almost match Kon pound for pound with food. He also grabbed some pizzas; just in case, he liked to have them. Checking his watch, Jason bit off a swear; it was seven am already, and it was easily a half-hour drive back into Gotham.

He got through self checkout with ease, and hauled his finds out of the store, leaving the cart at the entrance and legging it to his truck. To his surprise, clouds that hadn’t been visible in the darkness were rolling over the whole of Gotham City, heavy thunder rumbling out on the ocean, and in the low light from the rising sun, he made a few quick calculations. He had just enough time to get back to the city before the rain really started; he loaded up his backseat and tore ass out of the parking lot, hopping on the freeway in record time. He glanced around, confused at the lack of cars…then laughed to himself.

Of course it was empty; it was Sunday. I think I’m getting to love Sundays now…Jason thought to himself as he gunned it back to Steph’s place, settling back for the drive with a sigh. Just then, the familiar strains of ‘Home’ came onto the radio, and Jason grinned, then started singing along.

“I’m goin’ home…to the place where I belong…”

#JaySteph #jason todd #bruce wayne #tim drake #damian wayne #waffles in progress #batfam #batkids #batman #bantering #timkon #gothambysunlight #solarpunkgotham

[cilldaracailin]

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

And here we go again!

This is being posted a lot earlier than planned because of my previous post and how I had a good day, I decided to pull my posting date forward and go against my code of writing and posting and not finish my next story before I post this one but I am sure I can cope with that! ;)

I hope you all enjoy this one. It’s a good one, even though I am totally biased.

Thanks so much for all the lovely followers and likes and Tumblr love on all my previous blog posts!

Suze xx

*I do not know Taron but the other characters are all mine!*

1

“A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.”

Robyn stood with her hand on the open car door, a troubled look on her face as she watched Taron snoozing in the front seat of her car, his head rolled to the side a little. He met her with a tired smile and tight hug in Dublin airport just after eleven pm, another apology on his lips as he squeezed her against him. It was late Monday evening, the day before St. Patrick’s Day and even though it was going to be another incredibly short visit, Taron had insisted that he was coming to spend the Irish holiday with his Irish friend.

“It’s such a late Taron flight and you are working right up until you need to be at the airport.”

“I am coming Robyn. I promised you.”

No matter how much she tried to tell him that he didn’t have to come to visit her, Taron refused to listen to her and now sat in her car, asleep, his whole body a little cramped with his position in the front seat.

Taron had taken on some work to keep himself busy between filming, doing some voice over work as well as prepping for his new role which he was thrilled to have gotten and his days were full and demanding and as predicted the screen test for his new role had been the weekend before he was due to come and visit Robyn. He had learnt the weekend previous that he was given the role he was desperate to get, his good friend and director Matthew Vaughan, putting Taron through a tough audition process to make sure he was absolutely right for the part and his Monday had been filled with phone calls and an impromptu script run through as the cast was finalised and Matthew wanted to be absolutely sure with his choices. Taron had to change his flight to the last one that evening so he could still go and be Irish for the day. It meant that once again, he was thoroughly exhausted and once Robyn had driven them out of the airport, he was asleep, Robyn talking away to her friend, not even realising he was asleep until she had been babbling for a while without a reply. She had tried her hardest to talk him out of coming but he was completely insistent and as Robyn now hunched down in front of the open door, as much as she loved seeing Taron, she was wondering if the forty-eight hours they got to spend together was worth it for him as his schedule started to fill up again and his very early starts and late nights started to take their toll on him.

She gently shook his knee and he immediately lifted his head, his eyes opening wide as he looked at her.

“Hey you.”

Groaning, his leaned against the head rest. “All I do is sleep with you.”

Robyn smiled and blushed a little but her grin faded a little as it took Taron a few seconds to realise what he said, his hands running down his face, almost too tired to be embarrassed and it wasn’t like him at all to react so slowly to something awkward he had said.

“I sleep with you too.” She replied. “And cwtch sometimes.”

“I am sorry Robyn. Not the way I wanted what was supposed to be our few days to go. Now it’s barely two.”

Robyn reached into the car and took his hand. “We have said many times before, that we would be happy with even an hour together. I will take our two days Taron. You know this.”

“Yeah I do but wouldn’t it be nice to have a couple of days together? Like New Years? Matthew wanted me to tell you he was sorry that our time was taken away from each other but he just needed to make sure I was suited for the actor playing my dad in the movie, that we connected and had a chemistry of sorts, even though the father son relationship in the movie is a turbulent one. Then once he was satisfied, he had to organise a read through. It’s such a significant and relevant story to the world today and he insists on getting everything not just right but perfect.”

“Taron you never have to apologise to me for your work. I know how important your job is to you and how much you wanted this part.”

“You are important to me too Robyn.” Taron’s voice was serious and insistent.

“You know I know that.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “But sometimes, life throws us a curve ball.”

“That was Matthew, not me.”

“And if Matthew was keeping you from me, then I know it was extremely important. Now how about we put a little smile on this sad face, and we go inside and just get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Being Irish?” He asked a small smile on his face.

“And I know a blue dinosaur who has missed you terribly. Perk up rocketman. You got here and have two days to relax a little.”

“I am always tired when I come to see you.” He complained as he got out of the car, his body a little stiff from the position he fell asleep in.

“Not true.” Robyn answered him as she closed the car door. “I was the one falling asleep in the car last time we saw each other.” She opened the back door and took his backpack out.

“I just want one time to come and see you and not be tired.”

Robyn hated the sadness and grogginess she heard in his voice. “Hey Taron, don’t get too caught up in the technicalities we face. We knew we were going to have a hard time in seeing each other. We can’t just go and spend an evening together or go for a drink when we feel like it. We have to plan our visits and I know it’s frustrating, believe me. There have been so many times I wished I could have physically seen you rather than talking on the phone but when it comes down to it Taron, I will take a phone call over nothing.”

“Me too Robyn.” Taron took his bag from her, yawning as he did so. “I am sorry. I’ve been in a shit mood all day. I shouldn’t be taking my annoyance over other things that are out of my control out on you.” Taron was still always so conscious of how his behaviour and reaction to the article had hurt her before Christmas and always made sure now that he didn’t burden her with his worries or if he did need a chat, try his best to keep from rolling his anger and upset onto her.

“You can still talk to me about everything though Taron, you know this.” Robyn locked her car and started to walk towards her front door.

He let a heavy sigh leave his body, following Robyn to her home. “This new film is going be tough and I am overthinking everything at the moment. The script read through this morning was challenging and there is so much to it, I know I am going to struggle with it at times.” Taron was on Robyn’s heels as she strolled in through her front door, going straight to the island in her kitchen to put his bag on it. “I also know it is going to be a very emotionally charged shoot.”

“Have you spoken to Matthew about all of this?” She asked him, as she pulled a cup from her press, placing it on her hot water maker, turning it on so water slowly filtered into the stripped mug.

“Yeah he knows.” Taron came to stand beside her, taking his hat off and throwing it onto the island. “We have a lot of time to prepare though and he is such a good friend and everyone one of the cast is so talented, I know we will do the movie and story justice but it is going to be so tough. Matthew has already told me to use him when I need to, ring him with any question.”

“I am glad you have him to lean on when you need too but even with him working on editing Kingsman, he is still getting ready for a new movie?” Robyn dropped a tea bag into the cup.

“Believe it or not but he is actually nearly finished already. He hasn’t stopped since we finished the re-shoots four weeks ago. He still has two weeks to finish it up completely before we start promotion and then the premier which by the way…” Taron pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket and opened it. “Might as well pull these out now.” He handed her over two very crumpled pieces of paper. “Cashing in some vouchers.”

Robyn grinned as she took them from him. She opened the first one and wasn’t surprised to see the ‘go to a premier with me’ voucher in her hands and as she opened the second one, frowned a little. “‘Wear an outfit of my choosing’.” She read. “I think I might regret writing this one.”

It was the first time she had seen him smile since he picked him up from the airport. “Stella is helping me.” He assured her as he put his wallet back in his pocket. He watched as she placed the vouchers on the countertop and moved to open a drawer and take out a spoon. “And I won’t pick a black sack.” He knew she was making him a cup of tea and watched as she stirred the tea bag around a few times before taking it out. “And you have full control over your hair and make-up except that Stella probably will be doing it all.” Taron followed her as she took a few steps to the fridge to get some milk and back again to where the cup sat. “And I hope I have given you enough notice for work. I know you will have to take the day off, maybe even the Thursday before if you could.” Robyn’s silence was starting to worry him and once she had added the sugar and milk to his tea, she picked up the cup and handed it to him. He took the cup from her, the heat from the mug settling nicely into his hands. He blew on the liquid before taking a sip, closing his eyes as once again Robyn made his tea perfectly.

“And I will be there. I have already asked for the two days off Taron.” She replied to him eventually and he hoped she hadn’t heard the sigh of relief he made and he took another drink from the cup, the hot soothing liquid exactly what he needed right now after a long day of work and stress. “And I completely trust you with regards to a dress. Actually, I think I trust you more than I trust Stella and you will steer her clear of plunging necklines and princess dresses.”

“So, no plunging neckline then?” He asked with a light smirk on his face. “Ok I shall have to re-think my thoughts.”

“Taron Egerton I am trusting you with this dress and you need to remember this premier is so much more than Elton’s party or the musical. It is a much larger event and for your movie and is going to attract so much more attention.”

“Hey…” Taron put his cup down and stepped over to her. “I know Robyn. I think I know you well enough now to understand what you like and what you don’t, and I will steer Stella in the right direction too.” He moved closer to her and gently pecked her cheek. “Trust me.”

Robyn stared at him and despite the fatigue in his eyes, they were still bright and held that mischievous glow. “I should have put a voucher in there that lets me dress you.” She replied to him, watching as picked up his tea and he took a long drink from his cup, a smile on his lips. “Maybe I need to sticky tape one in.”

“Not part of the terms and condition chicken.” Taron winked her way and started to walk away from her. “Now where is cwtch?”

Robyn watched him walk away from her, through her kitchen and into the bedroom, laughing as she heard him talking to the blue dinosaur who sat on her bed. She leant against the counter and sighed. Every waking moment, the man currently in her bedroom was in her thoughts. She thought about him when she played the piano, when she took out her guitar, as she lay on her couch and as she stood under her shower, her shampoo still on the right-hand side six months later and lately she constantly thought about the shoulder massage she had given him back in London a few weeks ago, even more how Taron had just her roam her hands all over his chest and warm skin and if she was honest with herself she was desperate to do it all again, praying for the day that Taron produced his back massage voucher for her. She watched his movies with such a different view now and whereas before she would be engrossed in the movie, now she was engrossed in Taron watching how he moved, his facial expressions and his voice. As his work schedule quickly filled up, especially now that he was preparing to work with Matthew once more, time for speaking with each other was becoming a little bit trickier, Taron actually falling asleep on the phone as they spoke to each other last week. Robyn was just as busy and her rehearsals for RENT were lasting longer and getting later as they started to pull the show together, the musical society now adding Monday evening and Saturday to their rehearsal schedule to ensure the show was the best possible it could be and with two weeks to go until opening night, her days were pretty packed.

In saying that though, she didn’t look anywhere near as tired as Taron did. She hated seeing him so exhausted and had tried hard to convince him to stay in London and take his two-day break at home, but he was having none of it. He was adamant that he was keeping his promise and spending St Patrick’s Day with her. Once she saw him sauntering out of arrivals and towards her, her whole body filled with a blush and red-hot heat flushed through her. Taron just had a knack for doing nothing and making her feel fuzzy butterfly feelings in her stomach and she melted into his arms as he hugged her tight in the airport. Her love and affection for him deepened further into her soul each time they saw each other, and Robyn knew that although she loved Taron without a doubt, there was now the little problem she was facing of how she was actually falling in love with him. She enjoyed his company, compassion, and caring nature as well as his terrible jokes, infectious laugh and how he made her feel like the most important person in the room when she was with him.

“Hey rocketman are you hungry? You came straight from your read through, you must be starving.”

Robyn stopped in her bedroom doorway and was immediately met with flashbacks from the first time Taron stayed with her. Sprawled out on the duvet on the right side of the bed, Taron lay on his stomach, cwtch the blue dinosaur cuddled under his right arm, fast asleep and breathing deeply, the right side of his face nestled into the pillow. If she had of been thinking straight, she definitely would have taken a picture, but she was a little concerned at how once again an exhausted man slept on her bed. Robyn knew he was naturally going to be a little run down the busier he got but it seemed to her that at times, his exhaustion or overused muscles were erring on the edge of extreme and it worried her a lot that he was going to get really ill from it all.

She knelt on the floor beside the bed and lifting her hand ran it down his cheek, his growing beard at the longest she had ever seen it and it suited him well, the dark hairs coarse under her fingers. He didn’t stir as she gently swiped down his nose too or even when she moved to place a lingering kiss on his temple. Getting to her feet, she walked around to the end of the bed and a little awkwardly, pulled his boots off, dropping them on the floor. It was bringing back too many deja vu moments for her and she sighed sadly. It seemed morbid but she was ever so grateful that she had met Taron in the way she had and was so thankful to have him in her life, even when he could frustrate her beyond belief, test her patience and good nature but when he looked so innocent as he slept, she only felt her natural mothering nature coming through and wanted to sit with him and just cuddle him tight. His mam’s words still resonated with her since the first time Robyn ever spoke to her and it was that Taron needed someone to look after him, someone he could rely on and she not only wanted to be that person in his life but she felt an overwhelming need to be there for him no matter what.

Deciding she was getting into the slightly uncomfortable staring situation as she usually found herself in when the Welshman was resting on her bed, Robyn left Taron sleeping with cwtch and walked back out to her sitting room and dropped onto the couch. She had literally spent the weekend sleeping and had caught up on many hours of missed rest that she wasn’t tired enough to sleep but shaking her head, Robyn stood back up.

“Gorgeous man sleeping in your room.” She reminded herself and picked up her laptop she had left on her couch before she went to meet Taron at the airport. She made sure all the doors were locked and with Taron’s bag and hat in her other hand, walked back into the bedroom. She dropped his bag in her closet, hat on her make-up table and once changed into some comfy PJ bottoms and a t-shirt, she settled herself on the left side of the bed, turning on her computer to do some browsing for a while. Taron had told her himself, he had a talent for sleeping anywhere and for a long time and having seen it first-hand herself many times, she wasn’t at all surprised at how deep he slept beside her, long soothing and calming breathing filling his whole body but she was still a little worried about him. Pushing her worries to the side, Robyn talked herself out of her reservations about him and knew that it was just a tiredness from working nonstop over the weekend that had him drained. She shuffled a little closer to him, smiling as she could hear his breathes as he slept, grinning as hugged the dinosaur closer to him, his body moving in his sleep to find a more comfortable position, a quiet little sleepy sigh leaving his lips. “Enjoy your cosy duvet sleep rocketman.”

Cwtch was still buried under his arm and he still lay on his stomach eleven hours later and he woke up to a wonderful scratching sensation on his head.

“If only I could wake up like this every day.” He happily moaned as Robyn dug a little deeper into scalp.

“It’s only ‘cos I couldn’t throw the cup of water over you, no matter how much I wanted too. I know how tired you were yesterday so didn’t think it would have been fair to wake you up with a start, especially when your tiredness is not really your fault.” Robyn knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed, her right hand still in his hair. “Though I probably could have gotten away with it by saying it was a traditional St Patrick’s Day tradition.”

Taron laughed. “I think I need to be a little wary of you today. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of Irish traditions that are not actually traditions.”

Robyn grinned back at him as she took her hand from his hair. “Nope. I will be good. I promise. Only good and proper Irish traditions and the first one is breakfast.”

“Breakfast hash?” He asked hopefully, remembering how good their breakfast out together had been last year.

“Nope.” She saw his face fell a little.

“Full Irish?” He chanced, his stomach rumbling a little at the thought of some food, never mind a full Irish breakfast.

“Nope.” Robyn answered him.

“Oh.”

“But I have pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Taron lifted his head from the pillow. “I like pancakes.”

“Irish pancakes.”

“Like potato cakes?” He asked, praying she said no. Taron would eat anything but for breakfast, he really wasn’t in the mood for potato cakes.

“Nope. Irish pancakes. Green, white and orange ones.” He was so relieved that he wasn’t getting potatoes for breakfast but quickly became confused again with her answer. “Why don’t you get up and ready for the day and all shall be revealed to you when you come out to the kitchen.”

“So secretive chicken.”

“Have to keep you guessing Taron.” Robyn ruffled his hair a little and stood up. “You know where everything is.”

Taron watched as she walked out, tilting his head a little as he caught a glimpse of her outfit, doing a double take. His Robyn, who always wore jeans, was in a green skirt with tights and knee-high boots. His insides did a wonderful flip and he buried his face into the pillow. “She is not yours.” He spoke to himself. “She is Robyn.” He stupidly inhaled and his eyes rolled behind his closed lids as that comforting scent of Robyn’s perfume and shampoo filtered through him. He was so shattered yesterday as he walked through the glass doors of the airport, that even the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other was a chore and he was starting to think that he should have just listened to Robyn and stayed in London but as her beautiful face came into view, he knew he had made the right decision to travel so late. He had signed his work contract for Matthew and was under obligation now to be available when he was needed and his friend had apologised for the terrible timing for the script read through but Taron was a professional actor and while he committed to his work schedule, he also kept his promise to Robyn and just arrived a little later and a lot more jaded then expected.

He gave his body a long full stretch, hearing some of his joints cracking as he did so and got to his knees, before climbing off the bed, stripping himself of his hoodie and he walked into her closet and to her bathroom. It was a shower he desperately needed and it not only helped to wash the previous days sweat and worries from his shoulders, but also to wake him up, Taron just standing under the wonderful pressure of the water. Robyn had left two of her soft blue towels on the towel warmer for him and he felt so at home in her bathroom, knowing where everything he needed was, though he was still getting used to the frosted window, not thoroughly convinced it wasn’t see through.

Once dressed, he wandered out to the kitchen and a delightful smell of food met him. Robyn was at the hob, her back turned to him and he stopped walking as he took in her outfit, only now noticing the black cropped top she wore too, the tiniest sliver of skin on show above her skirt. It was a look he had not known he needed to see Robyn in and the pop of colour from her short green skirt, was the perfect tribute to the day that was in it. As he walked over to her, he noticed some green streaks in her hair and as he leant against the counter beside her, his hand immediately went to her hair.

“So, we have moved to green now?” He asked, her hair so soft between his fingers.

Robyn concentrated on not burning their breakfast so didn’t turn to him but still answered his question. “I was inspired by the hair chalk again and sure it is St Patrick’s Day.”

“Any more left?” He asked her.

“There is a some on my make-up table.”

“Another traditional Irish activity?”

“Throwing everything I have your way rocketman.” Robyn carefully placed the last pancake on the plate and turned the hob off, finally turning to face him. “So, you hungry?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He titled his head, trying to read Robyn’s face which was a mixture of shock, confusion with a hint of a smile.

“Taron, what are you wearing?”

“Clothes?” He answered grinning as she frowned at him. “My St Patrick’s Day clothes. You don’t like?”

“It’s very green and don’t get me wrong, green is stunning on you, but I mean, this is a lot of green.”

“Robyn you told me that dressing green was a pre-requisite to be Irish!”

“I didn’t mean everything had to be green though.” She took in his dark green trousers and green check long sleeved shirt under which he wore a light mint green t-shirt. “It’s a lot of green.”

“I am being Irish.”

His reply made her laugh. “Well you definitely pass the dress test.” She took a step closer and ran her hands down his wonderfully fitted shirt. With his strict training schedule on the downlow because he was finished filming Kingsman, Taron was a little less focused on his diet and gym attendance and Robyn was instantly attracted to his somewhat less lean and bulky physic, his shirt sitting on his frame perfectly, his green eyes almost illuminating in reflection from the green thread from the check pattern on his chest. “And I like this. A lot.” Robyn moved her hands from his chest to his jaw. “You growing out a beard?” She asked, his cheeks lifting to a smile under her thumbs.

“Just being lazy. Haven’t really had a reason to shave.” He closed his eyes as Robyn’s thumbs ran the whole length of his jaw.

“It really suits you.”

“My mam had been giving me a little bit of grief over it. Think it makes me look older than I am.”

Robyn grinned, imaging the lecture Taron had gotten from his mam. “Well I like it, a lot.” She confirmed. “Even with all the green Taron and the tiredness, you look good.”

“Well then I have full permission to say so do you.” Taron’s hands came to rest on her waist, his thumbs sitting neatly in the gap that her crop top left. “Robyn in a skirt?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“It’s my go to Patrick’s Day skirt and actually I wear this to work sometimes.”

“It’s not a little short for work?” He asked, trying to keep his blush in.

“I said sometimes.”

“Well, I wish I had of gotten the real memo about the subtle touch to the green though. You are wearing one green thing.”

“May I remind you that you were not told to wear all green. It wasn’t specified all green rocketman and as an official Irish person, I am not obliged to actually wear head to toe green.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.”

“Another one of those Robyn’s rules?”

“Sure.”

“You have a lot of rules Robyn.” He smirked, his thumbs grazing the skin of her waist ever so lightly.

“Ahh but Taron, rules are meant to be broken!” She lifted his hands from her waist and kissed them both on his knuckles, one at a time. “So, breakfast?” She let go of his hands and picked up the plate of pancakes and showed him. “Green, white and orange.”

On the plate were a stack of pancakes, a selection of each dyed the colours of the Irish flag. He took them from her after she gestured for him to do so and he watched on amused as she pulled a bowl from her fridge full of chopped up fruit, but only fruit in the colours of green, white and orange, kiwi’s, green grapes, melon, mango and pineapple in circles and squares mixed together.

“Is this your normal St Patrick’s Day breakfast?” He asked her, noticing a little tint fill her cheeks. “Robyn, did you do this for me?”

“Maybe.” Her voice was quiet, and she avoided his eyes. She had wanted to do something really special for him even more so when he made such an effort to get to her, ensuring he made it on time too and knowing well, that he wouldn’t have eaten great yesterday, she needed to make sure he had a substantial breakfast.

“For me?” He asked again.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“And this is an Irish breakfast like none other.” Taron walked past her and put the plate of pancakes on the breakfast bar and then took the fruit from Robyn. “Syrup?” He asked with a grin and already knowing where it was, walked past her to get the bottle. “So, are we going to let these go cold?” Taron felt so blessed at that moment in time that he had someone who was willing to go to so much effort just to make him breakfast and as his stomach rumbled hungrily, he was ready to get stuck into his meal of pancakes and fruit.

Without a word, Robyn grabbed two plates she had warming in the oven and once they were settled on the kitchen stools, a glass of orange juice for Robyn, a coffee for Taron, they tucked into their colourful breakfast, Taron almost shovelling the food into his mouth he was so hungry. He hadn’t had much to eat yesterday and Robyn was the queen of making him breakfast and as he soaked up the last of the syrup on his plate with a piece of green pancake from Robyn’s, he licked his lips in appreciation.

Robyn could only watch on as the man sitting beside her, ate every single thing in front him, his hunger fully satisfied as he drained the remains of his coffee. “Good?” She asked him as he reached for the last piece of mango from the bowl of fruit.

“So good.” He answered with his mouth full. He swallowed the fruit. “If this is just a taste of St Patrick’s Day, I am super excited for the rest.”

“Lots planned for today.”

“What you got up your sleeve Quinn?” He lifted his arms to she could take his plate and followed her with his cutlery, putting them in the sink. “I wash, you dry.” He gave her a little nudge away from the sink. “It’s our way.”

Not arguing with him, Robyn left Taron to fill the sink with hot water and bubbles, roll up his sleeves and start to wash their breakfast dishes. She grabbed a tea towel and helped him dry.

“So, chicken what have you got planned for us?”

“Well the parade starts in about forty minutes, so we can walk down to the town to watch that and then the duck race.”

“You get me my duck?” He asked her.

“Yep. Number two two zero two.”

“I am going to win.”

“Yeah you and the other two thousand or so ducks in the race.”

“I have my lucky Irish chicken with me. I am going to win.” He insisted.

“And then we have the ceílí.”

“A ceílí?” Taron stopped washing a plate and turned to her. “A proper céilí?”

“A proper one. There is one in the GAA tonight and I got us some tickets. You can meet some of my other friends, if you would like to go.”

“Of course I want to go. That sounds brilliant and I would definitely like to meet your friends.”

Robyn grinned at his enthusiasm. “Thought after the duck race, we could go to the GAA, have some food and get you your Guinness and then the céilí.”

“Lots of Guinness.” He agreed as he wiped around the sink. “You mind if I use some of that green hair stuff that you used? I feel like I am not quite green enough.”

“Be my guest. You know where it is. I will finish up here.”

Taron made his way back into the bedroom and took a seat at her make-up table, grinning at the green eye shadow that was left open beside a make-up brush. “Robyn’s rules.” He mumbled as he reached for the bottle of green hair colour. Thinking it best he just stuck with the tips of his hair, as Robyn did when she coloured his hair blue, he squeezed the green hair dye onto his fingers and with a generous amount, coloured his hair a dark green colour, making sure he did a thorough job, getting every strand. “Happy St Patrick’s Day to me.” He grinned into the mirror.

“Looking good.” Robyn leant against the door frame watching Taron as he put a thick covering of green dye on his hair. “You up for some tattoos?” She waved a white packet his way. “Temporary tattoos.” She added. “Wash off with water. If you are going to be Irish for the day, you might as well go the whole hog.”

“Definitely.” Taron stood up and followed her into the bathroom, washing the hair colour from his hands. “You going to use some?”

“Of course. I just use the shamrocks though, not the Irish flags, or the ones that say ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’.”

“No?”

“Nope. I have a t-shirt that says that.”

“And you are not wearing it today because?”

“Irish people just get kisses on St Patrick’s Day without needing to ask for them.” She gently pushed on Taron’s chest after he had kissed her two cheeks. “Enough! Enough!” She laughed, pushing him a little harder. “We need to get a good spot for the parade and with this messing, have no chance. Now which one do you want?”

Taron placed the shamrock transfer tattoo on Robyn’s right cheek and after she had done the same for him, he slipped his shirt off asking for a flag on his upper right arm, just above the scar. “I can still have it and keep it hidden.

“Well Taron I don’t think you can get any more Irish.” She said when she had dried off his arm and he pulled his shirt back on. She was a little worried by his wink and giddy saunter back to the bedroom but didn’t pay much attention to him as she tidied up the mess from the tattoo’s in the bathroom.

“Can I be any more Irish now?”

Robyn looked up and her mouth fell open in shock before she started to laugh. “Oh dear Taron. I think I might just be regretting asking you to come over.” Taron had a large Irish flag wrapped around his shoulders and as he walked closer to her, stretched it, the flag a little longer then the length of his arm span. “Any more surprises for me?” She asked as he wrapped her up in an Irish flag hug.

“Nope I am done.”

“For someone who has been working so hard, you have had a lot of time to plan all of this.”

“I have been looking forward to today since you asked me. I’ve been prepared for a while.” Taron replied. “So ready to go? We need a good spot for the parade. I need to see everything.”

“You are going to be bitterly disappointed by this parade Taron. Trucks and children.”

“Trucks and children?”

“You know how small Kilcreen is. Our parade is mainly the school children and trucks from the warehouses.”

“Don’t care. I still need to see it all.”

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Friendship #Ireland #St. Patrick's Day #Cuddles #Adventures #Excitment #Worries #Tiredness #Green #Robyn and Taron

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

February 4, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

Today Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT) proposed giving at least $3000 annually per child to American families. This suggestion is coming from a man who, when he ran as the Republican candidate for president in 2012, famously echoed what was then Republican orthodoxy. He was caught on tape saying that “there are 47 percent of the people who… are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe that government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you name it.”

Romney’s proposal indicates the political tide has turned away from the Republicans. Since the 1980s, they have insisted that the government must be starved, dismissing as “socialism” Democrats’ conviction that the government has a role to play in stabilizing the economy and society.

And yet, that idea, which is in line with traditional conservatism, was part of the founding ideology of the Republican Party in the 1850s. It was also the governing ideology of Romney’s father, George Romney, who served as governor of Michigan from 1963 to 1969, where he oversaw the state’s first income tax, and as the secretary of Housing and Urban Development under President Richard Nixon, where he tried to increase housing for the poor and desegregate the suburbs. It was also at the heart of Romney’s own record in Massachusetts, where as governor from 2003 to 2007, he ushered in the near-universal health care system on which the Affordable Care Act was based.

But in the 1990s, Republican leadership purged from the party any lawmakers who embraced traditional Republicanism, demanding absolutely loyalty to the idea of cutting taxes and government to free up individual enterprise. By 2012, Romney had to run from his record, including his major health care victory in Massachusetts. Now, just a decade later, he has returned to the ideas behind it.

Why?

First, and most important, President Joe Biden has hit the ground running, establishing a momentum that looks much like that of Democratic President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933. Roosevelt had behind him stronger majorities than Biden’s, but both took office facing economic crises—and, in Biden’s case, a pandemic as well, along with the climate crisis--and set out immediately to address them.

Like FDR, Biden has established the direction of his administration through executive actions: he is just behind FDR’s cracking pace. Biden arrived in the Oval Office with a sheaf of carefully crafted executive actions that put in place policies that voters wanted: spurring job creation, feeding children, rejoining the World Health Organization, pursuing tax cheats, ending the transgender ban in the military, and reestablishing ties to the nation’s traditional allies. Once Biden had a Democratic Senate as well as a House—those two Georgia Senate seats were huge—he was free to ask for a big relief package for those suffering in the pandemic, and now even Senator Joe Manchin (D-WV), who had expressed concern about the package, seems to be on board.

FDR’s momentum increased in part because the Republicans were discredited after the collapse of the economy and as Republican leaders turned up as corrupt. Biden’s momentum, too, is likely gathering steam as the Republicans are increasingly tainted by their association with the January 6 insurrection and the attack on the Capitol, along with the behavior of those who continue to support the former president.

The former president’s own behavior is not helping to polish his image. In their response to the House impeachment brief, Trump’s lawyers made the mistake of focusing not on whether the Senate can try a former president but on what Trump did and did not do. That, of course, makes Trump a witness, and today Jamie Raskin (D-MD), the lead impeachment manager, asked him to testify.

Trumps’ lawyers promptly refused but, evidently anticipating his refusal, Raskin had noted in the invitation that “[i]f you decline this invitation, we reserve any and all rights, including the right to establish at trial that your refusal to testify supports a strong adverse inference regarding your actions (and inaction) on January 6, 2021.” In other words: “Despite his lawyers’ rhetoric, any official accused of inciting armed violence against the government of the United States should welcome the chance to testify openly and honestly—that is, if the official had a defense."

The lack of defense seems to be mounting. This morning, Jason Stanley of Just Security called attention to the film shown at the January 6 rally just after Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani spoke. Stanley explained how it was an explicitly fascist film, designed to show the former president as a strong fascist leader promising to protect Americans against those who are undermining the country: the Jews. Stanley also pointed out that, according to the New York Times, the rally was “a White House production” and that Trump was deeply involved with the details.

Trump’s supporters are not cutting a good figure, either. Today, by a vote of 230-199, the House of Representatives voted to strip new Georgia Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) of her assignments to the Budget Committee and the Education and Labor Committee. It did so after reviewing social media posts in which she embraced political violence and conspiracy theories. This leaves Greene with little to do but to continue to try to gin up media attention and to raise money.

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) had declined to take action against Greene—although in 2019 he stripped assignments from Steve King (R-IA) for racist comments-- and only eleven Republicans joined the majority. The Republican Party is increasingly associated with the Trump wing, and that association will undoubtedly grow as Democrats press it in advertisements, as they have already begun to do.

McConnell has called for the party’s extremists to be purged out of concern that voters are turning away from the party. Still, the struggle between the two factions might be hard to keep out of the news as the Senate turns to confirmation hearings for Biden’s nominee to head the Department of Justice, Merrick Garland.

Going forward, the attorney general will be responsible for overseeing any prosecutions that come from the attempt to overturn the election, and the Senate Judiciary Committee, which will question Garland, has on it three Republican senators involved in that attempt. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) has been accused by Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger of calling before Trump did to get him to alter the state’s vote count. Senators Ted Cruz (R-TX) and Josh Hawley (R-MO) both joined in challenging the counting of the electoral votes.

It is hard to imagine the other senators at the hearing will not bring the three compromised senators into the discussion. The Republicans have so far refused to schedule Garland’s hearing, although now that the Senate is organized under the Democrats, it will happen soon.

Trump Republicans are betting the former president’s endorsement will win them office in the future. But with social media platforms cracking down on his disinformation, his ability to reach voters is not at all what it used to be, making it easier for members of the other faction to jump ship.

In addition, those echoing Trump’s lies are getting hit in their wallets. Today, the voting systems company Smartmatic sued the Fox News Channel and its personalities Maria Bartiromo, Lou Dobbs, and Jeanine Pirro, along with Giuliani and Trump’s legal advisor Sidney Powell, for at least $2.7 billion in damages for lying about Smartmatic machines in their attempt to overturn the election results.

Republicans rejecting the Trump takeover of the party are increasingly outspoken. Not only has Romney called for a measure that echoes Biden’s emphasis on supporting children and families, but also Senator Ben Sasse (R-NE) today released a video attacking the leaders of his state’s Republican Party after hearing that they planned to censure him for speaking out against the former president.

“If that president were a Democrat, we both know how you’d respond. But, because he had ‘Republican’ behind his name, you’re defending him,” Sasse said. “Something has definitely changed over the last four years … but it’s not me.”

—-

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#political #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #Radical Republicans #reality #Corrupt GOP #Criminal GOP

[slamsams-blog]

Diamonds Are Forever - #24WeeksofBond

24 Weeks of Bond returns this week with Diamonds Are Forever, Sean Connery’s reprising and final performance as Bond.  (That is, of course, until Never Say Never Again - but that doesn’t count).  This film was supposed to be a sequel to On Her Majestys Secret Service with Bond mourning the death of his late wife Tracey and going on a revenge mission.  George Lazenby had originally been offered a 7 movie deal, but due to Lazenby’s unwillingness to cooperate with the studio and some bad advise from his agent saying that James Bond was flaming out as a franchise, he left after just one movie.  This forced the writers to do a re-write, and for the studio to lure Connery back to the role for a hefty price tag and the promise of two non-Bond films of his choosing.

So here we are, the Bond franchise is in full on panic mode - and because of it, we get a rather odd Bond film with an aged Connery, some weird characters, and a questionable casting choice in Charles Grey as Blofeld....BUT it does have some rather fun moments, & cool stunts.  I enjoyed this film a little more than I thought I would tonight, but the downright weird aspects of the film still weight the movie down in terms of overall standing within the franchise.  I just can never get over this Charles Grey casting as Blofeld.  Blofeld had been rocking a cue ball the past two films and that’s just how we know Blofeld to look...he can’t just GROW HAIR ALL THE SUDDEN!!!

Sean Connery is definitely just in it for the money at this point, but a little time away seemed to have done him some good as it looks like he is having a bit more fun with the role as compared to his last outing in You Only Live Twice.  Still, it must’ve been so confusing back then to have three movies in a row have a different actor play James Bond.  OHMSS, Lazenby....Diamonds are Forever, Connery....Live and Let Die, Moore...what a wild time that must’ve been.

We have Jill St. John playing Tiffany Case who is one of my favorite Bond girls.  She has this commanding, no BS demeanor as a diamond smuggler should have but also has this way of comedically trying to weasel her way out of jail time when she finds out Peter Franks is James Bond.  Tiffany Case is definitely one of the more memorable performances in the series.  Although I still don’t know why she put on all those wigs in the beginning. 

This film starts out with Bond on a mission to find Blofeld.  Since this is the film after On Her Majestys Secret Service, you can only understand why he is desperately after him.  However, any traces of a revenge plot quickly disappears when Connery enters the picture.  No mention of marriage in this film at all.  Except for when the guy asks how Bond’s holiday was, and Bond says enjoyable...what a sociopath.  The story here is that there is a diamond smuggling ring that is operating, but the smugglers keep getting intercepted by two killer lovers named Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd.  Well business has been amping up and Bond is sent to Holland to see what he can find.

Meanwhile Blofeld is creating clones of him self by people who undergo some sort of mud therapy to transform their faces to look like Blofeld.  The reason the diamond smuggling has been getting hotter is because Blofeld is constructing a satellite that holds enough power to be a floating death ray from space...any of this sound familiar??  This is pretty much the story that was used in Die Another Day with Pierce Brosnan (A way more over the top version).  So Bond thinks he has killed Blofeld in the pre-title sequence, and I’m sure the audience was fooled as well.  But while Bond is following the diamond trail and throwing everyone off by replacing the real diamonds with fake ones...he runs into TWO more Blofelds!  Double Trouble.

The plot gets a little muddy when we are taken on the mission with Bond, it’s a little hard to figure out who has the diamonds and how they got to Q and when they were swapped out with fake ones, and so on and so forth.  But there are some great moments to be had.  One of my personal favorite moments is when Bond kills the real Peter Franks in a rather challenging elevator fight.  But he replaces his wallet with Franks, and when Case goes to see who it was she yells “Oh my God...YOU’VE JUST KILLED JAMES BOND!”.  Love it.  There is also the part where Bond wakes up in a casket while it’s getting burned which is the stuff of nightmares.

We also get a few fun chase scenes with a moon buggy Bond steals from a film set?  I have to wonder if this was kind of a humorous way to call out the idea that the moon landing was staged, but I don’t know the timeline of when those conspiracies started taking place.  Bond then gets chased by some Vegas cops on the strip where he entraps a bunch of squad cars in a parking lot.  So much fun to be had there.  

But along with the fun, there are some strange elements.  Mr. Wint and Mr. Kidd are such a strange duo.  I don’t know where they got the actor to play Mr. Kidd but he seems like he has never acted before, meanwhile Mr. Wint seems like a classically trained stage actor.  Who knows if that was intended or not, but I can’t help but feel like Mr. Kidd was a stage hand that got roped into playing the part because the original actor got sick or something.  I don’t know, for some reason two cold blooded murderers found each other and fell in love.  We know nothing about this duo at all.  Missed opportunity, could’ve been a cool tandem, but came out looking liked a failed etsy project.

Diamonds Are Forever is what it is, it was a scramble job when Lazenby called it quits and it acted as a bandaid until they got Roger Moore in the picture.  You really can’t blame Connery here, he did what he could and I’m sure having him helped bring the audience in.  There are some good laughs here with this film, but all in all...it is what it is - and I can’t really think of anything more to say about it, so I shall say goodnight!

What did you think about Diamonds Are Forever...Let me hear you!

24 Weeks of Bond will return next Monday with - 

Casino Royale

#james bond #sean connery #diamonds are forever #die another day #charles grey #24WeeksofBond

[zanesgirlfriend]

Little Clickbait Onesie

Description: David thinks his girlfriend is pregnant.

Requested?: Yes by @sizzlescott : can you do something with david where him and all of the vlog squad think you’re pregnant from a bunch of things that you’ve done recently which seem like symptoms of you being pregnant. then in the end you take a test and it’s negative. you have the flu

A/N: I really loved this concept, thank you for requesting it!

_______

She woke up nauseous. David was awakened to the sound of her puking into the toilet.

"Are you okay, baby?" He sat up, checking the time. It was way too early for him to be awake, considering he had only gone to bed 3 hours prior.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I probably just ate something bad." She reached for her toothbrush as she looked in the mirror. She was pale, a little too pale, and looked dreadfully tired. After brushing her teeth she went and got back in bed with her boyfriend. They slept for a while longer, finally waking up when Zane arrived.

"Are you two gonna sleep all day?" He poked his head in the door. David had been awake for about thirty minutes, but would rather stay with her for a while than go talk to all of his friends. He was also googling symptoms of pregnancy, and freaking himself out, and he didn't want his friends to notice.

"I'll be out in a minute, Zane." He replied, getting up to pee. The sound of the door shutting woke her up, and she realized how bad she really felt. This is usually how she would feel on her period, but her period stopped once she got on birth control.

She wrapped herself in a blanket and walked out into the living room. Carly, Zane, Jeff, and Joe were spread out across the living room. She sat in the LoveSac, checking her phone for the first time all day.

"Are you okay?" Carly asked her.

"Yeah, I just don't feel the best, but I'm fine." She smiled, trying to appear as if she felt okay.

"Do you want some breakfast? It'd help you to eat a little bit." Natalie popped out of the kitchen, bringing the smell of scrambled eggs with her. The smell of the eggs almost made y/n gag, but she held it together.

"Just some toast, if you don't mind. I've been craving toast for like three days." She smiled back. She contemplated getting up and puking again.

"You've been having cravings, too?" David didn't mean to let that slip out as he walked into the room.

"Doesn't everyone get cravings sometimes?" She tried to justify herself, understanding what he was implying.

"I'm just saying." He brought her a water bottle and a plate of toast with jam on it.

"Thank you." She tried to end the conversation. There was no way she was pregnant.

"Wait, do you think she-" Carly tried to ask, but y/n interrupted.

"I'm on birth control, I'm not pregnant." She was the first person to say the word out loud, making it sound a lot heavier.

"I don't know, this girl I went to high school with was on birth control, but she still got pregnant. She kept takin' the pills though, and she had a miscarraige." Jeff said.

"Oh my God, Jeff." Carly was freaked out by his story. Y/n was a lot more freaked out.

"Should I postmate a pregnancy test?" Zane asked. Her frustration was bubbling up inside of her.

"Can you all just stop! Goddamn." She stood up, putting the toast on the table and quickly making her way back to David's room. David grabbed the plate and followed closely behind, recognizing that he made a mistake by bringing it up.

"I'm sorry." He poked his head through the door as she lay face down on the bed. She sat up, ready to explode.

"Do you know how embarrassing it is for everybody to be guessing if you're pregnant? It's a conversation you and I need to have before you go guessing about it to our friends. I'm not pregnant, and even if I am I would want to tell everyone in a cute fun way and be happy about it, not miserable with morning sickness or whatever. Also, do you realize how fucking serious being pregnant is, David? You can't even take care of a goldfish, and you wanna raise a kid? Just leave me alone for a little bit." She laid back down, starting to cry. David thought to himself about mood swings, and rubbed her back with his hand as she cried. He hated seeing her like this.

"I'm sorry." He repeated himself. "Do you want me to go get a pregnancy test, to make sure?" His voice was quiet, he didn't wanna upset her even more.

"No, I'll go." She wiped her tears as she sat up and scooted off the bed.

"Can I come with you?" He asked, genuinely wanting to be there for her.

"No, David. I'm still mad at you." She walked into the bathroom and started the shower. "When was the last time we had sex, anyway? Like a week ago right? I wouldn't have symptoms that fast." She stripped her clothes off.

"Okay but we also had sex about a month ago, don't you start getting symptoms at a month?" He reminded her, subtly admiring her body.

"Yeah, I guess so." She hopped in the shower as David walked out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Once she was clean and dressed, she grabbed her wallet and phone and went to find Natalie. She peaked into Nat's room and saw her there, typing away on her laptop.

"Hey, will you come with me to CVS?" She asked. Natalie smiled back at her and nodded, grabbing her shoes and her keys.

The two girls walked out into the living room, ignoring everyone as they left the house. They got in Nat's Mercedez and headed off to the drugstore. Y/n couldn't help but feel nauseous on the ride over.

"Are you sure you're not pregnant?" Natalie asked her.

"No, that's why we're going to get the test, but I really don't think I am." She explained to her friend as they pulled into the parking lot. They walked inside, and y/n immediately noticed there was a minute clinic.

"I should go see if anyone's there, maybe I just have a stomach bug or something." They headed towards the little clinic and filled out the survey you have to take before seeing somebody.

"I never knew these places were so fancy, they have, like, examination rooms and everything." Natalie commented, sitting down on a bench.

"Y/n?" A doctor stuck her head out the door of the little examination room. Y/n stood and walked into the room, leaving Natalie outside. After about fifteen minutes, she walked out of the room with some papers in her hands.

"So?" Natalie asked, standing up and putting her phone in her pocket.

Back at David's house, they filmed little bits, but everyone kept talking about the fact that y/n might be pregnant. It had also come up in one of the groupchats, the rumor spreading to the rest of the vlog squad.

David was more anxious than usual. The thing she said earlier about him not even being able to care for a fish really struck a chord with him. How would he be able to take care of a human child? He would learn though. He's always wanted to be a dad. The door opened and he immediately ran to her.

"Did you take a test yet?" He looked at the plastic CVS bag in her hands.

"No." She walked past him, just pretending to be pissed now that she had devised a plan. She and Natalie went into Nat's bedroom and locked the door. Everyone stood outside the door, trying to hear what they were discussing. The two girls made their way into Natalie's bathroom, stifling their words as much as they could. Natalie took the false positive pregnancy test out of its package, and y/n took the medicine for the small stomach bug she had, doing anything to make everyone else believe they were waiting the full 3 minutes for the test.

"I'm glad you're not pregnant, I would probably have to move out so you could turn my room into a nursery." Natalie whispered. Y/n flushed the toilet, covering her laughter with the sound of rushing water.

After three more agonizing minutes, the girls finally opened the bedroom door, watching everyone pretend they weren't standing there waiting for it to open.

"David, can I talk to you?" She held the fake pregnancy test in one hand, and pulled David into his bedroom with the other. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands." The couple sat on the bed.

"I know you have a pregnancy test, why do I need to close my eyes?" David questioned.

"Okay fine, whatever." She tossed the test at his chest, smiling as he read it.

"Holy shit. Holy shit!" He hugged her really tight, unable to comprehend his excitement. He knew it would be a big responsibility, but he thought he could handle it.

"Oh, I wouldn't get too close to me." She pushed David off of her.

"Why?" He questioned her, wondering what she meant.

"Because the stomach bug I have is probably contagious." She watched his face drop as he understood.

"So you're not pregnant?" He felt a deep sadness in his chest. Tears welled in his eyes.

"No. I wanted to teach you a lesson. Now you get to go tell all of our friends that I'm not pregnant, and that you got them all excited because you're an idiot." She felt a pain in her heart, its not like she knew he would be so sad. She thought he didn't want a kid. But she also couldn't watch her beautiful boyfriend cry. "And then when I feel better, we can make a real baby, and keep it between us, and film everybody's reactions, and use it for clickbait even though it won't be clickbait."

David smiled at the end, a tear rolling down his face. "Can we make it a little Clickbait onesie?" A soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"Yes, we can make it a little Clickbait onesie."

#david #david x reader #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik imagines #david dobrik #davids vlogs #vloge squad imagines #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #zane hijazi #jeff wittek #vlogsquad natalie #natalie mariduena #carly incontro #carly and erin #erin gilfoy #heath hussar #todd smith #toddy smith #scott sire #scotty sire #joe vulpis #ughitsjoe

[babyboy-cody]

creature of the night (PART THREE)

PAIRING: Duncan/Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: After falling victim to Chase’s abuse once again, Y/N soon realizes just how powerful Duncan really is.

WARNINGS: stripper!reader, mafia!duncan, slow burn, angry!duncan, soft!duncan

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

“So you’re telling me he lost our money?” Duncan asks with no emotion in his tone or face.

He looks at his men with a cigarette between his lips. Although he wasn’t showing any emotion, his body was tingling with anger. He taps his thumb against the rim of the glass that holds his whiskey. John, his right hand man, nods along with the others and clears his throat.

“What do you want us to do, boss? Your call,” he says with determination.

Duncan holds his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He gulps down the last remains of his whiskey and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s silent – dead silent. His men know what happens when he has that silent anger coursing through his veins. Duncan takes a drag from his cigarette and casually looks around the club from the private booth he sits in.

His dark eyes land on the only person that has caught his attention since he’s been at the club. His anger disappears for a brief moment when his eyes land on hers. She’s the first one to look away. Duncan’s brows furrow when she doesn’t send him her usual teasing smile or a wink.

“Boss,” John says closely. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want you to take him to the warehouse. Do whatever you want. Make sure you film the entire thing and send it to his family when you’re done. Make sure they get my message,” Duncan tells them and looks at his men.

They all nod and a few get up from their seats to leave the club. John looks at Duncan.

“You and the guys wait for me outside. I gotta talk to someone,” Duncan tells him.

John looks over his shoulder at the young woman sitting at the bar nursing a margarita. He cheekily grins and raises his brows at Duncan.

“Your girl?” John asks.

“Get out of here,” Duncan nudges him with a grin.

John laughs and walks away with the guys in tow. Duncan clears his throat and walks to the bar. He sits next to the young woman with a grin and raises a finger to signal the bartender to get him another whiskey.

Y/N doesn’t bother to look up at him as her hair frames her face. It’s out of her loose bun, but Duncan thinks that she looks beautiful either way. Her shoulders are hunched and tense. She doesn’t look comfortable like the night before in the private room.

“How’s your night going?” Duncan asks her and rests his arm along the back of her chair, scooting closer like last night, his thigh brushing against hers.

Y/N’s leg lightly jerk from the contact and she moves away just an inch. Duncan notices and furrows his brows. He nods at the bartender in thanks when his drink is set in front of him.

“Fine,” Y/N mumbles and turns away as Duncan brushes her bare shoulder with his fingers.

“What’s going on with you?” Duncan questions her and takes a sip of his drink.

“Nothing,” Y/N sighs.

As a matter of fact, everything’s wrong. This isn’t her. She’s stronger than this. It’s always been her against the world since her teenage years. She doesn’t take shit from anybody. But it gets increasingly harder when there’s that one person that constantly tells you how to love your life. Y/N doesn’t bother to ignore those words because it’s a never ending cycle.

“Nothing?” Duncan repeats, clearly not believing her.

Y/N sighs and stands up from her chair, tightening her silk robe around her delicate shoulders to hide her body away. She doesn’t bother to take her drink.

“I’ll see you around, Duncan,” she quietly tells him and walks away.

The men who sit around the stage all greet her with wide smiles and rowdy whistles. She doesn’t spare them a glance and disappears behind the thick velvet curtains. Duncan watches with a clenched jaw at how standoffish she seemed. He was incredibly pissed that he allowed himself to take in the comfort of a stripper, out of all the people in the world. And he also wasted his money on her. He feels used and betrayed. He couldn’t believe he actually started to like this girl. A woman with a cold heart made his fill with warmth.

Duncan swallows down his whiskey and lets out a small groan from the burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat. He slams a few bills down on the bar top and makes his way to the side of the stage. Lola has just finished performing and she has a bright smile on her lips as she enthusiasticallywaves at the men. Duncan takes hold of her arm gently.

“Hi there, handsome,” she gently says. “What do you need?”

“Do you know Y/N?” He asks her and pulls her to the side to get away from the shouts and cheers of horny men.

“Y/N?” Her brows furrow in confusion.

“Stacey,” Duncan corrects.

“Of course! We share a dressing room together. She’s a very sweet girl. Do you want a dance from her? I can go ask,” she sweetly tells him.

“No, no, that’s fine. Do you, by any chance, know what her problem is?” Duncan doesn’t beat around the bush.

“What do you mean?” Lola asks and looks up at the man. “She doesn’t really have a problem with anybody.”

“Yesterday, we did some things. And now today, she’s acting like a fucking bitch. Is there any chance I can talk to her?” Duncan grunts.

“Woah, hey,” Lola stops him by holding her hands up. “Watch yourself. Stacey’s not a bitch. If there’s a reason why she’s acting like that, it’s because something must’ve happened. I mean, I did see her leave Chase’s office last night.”

“Chase? The manager?” Duncan questions.

Lola sighs and grabs his hand to pull him through the curtains. She pulls him down the hall to one of the private rooms, flipping the sign over to show that it’s occupied. They take a seat on the couch. Duncan slings his ankle across his knee and crosses his arms.

“Chase is very…territorial when it comes to the girls. He has a set of rules that we must follow or else there’s a punishment,” Lola sounds nervous.

“Punishment?” Duncan asks her. “Like being fired?”

“No, not exactly. Sometimes they include him taking our tips we worked for or telling us to clean his office in our lingerie. Other times it’s more…physical,” she says and looks off into the distance with a look.

“What are you talking about?” Duncan demands.

“He only does his physical punishments for his favorite girls. He usually gives them a slap to the mouth or a few bruises here and there. But Stacey…she gets the worst because she’s his best girl,” she quietly says. “I’d watch her leave his office days at a time with bruises and tears, sometimes blood.”

Duncan leans back. His hands tighten around his arms as he breathes more heavily. He taps his foot against the carpeted floor and hums.

“He beats her?” Duncan asks lowly. “And no one does anything about it?”

“It’s like he has us on a leash. I’m lucky I’m not one of the favorites. I would’ve left the place the minute he laid his hands on me,” Lola confesses.

“Why doesn’t Y/N–Stacey leave?” Duncan asks her.

“She needs the money. She’s been working here since she was 17 and when I came along, she taught me everything she knew. She was almost like a mentor or an older sister I never had,” Lola laughs sadly. “I tried talking her into standing up to Carter, but he has her ex’s number and always blackmails her. He’s a real fucked up guy. He came by a few times and was really possessive and bossy and violent.”

It’s quiet in the room except for the music playing in the other side of club. Duncan stares at himself in the mirror across the room. His mind is going a mile a minute as he tries to calm the anger threatening to explode.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” Lola quietly says. “You can tell she has a sweet soul the minute you start talking to her. Everyone loves her, even me.”

Duncan looks at her. “How old are you?”

“I’m turning 20 tomorrow,” Lola says. “I’m spending my birthday at a strip club. Can you believe that?”

She stands up and Duncan follows. He reaches into his back pocket to pull out his thick wallet. Lola starts to protest when he pulls out a few hundred dollar bills. He places it in her hand and closes her fingers around the bundle.

“Get out of here,” he softly demands. “You’re young. You need to spend your life doing what you love. I’m not going to stand back watching you waste it doing…this.”

Lola’s eyes tear up and she sniffles. She lets out a small laugh and shakes her head.

“I don’t know what to say,” she quietly tells him.

“You can tell me what college you want to go to and I’ll pay for your tuition,” Duncan tells her.

“You’re shitting me!” Lola exclaims and stares at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“I don’t lie,” he says with a shrug.

Lola wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders. She buries her face in his shoulder and cries. Her shoulders shake gently.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I can tell why Stacey likes you.”

Duncan lets out an exhaled laugh and pulls away from the short hug. They exit the private room and stop in front of the dressing rooms. Duncan can see Y/N’s stage name plastered on the door. Lola knocks gently and opens the door. Duncan stands at the doorway and watches as Y/N turns away from them to wipe at her face.

“There’s someone who wants to see you,” Lola tells her and walks to her vanity to put away her money.

Y/N stays quiet. Lola sighs quietly and sends Duncan a small smile as she walks away, closing the door behind her as she goes. Duncan clears his throat and takes a few steps towards where Y/N sat. He lowers his head to look at her through the mirror. Even with her head pointed down, he can see the faint tear stains on her naturally rosy cheeks. There’s a purple bruise on her cheek bone and a scratch on her lip.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks her, his voice gruff and filled with venom.

“We don’t know each other, Duncan,” Y/N quietly says as she keeps her head pointed down. “I’m just a dancer. I shouldn’t tell you things about my private life.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” He roars and slams his hand down on her vanity, causing her things to fall onto the floor. “Look at me!”

Y/N flinches and looks up at him with tears in her gorgeous eyes. Her bottom lip trembles as she tries to keep in her cries. But to Duncan, she’s still the most beautiful girl in the entire universe. He’d pay millions of dollars to see her smile or hear her soft laugh.

“I like you,” Duncan confesses and holds her jaw. “Even though we just met, I felt something yesterday. And it wasn’t the fucking lap dance you gave me. It was you.”

A tear trickles down Y/N’s cheek as she listens to Duncan’s words. He gently wipes it and kneels down. She tenderly holds his wrist and gives him a shaky smile.

“When I saw that sweet smile, I felt myself fall in love with you. And call me crazy and fucking stupid, but it’s the truth. You may not know me, but I will protect you with every ounce in my fucking body. Do you understand that?” Duncan tells her as he strokes her bruised cheek gently.

“My life is complicated,” she tries to tell him.

“Everyone’s life is complicated,” he says with a laugh. “You’re a special girl. You’re my girl, whether you like it or not. I’m here and I’m staying.”

Y/N lets out another laugh and sniffles quietly. She stares down at Duncan’s beautiful eyes and pushes his hair back, curling her fingers around the nape of his neck as she does so.

“Do you really mean that?” She quietly asks him.

“I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t,” he says and looks at the small cut on her lip. “You’re coming with me, okay?”

“This is my job,” she weakly states. “This is all I have.”

“You have me now,” Duncan assists. “I’m going to give you the world, baby doll.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispers.

“Yeah?” Duncan asks her and moves his head closer to hers, his nose brushing against her soft cheek. “You’re with me?”

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I’m with you.”

Their lips meet after a small moment. Duncan’s large hands cradle her cheeks as her hands hold onto his wrists. His scruff tickles around her mouth as their tongue rub together. They don’t hear the door open.

“Look at what we have here,” a voice sounds.

Y/N quickly pulls away and looks behind Duncan’s shoulder, fear evident in her wide eyes. Duncan slowly stands and removes his hands from her face. He turns and stares at Chase. The other man’s eyes widen.

“Mr. Shepherd?” He questions. “What, uh, what’re you doing here?”

“I came to see my girl,” Duncan says with a wide grin. “I can ask you the same thing, Chase.”

“Just a quick chat about business,” Chase nervously laughs and goes to step forward but quickly stops when Duncan steps forward as well.

“Really?” Duncan asks with a smirk. “By all means, go ahead.”

He then takes a seat on the couch behind the vanity’s and takes out his cigarette pack. Chase clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, but Duncan quickly beats him before he does.

“Actually, I’d love to have a little chat with you outside for moment, Chase. You know, man to man,” Duncan tells him and stands up with the lit cigarette held between his lips.

“For what?” Chase asks and squares his shoulders.

Duncan laughs lowly and leans in close to blow the smoke in Chase’s face. The other man’s eyes widen as he sees the wild look in Duncan’s eyes and swallows nervously.

“Don’t worry. I just need to ask you something,” Duncan tells him and pats his shoulder, motioning for him to start walking.

Duncan looks over his shoulder and winks at Y/N. She gives him a weak smile and tightens her robe around her chest when Chase looks at her. The door opens and Chase walks out with Duncan close behind. They walk down the dimly lit hallway to the back exit.

“What did you need to talk abou–”

A swift punch to the nose causes Chase’s words to get cut off as his back slams against the brick building. He groans and holds his nose, blood pouring through his fingers. Duncan stands before him with a clenched jaw and a snarl on his face.

“Since you want to act like a man and beat on women, I’ll show you what a real man is,” Duncan growls and punches Chase square in the face, knocking the shorter man out within seconds.

Duncan reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his handkerchief. He wipes his bloodied knuckles and pushes his hair back.

“Johnny!” He calls out.

Almost immediately, John and the other men run from around the corner. John’s brows furrow as he sees Duncan standing over a knocked out Chase.

“Take him to the warehouse,” Duncan orders and walks back inside the club without saying another word.

John looks at Chase, then at the others.

“You heard the man,” he shrugs.

#duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x reader #cody fern #mafia!duncan #my masterlist #stripper!reader #duncan shepherd series

[verytamenow]

Reputation Tour Movie: Reactions

On the off chance anyone has wanted to know what it’s like to deal with my commentary when I will not shut the fuck up, click that read more to get my Reputation Movie commentary!

Opening

- Taylor is the most extra bitch. I love her.

- Opening video still gives me chills

...Ready For It?

- The strobe lights make this as sometimes irritating to watch as it was live. Which is a pity because I love the performance.

I Did Something Bad

- Will idsb ever not give me chills and murder me?

- I want her to bite me when she snarls

- Her hips. The idiot giraffe is blessed.

- Her vocals

- Fuck Me Up

- The most precious happiest koala😭

- (spots a rep room wristband) lucky bitch

Gorgeous

- I’m So disappointed a step above gorgeous being gorgeous didn’t get immortalized in the tour video

- The assholes (I say out of jealousy) with the triangles. Why didn’t we think of that!

- “And I’m Taylor” Bitch I hope so. I spend so much on your ass.

- Stop looking like that Taylor it makes me feel things

Style

- I get why style made the set list and love the songs but justice for ootw

- That guitar riff gives me ALL THE FEELS

- yes bitch strut! Thank you Karlie Kloss

Love Story

- Aww all the throwback and legacy feels 

- Is it legal not to jump during this song?

- Boop.

- “I keep waiting for you but you never cum” is probably not a problem Taylor has. On either end.

You Belong With Me

- (proceeds to bounce in place because Taylor owns me)

- The parent holding up her daughter is Kristen in the future

Look What You Made Me Do

- The lwymmd pre video is my sexuality

- I want murderess snake queen Taylor to end. my. life.

- Would let her choke me

- I’m the bitch mouthing oh my god

- This is my favourite part of the tour ngl

- THAT SMIRK

- side note: also remember when we thought it was a dragon and not a snake?

- She really snapped and killed a bitch with this song

- THE INTENSITY WENT OFF AND HOW IS PIT NOT LOSING THEIR SHIT

- like mosh or something fuckers

- KARYN!

- I weirdly love the back vocals she recorded for lwymmd. The short “ah”s really make it

- The sass

- A queen

- I’m so gay

- This is why I’m doomed with whoever I date

End Game

- The disappointment Ed never guested on the tour

- The choreo for this is 🔥

- I mean all of it is but her hips

- Her legs are worth every penny of 40 million

- The hand over the face bit is an objectively weird closing move

King Of My Heart

- How do we actually make her America’s queen

- This is the softest song

- I stan komh so hard

- Like I love delicate but this is just as soft. Softer even

- I love I’m getting to see the other half of the choreo because we sat on the left side each time

- Up on the roof with a school girl crush /  Drinking beer out of plastic cups / Say you fancy me not fancy stuff / BABY ALL IT ONCE THIS IS ENOUGH

- This is the closest we’ve come to a poc love interest in anything she’s filmed. Except the End Game MV sort of.

- We didn’t stan the dancers hard enough

- The drums made this tbh

Delicate

- Oh gods I’m not ready for the delicate speech

- I’m the dude who screamed he loved her

- Bless the rainbow dress

- “Shit is that what is was on my wrist? I thought her stalker and taylurking ways had just finally gone to tracking bracelets.”

- (knock at the door) Me, pausing: umm I blocked out this entire 2 hours for our lorde and saviour Taylor Swift???

- (Scott Swift voice) I’m going back into my zone

- The lights are so pretty. No wonder Taylor loves the bracelets

- Bitch we know your unreleased stuff

- Do let’s go/battle as a surprise song and be shook

- 1! 2! 3! LET’S GO BITCH!

- Can you believe she flew right over us

- That little dance. She’s so fucking precious

Shake It Off

- B stage. Remember how she gave invisible to the gays

- And finally played breath

- The only redeeming thing for shake it off is that she made it as gay as she could

-I still wanna know what inspired “my ex man brought his new girlfriend...to the fella over there with the hella good hair” bit

- What did Di do? And who did Taylor hit on? Or is Karlie the one with the hella good hair?

- Giuseppe got down on one knee long before Karlie ever will

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

- How smug was Taylor when her jump to pop worked?

- There must have been so many I told you so’s

- It started raining. The closest I’ll ever come to a rain show.

- I can’t believe she played this song in Nashville with Karlie right there and kept her shit together

- Taylor’s never more magical then when it’s just her and a guitar

- I would give anything and go deep in debt to go to an acoustic show

- This filter was unnecessary and such a call out

- She had one fuck left and it’s name is alliterative All Too Well

- I hope she keeps doing acoustic surprise songs like this next tour. Where it’s a set thing.

- I’m so relieved she approves of lyric tattoos. Like....imagine if she didn’t and I have my entire forearm

- Put down your fucking phones and watch her be magic personified

- Also fuck this song for being so powerful

- The way she sings the bridge

- Now did she really lose the 12 minute version or is it just a little too obvious who it’s about

- Her wink! I’d die

- Is that chick okay? Did she live?

Blank Space

- The crowd walk! I’m still so so fucking endlessly proud

- Look at her!

- My precious angel reclaiming walking through her fans

- How the fuck are these people not dying tho?

- Still want her to hit me in the face with the golf club

- And kick me in the face with her boots

- This is also still my favourite mv

- It was so perfect

- This is also quality choreo. I wouldn’t have made it had it seen it right in front of me

- Gay icons

Dress

- Holy fuck dress is so gay

- Like.....we been knew but still

- This song is why she didn’t dare film in Nashville

- The vocals should be illegal

- Like, they’re NSFL (Not Safe For Lesbians)

- The first time she did that (strip tease thing) and the Nashville show were the best ones

Should Have Said No / Bad Blood

- This is still the most fucking random mash up

- I mean it works and redeems bad blood but wtf

- The person sitting on someone else’s shoulders has to really be pissing off someone else who can’t see

- Aggressive banjo

- Can’t believe she puts on a show and sells like this and Borschetta wouldn’t give her the masters. Idiot

- The dudes dangling are braver than any US Marine

- Instead she negotiated for better artist pay AND her future masters. The Legend jumped out

- I remember watching this the first time and being briefly confused because this sort of drawn out thing is what they normally do for show closing but it was too early

Don’t Blame Me

- Oh fuck here we go

- THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TOUR OUTFIT

- PERIOD

- ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTES

- this entire fucking performance. No words

- I love all the dude dancers had the blinders like headgear. As if such powerful sapphic love is distinctly not for their consumption

- I have found religion

- I stan a queen

Long Live / New Year’s Day

- I love she knows how many people work on the tour and genuinely appreciates their effort

- I hope this mashup sticks around, at least as the surprise song at the closing show of the next tour

- I’m not crying you’re crying

- Hold on to the memories, they/I will hold onto you is one on my favourite lines she’s written

- Along with with please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

- Oh my fucking god stop letting her be this precious

- Remember how fucking loud we were in Denver?

- This is my favourite moment of the entire show - for her. You can tell how much it means to her

- She owns my ass and wallet forevermore

- “I had the time of my life....with you” is a whole emotional mood

- Her quick little thank you 😭

Why She Disappeared

- Oh that’s the first time I’ve heard the echos

- Those boots probably cost more than my life

- This should have been the close or open of the getaway car mv

- Imagine if it shows up in an mv next era. Starts with a car on a pink x

Getaway Car

- The 1989 neon is an interesting choice

- Is that the shift to pop being a getaway or the close of the 1989 era being one? (More thoughts on this later)

- Hits you like a shotgun shot to the Heart is a fucking amazing line

- I loved that bit straight away

- I can lowkey see getaway car being about switching labels tbh

- This last album maybe IS the getaway car (more, again, later)

Call It What You Want

- Ciwyw is one on my favourite love songs of hers

- Trust him like NO OTHER was right at her fingertips

- Who the fuck would say no to running away with her?

- I would let her RUN ME OVER, running away WITH her? Fuck yes

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together / This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

- WANEGBT/TIWWCHNT is a brilliant mash up

- But fucking ridiculous to type

- “But I’m not the friend you’ve lost lately” is the shadiest fucking line and I love it

- I’m disappointed we never got video of her recording “cause forgiveness is a nice thing to do”. I can only imagine the sass and snark

- “Taylor the mic is picking up you muttering ‘fucking prick’. You need to record it again.”

- “.....Taylor, muttering ‘backstabbing motherfucker’ isn’t any better. Maybe try it without the muttering?”

- The mouthed “I love you guys” ❤😭

- They’re not showing people collecting confetti? How unrealistic.

- Oh, there they are.

- “The words are all the same over and over again and I know that’s my fault....” still funny as hell

- “What’s a 767?” What’s it like to have that kind of money?

- Will pay to watch Taylor skip through a stadium

In conclusion: Taylor owns me. Kristen puts up with a lot from me. And I can’t wait for the next chapter.

#taylor swift #do any of you care? no. #but i might as well have blown up Kristen's phone for a reason #that was meant to be under a read more the first time

[lilmigsbigworld]

Days 20-22: Lockdown

(Pictures are after more than 24 hours, not pictured: my wrists; that were handcuffed far too tight, causing skin loss and bruised bones)

This is really hard for me to write, especially since it is all still very fresh. On Tuesday, May 29, at around 5 am I was standing on the phone talking to my friend Solenne on speakerphone. The police pulled up and started talking to these two homeless men. One of the police officers turned to me and said something I didn’t understand and then proceeded to snatch my phone from me. I asked for it back and got no response. I then started to yell for help (people eventually began appearing). By that point, to shut me up, the policeman began hitting me with his baton. The two policemen then pushed me up against the car (my glasses fell off) and handcuffed me, stuffing me into the police car. I screamed, probably harder than I ever have in my life. I was then moved from that car, pleading that I would never say anything if they just let me go.

More police officers had appeared and then I was shuttled off to the medical office. On the way there, the policemen deliberately drove recklessly and stopped abruptly, knowing I didn’t have a seatbelt, causing me to hit my head against the glass. At the doctor, still having no idea why I was under arrest, I asked for someone that spoke English and was completely shook up as I watched the doctors and police laugh at me. I asked to go to the bathroom multiple times and was denied continuously.

At the station, the officers pushed me around and locked me in a room, only removing me to finger print me and then drag me down to the cells. It was only then that I was told that I was under arrest. I hadn’t heard this before and I also was never read any rights before this point. They stripped me of my belongings (no phone, glasses, wallet, or shoelaces) and they brushed off any questions I had surrounding why I was being arrested.

After grabbing my felt blanket and sleeping mat, I was put in a cell with three other men and not told anything about how long I would be there. Exhausted, I slept, ignoring the fact that I still hadn’t peed. 4 hours later (no clocks down there but from what the officer told me) I peed and was assured my lawyer would be coming in an hour or two (forever basically) and only then would I be able to make one phone call.

I met my lawyer, and asked if there was a way to get me out of there earlier. I also asked if there was a consulate to call and they nodded their heads, yes. Apparently no one called the US Embassy. (See attached photo)

Originally they said i could only call a Spanish number (which left me helpless) and thank god I thought to ask if I could use my own phone. I called my mom and I gave her the worst news (she took it pretty well). As I said I love you and hung up, the tears finally came. What if I never saw my family again? Why was this happening to me?

My lawyer told me this would all be done by the next morning and that I would be free by the morning as well (lies). I wasn’t released till 3pm on Wednesday and this was only after having to spend 24 hours in a cell with a sexual predator. His first advance was after I woke to find him touching my hair. Later, he looked me in the eyes and asked him to “blow him”. I said “fuck no”, but he continued to ask to fuck me and called me “baby”. I spent 24 hours listening to this man talk about his delusions—his house in Georgia, his insane amounts of “cash money”, and even his rage over me not wanted to have sex with him. There’s nothing to do in a cell but stare at a wall, sleep, and cry; I did all three.

The next morning I was handcuffed to another man and shuttled all over Madrid to different police buildings, winding up at the courthouse after having one man stick his hand down my shirt because I was a “cute chica”.

After hours of waiting because my translator was no where to be found, I sat in front of the judge with the prosecutor sitting right next to her (seems fair, right??) and was asked if I had kicked a police officer in the head. My jaw dropped. What 20-something film student has cast me as the lead in their shitty crime drama??

I made my statement and tried as hard as I could to convey my case, something my “lawyer” sat by and watched. The police clearly don’t like me and it’s my word against them. Especially because there’s now apparently medical records stating the officer suffered injuries (hmmm remember the doctors). I’m heartbroken right now and I want to believe that there’s still good in this world, but it seems miles away from here.

After all of this, I look around for my driver’s license and I can’t find it. I return to the police station and I’m told the court for some reason has my license and no one decided to tell me! WTF?? The court is closed now and all they can do is shrug at me.

This has all been absolutely terrifying. It’s insane that people [police] that are set in place to protect us can way too easily strip us of ALL of our rights. I cried myself to sleep praying that my family, somehow, knew I was ok. And I remember the banging and the screams of fellow cell mates and my heartaches.

This is something, that for people that look like me, is nothing new. I had no weapon, no motive to attack, and because someone was bigger and stronger than me they decided to take advantage. Knowing they had no reason to keep me in custody, they’ve decided to make up false accusations. I’m sorry, I’m tiny, I also don’t fight, so how am I going to kick a 6ft+ man in the head. How am I attacking you when I’m busy being hit with your baton? Even when there’s two of you and one me? And at least 10+ witnesses that rushed to the street after hearing my screams??

Police brutality most definitely exists, but it’s something I never saw my name attached to. I never saw myself so close to being a part of statistic; another black person killed by the police. Being dead would honestly probably be better—at least then they can’t munipulate and hurt anymore. I shook and my heart raced as I thought of the things they could do to me. All the “accidents” that could happen.

I honestly don’t understand this process. I’m in a country I don’t know the laws, culture, or language of. I’m currently working with the US Embassy to ensure that I can put this behind me, and I only ask that you all keep me in your thoughts.

Please know that this doesn’t end here. We can all make a difference, and when I return home my voice will continue to be heard.

Another day in the life. I’m onto Barcelona in the morning and I can only hope this trip picks up from here!

#travel #lilmigsbigworld #police #policebrutality #injustice #injury #bruised #blacklivesmatter

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 6 paragraph xviii

Xandra was out cold by the time they all left—asleep so deeply that Boris got a pocket mirror from her purse (which we had rifled, for pills and cash) and held it under her nose to see if she was breathing. There was two hundred and twenty-nine dollars in her wallet, which I didn’t feel all that bad about taking since she still had her credit cards and an uncashed check for two thousand and twenty-five. “I knew Xandra wasn’t her real name,” I said, tossing him her driver’s license: orange-tinged face, different fluffed-up hair, name Sandra Jaye Terrell, no restrictions. “Wonder what these keys go to?” Boris—like an old-fashioned movie doctor, fingers on her pulse, sitting by her on the side of the bed—held the mirror up to the light. “Da, da,” he muttered, then something else I didn’t understand. “Eh?” “She’s out.” With one finger, he prodded her shoulder, and then leaned over and peered into the nightstand drawer where I was rapidly sorting through a bewilderment of junk: change, chips, lip gloss, coasters, false eyelashes, nail polish remover, tattered paperbacks (Your Erroneous Zones), perfume samples, old cassette tapes, ten years’ expired insurance cards, and a bunch of giveaway matchbooks from a Reno legal office that said REPRESENTING DWI AND ALL DRUG OFFENSES. “Hey, let me have those,” said Boris, reaching over and pocketing a strip of condoms. “What’s this?” He picked up something that at first glance looked like a Coke can—but, when he shook it, it rattled. He put his ear to it. “Ha!” he said, tossing it to me. “Good job.” I screwed off the top—it was obviously fake—and dumped the contents out on the top of the nightstand. “Wow,” I said, after a few moments. Clearly this was where Xandra kept her tip money—partly cash, partly chips. There was a lot of other stuff, too— so much I had a hard time taking it all in—but my eyes had gone straight to the diamond-and-emerald earrings that my mother had found missing, right before my father took off. “Wow,” I said again, picking one of them up between thumb and forefinger. My mother had worn these earrings for almost every cocktail party or dress-up occasion—the blue-green transparency of the stones, their wicked three a.m. gleam, were as much a part of her as the color of her eyes or the spicy dark smell of her hair. Boris was cackling. Amidst the cash he’d immediately spotted, and snatched up, a film canister, which he opened with trembling hands. He dipped the end of his little finger in, tasted it. “Bingo,” he said, running the finger along his gums. “Kotku’s going to be pissed she didn’t come over now.” I held out the earrings to him on my open hands. “Yah, nice,” he said, hardly looking at them. He was tapping out a pile of powder on the nightstand. “You’ll get a couple of thousand dollars for those.” “These were my mother’s.” My dad had sold most of her jewelry back in New York, including her wedding ring. But now—I saw—Xandra had skimmed some of it for herself, and it made me weirdly sad to see what she’d chosen—not the pearls or the ruby brooch, but inexpensive things from my mother’s teenage days, including her junior-high charm bracelet, ajingle with horseshoes and ballet slippers and four leaf clovers.

Boris straightened up, pinched his nostrils, handed me the rolled-up bill. “You want some?” “No.” “Come on. It’ll make you feel better.” “No, thanks.” “There must be four or five eight balls here. Maybe more! We can keep one and sell the others.” “You did that stuff before?” I said doubtfully, eyeing Xandra’s prone body. Even though she was clearly down for the count, I didn’t like having these conversations over her back. “Yah. Kotku likes it. Expensive, though.” He seemed to blank out for a minute, then blinked his eyes rapidly. “Wow. Come on,” he said, laughing. “Here. Don’t know what you’re missing.” “I’m too fucked-up as it is,” I said, shuffling through the money. “Yah, but this will sober you up.” “Boris, I can’t goof around,” I said, pocketing the earrings and the charm bracelet. “If we’re going, we need to leave now. Before people start showing up.” “What people?” said Boris skeptically, running his finger back and forth under his nose. “Believe me, it happens fast. Child services coming in, and like that.” I’d counted the cash—thirteen hundred and twenty-one dollars, plus change; there was much more in chips, close to five thousand dollars’ worth, but might as well leave her those. “Half for you and half for me,” I said, as I began to count the cash into two even piles. “There’s enough here for two tickets. Probably we’re too late to catch the last flight but we should go ahead and take a car to the airport.” “Now? Tonight?” I stopped counting and looked at him. “I don’t have anyone out here. Nobody. Nada. They’ll stick me in a home so fast I won’t know what hit me.” Boris nodded at Xandra’s body—which was very unnerving, as in her face-down mattress splay she looked way too much like a dead person. “What about her?” “What the fuck?” I said after a brief pause. “What should we do? Wait around until she wakes up and finds out we ripped her off?” “Dunno,” said Boris, eyeing her doubtfully. “I just feel bad for her.” “Well, don’t. She doesn’t want me. She’ll call them herself as soon as she realizes she’s stuck with me.” “Them? I don’t understand who is this them.” “Boris, I’m a minor.” I could feel my panic rising in an all-too-familiar way—maybe the situation wasn’t literally life or death but it sure felt like it, house filling with smoke, exits closing off. “I don’t know how it works in your country but I don’t have any family, no friends out here—” “Me! You have me!” “What are you going to do? Adopt me?” I stood up. “Look, if you’re coming, we need to hurry. Do you have your passport? You’ll need it for the plane.” Boris put his hands up in his Russianate enough already gesture. “Wait! This is happening way too fast.” I stopped, halfway out the door. “What the fuck is your problem, Boris?” “My problem?” “You wanted to run away! It was you who asked me to go with you! Last night.” “Where are you going? New York?” “Where else?” “I want to go someplace warm,” he said instantly. “California.” “That’s crazy. Who do we know—” “California!” he crowed. “Well—” Though I knew almost nothing about California, it was safe to assume that (apart from the bar of “California Über Alles” he was humming) Boris knew even less. “Where in California? What town?” “Who cares?” “It’s a big state.” “Fantastic! It’ll be fun. We’ll stay high all the time—read books—build camp fires. Sleep on the beach.” I looked at him for a long unbearable moment. His face was on fire and his mouth was stained blackish from the red wine. “All right,” I said—knowing full well I was stepping off the edge and into the major mistake of my life, petty theft, the change cup, sidewalk nods and homelessness, the fuck-up from which I would never recover. He was gleeful. “The beach, then? Yes?”

This was how you went wrong: this fast. “Wherever you want,” I said, pushing the hair out of my eyes. I was dead exhausted. “But we need to go now. Please.” “What, this minute?” “Yes. Do you need to go home and get anything?” “Tonight?” “I’m not kidding, Boris.” Arguing with him was making the panic rise again. “I can’t just sit around and wait—” The painting was a problem, I wasn’t sure how that was going to work, but once I got Boris out of the house I could figure something out. “Please, come on.” “Is State Care that bad in America?” said Boris doubtfully. “You make it seem like the cops.” “Are you coming with me? Yes or no?” “I need some time. I mean,” he said, following after me, “we can’t leave now! Really—I swear. Wait a little while. Give me a day! One day!” “Why?” He seemed nonplussed. “Well, I mean, because—” “Because—?” “Because—because I have to see Kotku! And—all kinds of things! Honest, you can’t leave tonight,” he repeated, when I said nothing. “Trust me. You’ll be sorry, I mean it. Come to my house! Wait till the morning to go!” “I can’t wait,” I said curtly, taking my half of the cash and heading back to my room. “Potter—” he followed after me. “Yes?” “There is something important I have to tell you.” “Boris,” I said, turning, “what the mother fuck. What is it?” I said, as we stood and stared at each other. “If you have something to say, go on and say it.” “Am afraid it will make you mad.” “What is it? What have you done?” Boris was silent, gnawing the side of his thumb. “Well, what?” He looked away. “You need to stay,” he said vaguely. “You’re making a mistake.” “Forget it,” I snapped, turning away again. “If you don’t want to come with me, don’t come, okay? But I can’t stand around here all night.” Boris—I thought—might ask what was in the pillowcase, particularly since it was so fat and weirdly shaped after my over-enthusiastic wrapping job. But when I un-taped it from the back of the headboard and put it in my overnight bag (along with my iPod, notebook, charger, Wind, Sand and Stars, some pictures of my mom, my toothbrush, and a change of clothes) he only scowled and said nothing. When I retrieved, from the back of my closet, my school blazer (too small for me, though it had been too big when my mother bought it) he nodded and said: “Good idea, that.” “What?” “Makes you look less homeless.” “It’s November,” I said. I’d only brought one warm sweater from New York; I put it in the bag and zipped it up. “It’s going to be cold.”

Boris leaned insolently against the wall. “What will you do, then? Live on the street, railway station, where?” “I’ll call my friend I stayed with before.” “If they wanted you, those people, they’d have adopted you already.” “They couldn’t! How could they?” Boris folded his arms. “They didn’t want you, that family. You told me so yourself—lots of times. Also, you never hear from them.” “That’s not true,” I said, after a brief, confused pause. Only a few months before, Andy had sent me a long-ish (for him) email telling me about some stuff going on at school, a scandal with the tennis coach feeling up girls in our class, though that life was so far away that it was like reading about people I didn’t know “Too many children?” said Boris, a bit smugly as it seemed. “Not enough room? Remember that bit? You said the mother and father were glad to see you go.” “Fuck off.” I was already getting a huge headache. What would I do if Social Services showed up and put me in the back of a car? Who—in Nevada —could I call? Mrs. Spear? The Playa? The fat model-store clerk who sold us model glue without the models? Boris followed me downstairs, where we were stopped in the middle of the living room by a tortured-looking Popper—who ran directly into our path, then sat and stared at us like he knew exactly what was going on. “Oh, fuck,” I said, putting down my bag. There was a silence. “Boris,” I said, “can’t you—” “No.” “Can’t Kotku—” “No.” “Well, fuck it,” I said, picking him up and tucking him under my arm. “I’m not leaving him here for her to lock up and starve.” “And where are you going?” said Boris, as I started for the front door. “Eh?” “Walking? To the airport?” “Wait,” I said, putting Popchik down. All at once I felt sick and like I might vomit red wine all over the carpet. “Will they take a dog on the plane?” “No,” said Boris ruthlessly, spitting out a chewed thumbnail. He was being an asshole; I wanted to punch him. “Okay then,” I said. “Maybe somebody at the airport will want him. Or, fuck it, I’ll take the train.” He was about to say something sarcastic, lips pursed in a way I knew well, but then—quite suddenly—his expression faltered; and I turned to see Xandra, wild-eyed, mascara-smeared, swaying on the landing at the top of the stairs.

We looked at her, frozen. After what seemed like a centuries-long pause, she opened her mouth, closed it again, caught the railing to balance herself, and then said, in a rusty voice: “Did Larry leave his keys in the bank vault?” We gazed horrified for several more moments before we realized she was waiting for a reply. Her hair was like a haystack; she appeared completely disoriented and so unsteady it seemed she might topple down the steps. “Er, yes,” said Boris loudly. “I mean no.” And then, when she still stood there: “It’s all right. Go back to bed.” She mumbled something and—uncertain on her feet—staggered off. The two of us stood motionless for some moments. Then—quietly, the back of my neck prickling—I got my bag and slipped out the front door (my last sight of that house, and her, though I didn’t even take a last look round) and Boris and Popchik came out after me. Together, all three of us walked rapidly away from the house and down to the end of the street, Popchik’s toenails clicking on the pavement. “All right,” said Boris, in the humorous undertone he used when we had a close call at the supermarket. “Okay. Maybe not quite so much out-cold as I thought.” I was in a cold sweat, and the night air—though chilly—felt good. Off in the west, silent Frankenstein flashes of lightning twisted in the darkness. “Well, at least she’s not dead, eh?” He chuckled. “I was worried about her. Christ.” “Let me use your phone,” I said, elbowing on my jacket. “I need to call a car.” He fished in his pocket, and handed it to me. It was a disposable phone, the one he’d bought to keep tabs on Kotku. “No, keep it,” he said, holding his hands up when I tried to give it back to him after I’d made my call: Lucky Cab, 777-7777, the number plastered on every shifty-looking bus-stop bench in Vegas. Then he dug out the wad of money—his half of the take from Xandra—and tried to press it on me. “Forget it,” I said, glancing back anxiously at the house. I was afraid she might wake up again and come out in the street looking for us. “It’s yours.” “No! You might need it!” “I don’t want it,” I said, sticking my hands in my pockets to keep him from foisting it on me. “Anyway, you might need it yourself.” “Come on, Potter! I wish you wouldn’t go this moment.” He gestured down the street, at the rows of empty houses. “If you won’t come to my house —kip over there for a day or two! That brick house has furniture in it, even. I’ll bring you food if you want.” “Or, hey, I can call Domino’s,” I said, sticking the phone in my jacket pocket. “Since they deliver out here now and everything.” He winced. “Don’t be angry.” “I’m not.” And, in truth, I wasn’t—only so disoriented I felt I might wake up and find I’d been sleeping with a book over my face. Boris, I realized, was looking up at the sky and humming to himself, a line from one of my mother’s Velvet Underground songs: But if you close the door… the night could last forever… “What about you?” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Eh?” he said, looking at me with a smile. “What’s up? Will I see you again?” “Maybe,” he said, in the same cheerful tone I imagined him using with Bami and Judy the barkeep’s wife in Karmeywallag and everyone else in his life he’d ever said goodbye to. “Who knows?” “Will you meet me in a day or two?” “Well—” “Join me later. Take a plane—you have the money. I’ll call you and tell you where I am. Don’t say no.” “Okay then,” said Boris, in the same cheerful voice. “I won’t say no.” But clearly, from his tone, he was saying no. I closed my eyes. “Oh God.” I was so tired I was reeling; I had to fight the urge to lie down on the ground, a physical undertow pulling me to the curb. When I opened my eyes, I saw Boris looking at me with concern. “Look at you,” he said. “Falling over, almost.” He reached in his pocket. “No, no, no,” I said, stepping back, when I saw what he had in his hand. “No way. Forget it.” “It’ll make you feel better!” “That’s what you said about the other stuff.” I wasn’t up for any more seaweed or singing stars. “Really, I don’t want any.”

“But this is different. Completely different. It will sober you up. Clear your head—promise.” “Right.” A drug that sobered you up and cleared your head didn’t sound like Boris’s style at all, although he did seem a good bit more with-it than me. “Look at me,” he said reasonably. “Yes.” He knew he had me. “Am I raving? Frothing at mouth? No—only being helpful! Here,” he said, tapping some out on the back of his hand, “come on. Let me feed it to you.” I half expected it was a trick—that I would pass out on the spot and wake up who knew where, maybe in one of the empty houses across the street. But I was too tired to care, and maybe that would have been okay anyway. I leaned forward and allowed him to press one nostril closed with a fingertip. “There!” he said encouragingly. “Like this. Now, sniff.” Almost instantly, I did feel better. It was like a miracle. “Wow,” I said, pinching my nose against the sharp, pleasant sting. “Didn’t I tell you?” He was already tapping out some more. “Here, other nose. Don’t breathe out. Okay, now.” Everything seemed brighter and clearer, including Boris himself. “What did I tell you?” He was taking more for himself now. “Aren’t you sorry you don’t listen?” “You’re going to sell this stuff, god,” I said, looking up at the sky. “Why?” “It’s worth a lot, actually. Few thousand of dollars.” “That little bit?” “Not that little! This is a lot of grams—twenty, maybe more. Could make a fortune if I divide up small and sell to girls like K. T. Bearman.” “You know K. T. Bearman?” Katie Bearman, who was a year ahead of us, had her own car—a black convertible—and was so far removed from our social scale she might as well have been a movie star. “Sure. Skye, KT, Jessica, all those girls. Anyway—” he offered me the vial again—“I can buy Kotku that keyboard she wants now. No more money worries.” We went back and forth a few times until I began to feel much more optimistic about the future and things in general. And as we stood rubbing our noses and jabbering in the street, Popper looking up at us curiously, the wonderfulness of New York seemed right on the tip of my tongue, an evanescence possible to convey. “I mean, it’s great,” I said. The words were spiraling and tumbling out of me. “Really, you have to come. We can go to Brighton Beach—that’s where all the Russians hang out. Well, I’ve never been there. But the train goes there—it’s the last stop on the line. There’s a big Russian community, restaurants with smoked fish and sturgeon roe. My mother and I always talked about going out there to eat one day, this jeweler she worked with told her the good places to go, but we never did. It’s supposed to be great. Also, I mean—I have money for school—you can go to my school. No—you totally can. I have a scholarship. Well, I did. But the guy said as long as the money in my fund was used for education—it could be anybody’s education. Not just mine. There’s more than enough for both of us. Though, I mean, public school, the public schools are good in New York, I know people there, public school’s fine with me.” I was still babbling when Boris said: “Potter.” Before I could answer him he put both hands on my face and kissed me on the mouth. And while I stood blinking—it was over almost before I knew what had happened—he picked up Popper under the forelegs and kissed him too, in midair, smack on the tip of his nose. Then he handed him to me. “Your car’s over there,” he said, giving him one last ruffle on the head. And—sure enough—when I turned, a town car was creeping up the other side of the street, surveying the addresses. We stood looking at each other—me breathing hard, completely stunned. “Good luck,” said Boris. “I won’t forget you.” Then he patted Popper on the head. “Bye, Popchyk. Look after him, will you?” he said to me.

Later—in the cab, and afterward—I would replay that moment, and marvel that I’d waved and walked away quite so casually. Why hadn’t I grabbed his arm and begged him one last time to get in the car, come on, fuck it Boris, just like skipping school, we’ll be eating breakfast over cornfields when the sun comes up? I knew him well enough to know that if you asked him the right way, at the right moment, he would do almost anything; and in the very act of turning away I knew he would have run after me and hopped in the car laughing if I’d asked one last time. But I didn’t. And, in truth, it was maybe better that I didn’t—I say that now, though it was something I regretted bitterly for a while. More than anything I was relieved that in my unfamiliar babbling-and-wanting-to-talk state I’d stopped myself from blurting the thing on the edge of my tongue, the thing I’d never said, even though it was something we both knew well enough without me saying it out loud to him in the street—which was, of course, I love you.

#boreo #the goldfinch #the goldfinch donna tart #donna tart #boris pavlikovsky #theodore decker #theo decker #boris x theo #theo x boris #finn wolfhard #ansel elgort #oakes fegley #aneurin barnard #the goldfinch book #book #books #quote #quotes #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #lgbt #gay #gay ship #gay ships #otp #mlm #the goldfinch quotes #the goldfinch quote #boreo quotes

[friendofn]

One-hundred-forty-two

142) I wasn’t supposed to have dinner with you. And I didn’t, not that night, though I was thinking of you the entire time I settled into my first dinner of the evening, at the bar of a vegan restaurant on Queen Street. I was meeting a woman with whom I had a confusing and consequential relationship. She was already perched on a stool by the time I walked in. But I wasn’t supposed to have dinner with her either. So I only ordered a small cup of carrot soup and an elderflower cocktail, which was a little stronger than was appropriate for the hour. The woman kept me longer than I meant to stay, regaling me with the history of all that had transpired since last we met, including her savage divorce and her subsequent torrid love affair with a much younger woman whose eyes had locked on hers last June across the throng of a parade. I thought of you as I left the vegan restaurant in a rush to make it to my second dinner across town, wanting to catch a cab, cursing myself for not taking any local currency out of the ATM, resigning myself to an Uber instead. The Uber driver asked me requisite questions about how my night was going. I said good, but I was missing one dinner for another. He mused that I must be rather popular for that to be the case. I laughed and said out loud I didn’t think it was true, and laughed again to myself at the thought that perhaps it was. He asked me if I was from around the city, and I said no, but I wished I was. I almost was, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Neither did I tell him that it was very possible the woman with whom I was eating an early vegan dinner just minutes prior was the reason I wasn’t living in the city he was driving me across. But we’ll never know whether that theory is true or not.

I wanted to tell you about those floating thoughts, ones that were always moving and growing and dissipating in the background like clouds. Thoughts about cities that I wanted but were never mine to have, cities where I had pictured myself walking down the streets that were passing by me now like a film strip playing on the screen of the car window, a movie in which I was the star of my own life, finally, breathing in the cold autumn night air, confidently calling everything around me my own. A total fiction. I knew you would know exactly what I meant, because I knew you’d almost certainly had that exact feeling yourself. About a city that wasn’t yours. About a life that wasn’t yours.

I arrived at my second dinner, which consisted of a group of six sitting silently at a long table in a near-empty sushi restaurant. I apologized for being so late. They didn’t appear to care either way. It seemed to me that the conversation, if it had ever been moving, was now entirely out of steam. But I was wrong. In fact they were all in deep contemplation planning their karaoke songs for the next stop of the night. It was too late to order sushi for myself. Each of the six were variously pushing grains of rice around their plates with chopsticks, pouring the last of their Sapporo bottles into their glasses, and periodically shouting out names of songs. “Glory of Love.” “Alison.” “Maniac.” “Changes.” While everyone else got out their wallets I ordered a beer and, so that I could catch up while they settled their sushi checks, knocked it back quicker than I should have. The group of six, now seven, including me, shambled towards a karaoke location one of them had pinned on Google Maps. One or two of them asked me about my research and about my new-ish job. I tried to gauge their trustworthiness, these strangers with whom I was rehearsing a form of tipsy, forced intimacy. “It’s interesting,” I said. They laughed in unison. “I think I know what that means,” one of them shot back at me.

I can’t remember now how much I eventually trusted them, or what I said after that. I can only remember that once we found the karaoke establishment, we ended up climbing to the second floor, since there was a wedding reception on the first. It was the kind of place where you sang on a stage in front of a crowd. I knew I wasn’t singing that night. I knew I wanted to leave. I knew it because the six others kept glancing over at the stage and back at one another, flipping through the binder of laminated song lists, daring each other to sign up to sing next. I wasn’t thinking about what song to choose. All I could think of was how I wanted to talk to you. And it was making me feel unsettled. Because I wasn’t supposed to have dinner with you that night. And I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about you so much. I flagged down the waitress and ordered a Maker’s. I told myself that my next steps would be to drink the bourbon, reapply my lipstick, and make the polite, false claim that gosh, yawn, I really would have loved to sing but I was just too exhausted to do so. It had been a long day, after all. But that was a lie. I wasn’t tired. Maybe I was making it too obvious. One of the six, sitting across from me in the U-shaped booth, noticed me call over the waitress, asked me what I had ordered, requested the same from her, kept his eyes fixed on me while I drank, drank his own in tandem, watched me reapply my lipstick, suggested that I wasn’t really so tired, argued that I couldn’t leave until I sang, reconsidered and plead for me to stay until I heard at least one of the others sing. He only relented when I promised that I would get a coffee with him the next day. I gathered my things to leave and the group of six expressed dismay loudly. I wasn’t keeping up my end of the bargain. I wasn’t playing the game. I wasn’t taking one for the team. No, I wasn’t. I was running out of time. Tonight was almost over. I’m sorry, I’m so tired, I said. I wasn’t tired. But I was drunk.

I flew down the stairs only to stand out on the curb waiting for another Uber in the cold. A man in a wool coat and knotted scarf came out from the first-floor party and stood next to me. “Are you leaving already?” he asked. I turned to look at him, surprised at the familiarity with which he was addressing me. He was handsome, from what I could tell under the glow of the streetlight. Dark, slicked hair. Fine, strong jaw. “Oh, I wasn’t at the wedding,” I replied, shaking my head slowly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to leave just now,” he countered. And again, I took a second to look at him. He wasn’t just handsome. He was intriguing. He lit a cigarette. My Uber pulled up to the curb, as though it was choreographed. “That’s my Uber,” I announced, feeling foolish, wishing I had said something different. “That’s too bad,” he responded, and took a drag. “You’re right, it is.” I agreed entirely. And I smiled at him, a real one, the kind I don’t give often, the kind I feel tingling on my scalp and fluttering in my chest. “Have fun tonight without me,” were my parting words as I climbed into the car. And he waved, pulling the cigarette from his lips, meeting my gaze, like we would see each other again, like it was only a matter of time. I should have stayed. I didn’t. Instead, I slammed the door and thought of you. I was daring you, though you didn’t know it, to make this particular departure worth it.

My stomach rumbled in the car, and I realized I’d never eaten a full meal after all, despite attending two dinners before 10 p.m. I texted you from the backseat. You didn’t write back. I got to our hotel and stepped with unsure footing into the lobby, feeling my phone buzz in my palm. It was you. You weren’t hungry, you wrote. You already had dinner, you wrote. Sorry, you wrote. Of course you weren’t hungry. I wasn’t supposed to have dinner with you anyway. I felt jilted despite the fact you had never promised me a meeting that evening. I stomped out of the back entrance of the hotel, inexplicably defiant. There was no logical direction for my rising anger. I tore down the sidewalk looking for food I would regret. The kind of food a divorced dad would eat by himself in a furnished corporate apartment on a Friday night. My eyes darted down the street, which was bustling and vivacious at this late hour, steam billowing out of various fluorescently-lit doorways, people undulating in and out, leaning on each other’s arms, laughing, kissing, smoking, stumbling. What right did this city have to be so bright and full of life now? What right did it have to flaunt its unfettered nocturnal joy? Just to show me what I did not have as my own? The life I did not actually lead? I saw three people walking away from a truck holding cardboard trays full of churros. I saw a flashing sign further down the road telling me that pho and banh mi were inside. I hurried towards that sign and ordered a lemongrass chicken sandwich and a Coke from the woman at the counter, taking a seat in a plastic chair while I waited, eavesdropping on a couple of teenagers’ libidinal gossip, letting my unfocused eyes skim over the 112 options on the menu hovering above the register. Some of it was in Vietnamese and clearly not meant for me to order. The woman handed me my can of Coke and my sandwich in a plastic bag. I clutched them with both fists and made my way to the truck, where I ordered three churros covered in chocolate sauce.

I took this unwieldy haul and tried my best to balance it all in the crook and fore of my two arms. It occurred to me that I had to walk into a marbled hotel lobby carrying an alarming yield of junk food. It also occurred to me that I was almost certainly drunker than I was admitting to myself. But I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders, and stepped purposefully into the lobby, making sure my heels made noisy clacks to project authority. On the way in, I crossed paths with the president of the association whose conference badge I was still wearing around my neck. And in that instant, he reflected back at me all the mortification I was suddenly feeling about my present state. I became keenly aware of the plastic bag and cardboard tray of food I was holding--the kind of food and packaging that communicated desperation and failure. He issued an officious greeting and sped up his steps toward the street. As he walked away from me, his shoes made a sound much louder than mine. Presidentially loud. I pushed open the glass doors of the hotel. The lobby was now full of people spilling out from the bar, rehashing the events of the day and hatching plans for days to come. I attempted to hide my sad dinner choices under the lapel of my jacket and skulk to the elevators, but the effort was for naught.

Because you were there, yourself having spilled into the lobby, drink in hand. Like I had conjured you. You were there, seeing me before I saw you, already beginning to laugh, anticipating the stories you almost certainly guessed I was about to tell you. And I did tell you, just like you knew I would. I walked over, catching your eye, and with barely a greeting launched into tale of my night’s misadventures. I stood there, in my jacket, just beyond the boundary of the bar, while you sipped the last of your whisky and let the mirth dance on your face, allowing me to recount the events of my evening, one after the other. Events which, in truth, were not all that fascinating, and not at all extraordinary. The vegan bar, the karaoke, the desperate food hunt, the embarrassing presidential encounter. I had been storing them up to tell you for hours. For years, really. Because I knew, and you knew, that I wasn’t just telling you about that particular night. I was telling you about the movie in which I starred, set in the city I called my own, culminating in this conversation that was only ours to have. To keep. I didn’t tell you, though, about the coffee date I owed one of the six karaoke singers in the morning. Nor did I tell you about handsome smoker who almost kept me from returning to the hotel and chancing upon you in the lobby. Because I forgot all about him. Because I was thinking about you the whole night anyway. Because here you were, in front of me, egging me on, asking me to tell you more, taking my churros from me, grabbing the friend next to you, retelling the story of my night to him like it was actually entertaining, like it was the best story you’d ever heard, like you’d already been telling it for years. Like it was yours to tell. And I, in turn, was letting you. I was listening to you tell me my life, listening to you pretend, just for a minute, that it was your life. And I was pretending too. That all of this, all that had happened to me that night, every street I had walked on, every sharp breath of cold air in my lungs, every person who spoke to me, every car I climbed into, every doorway I passed through, every word you were saying to me right then, every feeling coursing through my body, everything that had brought me to that moment we were living together, was mine. That it was ours. To keep.

[cheekybluefox]

160 Prompt List

1. Why are we at a strip club? 2. I’m sorry, you said what to your teacher? 3. Am I dead? 4. Its always been you. You and always you. 5. Stay with me. 6. How about we put the gun down, and we talk about this? 7. I came here to kick ass and chew gum, and I’m all out of gum.. 8. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it. 9. Am I supposed to be impressed? 10. Don’t tempt me. 11. Is that mine? 12. I can’t do this anymore. 13. Go to hell. - Already been there, but thanks for the invite. 14. Look at me. 15. Where did you get that? 16. Here, take my hand. Everything is going to be fine. Just hold onto me and keep moving. 17. You don’t need to protect me. 18. I had a nightmare about you, and I just needed to make sure you were okay. 19. I told you not to fall in love with me. 20. You know it’s okay to cry, right? 21. I just want to be left alone right now. 22. Those things you said last night, did you mean it? 23. Promise me you come back, just..I need you to promise me. 24. I could tell it was your favorite book by all the notes in the margin. 25. Where do you think you’re going? 26. Despite what you may think, I can look after myself. 27. Just please, be my best friend right now and not the person they I confessed my love to. 28. Well, if you insist. 29. I can’t believe you don’t like Disney films. 30. You’re lucky you’re so cute. 31. Sometimes I really dislike you. 32. Hold my hand, we need to make this look convincing. 33. I’m like 20% sure this plan will work There’s like an 80% chance that it could end in violence and Gore, but this plan is solid, I swear. 34. If I die, I’m coming back to haunt you. 35. If you don’t want to talk about it then just say so; but do not say you are fine, when you so obviously are not. 36. I made cupcakes because I know you like them. 37. My parents asked me about you again. 38. Wait, this is your handwriting? This chicken scratch? 39. I didn’t know you could play. 40. Things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. 41. You two sure you aren’t married? 42. You can’t sit on the sidelines all your life. 43. You deserve so much better. So much more. 44. You haven’t each touched your food, what's going on baby girl? 45. Stay the night. Please. 46. Please pretend to be my boyfriend/girlfriend. I’ll owe you big time. 47. Its midnight. What do you want? 48. You’re strangely comfortable. 49. Don’t fuck with mama bear. 50. I just need you here. 51. How long have you been standing there? 52. Is that what you call an apology? 53.I’ve loved you since I laid my eyes on you. The very moment, I first saw you, and I…oh, fuck it! 54. Just hold me. 55. Can I hold your hand? 56. I just don’t know how to look forward anymore. 57. She’s still alive, she has to be. 58. Get that pretty little butt over here. 59. Is there a special reason as to why you’re wearing my shirt? 60. You’re cute when you’re angry. 61. I didn’t realise I needed your permission. 62. I’m not jealous. 63. Forever is a long time. 64. This is seriously sketchy. 65. I lost the baby. 66. Rude! 67. Let’s blow this joint. 68. Oh, bite me. 69. I haven’t slept in four days. 70. Stop being such a baby. 71. Hey, calm down, its okay. They cant hurt you anymore. 72. I’m too sober for this shit. 73. You can’t banish me! It's my bed too! 74. Good thing I didn’t ask your opinion. 75. Its six in the morning, you’re not drinking vodka. 76. You work for me. You’re my slave. 77. The kids! They ambushed me! 78. You may have to buy my silence. 79. There’s a herd of them. 80. You smell like wet dog. 81. Just smile, for me. Please? I really need to see your smile right now. 82. Just show me what’s behind your back. 83. Take one more step in that direction, and I’ll murder you. 84. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of us. 85. Everyone deserves a second chance. 86. Please don’t cry, I can’t stand to see you cry. 87. You can’t keep pretending that it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did! 88. I think I’m falling in love with you and it scares the shit out of me. 89. Its cold, take my coat. 90. I’m such a fool for not seeing this earlier. 91. I’m not blind, I’ve seen the way you look at her. 92. Never let them die, they’re the soap opera of my life. 93. Could you just, IDK, stop murdering people for shits and giggles? - Did you just say IDK in a verbal conversation? 94. Sleep in your car if you don’t want the sofa. 95. We bet on it. You lost. Now you have to do it. 96. Let’s get wasted, and go piss on his grave. 97. This is all your fault. - I hope so. 98. Did you just agree with me? No, you said it now, no take backs. 99. Stop doing that thing with your face, its making want to vomit. 100. You’re a psychopath. - I prefer creative. 101. You look… - Beautiful, gorgeous, like a Goddess walking upon the earth. Yes, I know. Now let’s move on. 102. I know, all you want is to go home but you know what? I want to go to Mars. Know what though? It’s never going to happen. Accept it. 103. Nope, can’t go to hell. Satan has a restraining order against me. 104. Get over it. Pussy. 105. It’s three in morning. - yes. Why are you here? - I live here. No, on the floor. With me. 106. I don’t hate you, but if you were on fire and I had water I’d drink it and piss on the ground. 107. You’re judging me. - Yea, its a hobby of mine. 108. FBI! OPEN THE DOOR! -But its so much more fun when you break it down. 109. I’d rather be pecked to death by a flock of woodpeckers. 110. How drunk are you on a scale of one to ten? - Yes. 111. Are you stalking me? - Not in a creepy way. 112. Focus on me. 113. Please don’t waste your tears on him. 114. Ice cream is a good start. 115. Did you just slap me? 116. All is fair in love and war, darling. 117. My vote is on the lemon cakes. 118. Get your dirty ass boots off my nice, clean sheets. 119. I like night time. It's quiet. I can think. 120. Look, there goes my last fuck to give. 121. Why are you walking around naked? 122. Stare at the stars all you want, but you won't find the answer to your problems up there. The real world is down here. 123. I underestimated you. - Classic mistake. 124. How did you manage to get frosting on the lampshade? 125. What’s the worst that could happen? - Famous last words. 126. You want it? Beg. 127. Yes, I heard you. I just don’t care. 128. Eat a bag of dicks. Dick. 129. You’re special to me. 130. If we get caught I’m blaming you. 131. Do not try me right now. 132. You give the best hugs. 133. I swear you love your hair more then me sometimes. 134. Tell me a secret. 135. Shut up or I’ll choke you. - I could be into that. 136. Let’s start with the real questions, tits or ass? 137. You make me nervous. 138. Don’t give me that look. 139. Maybe I did? So what! I don’t have to run everything by you! 140. Tell anyone and I’ll kill you, chop up your body and sell the parts. 141. That’s not your name. 142. Oh, well done. What do you want? A gold star? 143. You like sunflowers right? 144. You game? 145. Just get in the fucking blanket fort. 146. Sorry isn’t gunna help you when I’m kicking your ass. 147. Were you born a dick? Or do you go put of your way to be one? 148. Break her heart and I’ll break your face. 149. Well that was unsettling. 150. Only I can touch you. 151. Don’t tell me to shut up. You shut up. 152. Your mother/father would be so proud. 153. You stole his wallet? - I prefer borrowing without permission. 154. You going to kiss me or what? 155. Die quietly will you? 156. You’re my one. 157. You want it? Come and get it. 158. Why are you wearing Mickey mouse ears? 159. Lock the door next time. 160. Have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

Hi guys! So I love writing. So I thought I’d try this. I’ll be posting things I’ve thought of myself but I would also love to write things for you guys too. These are the fandom’s I’m happy to write for : - Harry Potter - Game of Thrones - X men - Avengers - Criminal minds - Guardians of the galaxy - Star wars - The hobbit - Lord of the rings. - Once upon a time (s1 - s3A) - Teen Wolf (s1 & s2) - Walking dead ( I watched s1 - s3, then s6 & s7) - Naruto

#writing #writing prompt #avengers imagine #harry potter #avengers #harry potter imagine #fanfic #drabble #game of thrones #got #game of thrones imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #xmen #xmen imagine #deadpool #deadpool imagine #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #gotg imagine #guardians of the galaxy imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #ouat

[mst3kproject]

907: Hobgoblins

I have to begin with a confession: I've never been able to watch this episode all the way through.  I've tried.  I can't do it.  Hobgoblins is too awful.  Too stupid.  Too tedious.  Watching the movie for this review was actually the first time I've seen how it ends.

Ha ha ha.  Like I give a shit how this movie ends.

So there's this old film studio lot with an eldery security guard who is trying to train a successor, but his new hires keep dying on him.  The latest model is called 'Kevin'.  Kevin is dull in both looks and personality, and hangs out with a bunch of annoying stereotypes: there's Daphne the Slut, her boyfriend Nick the Rambo-Wannabe, Kyle the Dorky Pervert, and Amy the Repressed Ice Bitch.  Unfortunately for us in the audience, these idiots are not the expendable meat.  They do not get amusingly killed off one by one.  These are the characters we're supposed to like and they all survive. Fuck, I hate this movie.

Anyway, the reason the apprentice security guards keep dying is because the film vault is home to four hobgoblins, ugly little puppets from outer space who have the power to bring people's fantasies to life and then kill them.  The movie tries to make some kind of point out of this, with the old security guard explaining that what people want isn't always what's good for them.  This is often true: think of the people in the real world who've achieved their own dreams of fame and fortune only to end up broke, addicted, in jail, or all three.  That, however, is hard to depict in less than a hundred minutes with a budget of less than a hundred dollars and an IQ of less than a hundred points, so the movie is a little less subtle and realistic about it.

The previous apprentice security guard, Dennis, got a few seconds of being a rock star before tripping over nothing, falling off the stage, and I guess breaking his neck.  Kyle's dream is a physical date with his favourite phone sex girl, who tries to push his car off a cliff.  Nick wants to be a war hero: he jumps on a grenade.  Amy wants to open herself up to sexuality, so she becomes a stripper and... you know, I don't want to know how her backstage quickie with the hairy bouncer would have destroyed her.  Same for Daphne's 'truck full of soldiers' fantasy.  We can take it for granted that it would have been fucking stupid.

Supposedly the fantasies only disappear when the Hobgoblins get killed, but even though I counted at least four dead hobgoblins there are somehow still a couple of them left when they get chased back into the vault at the end.  The old security guy then blows up the whole building with dynamite that he's apparently had on hand the entire time and never used.  Why the hell didn't he do that years ago? The characters loudly let us know that they have learned nothing from any of this, and then, thank god, it's over.

Hobgoblins is so incredibly bad it almost defies description. It is painful even to look at this fucking movie. This is in large measure because there's nothing in it to look at. Movies should really have things like mood lighting, direction, and set dressing, but Hobgoblins has none of that. The set dressing thing is actually particularly noticeable.  There are three major 'sets' in the 'movie', if I can use those words: the warehouse, Kevin's place (I think it's Kevin's place, at least), and Club Scum.  All of them suck furry hobgoblin wang.

The 'warehouse' is some kind of office building.  It's nowhere near shabby enough to be actually abandoned – the floors look like Kalgan was only just through there on his linoleum zamboni – and possesses about as much personality as a jar of Cheez Wiz. It's not creepy.  It looks like someplace where those old high school friends Facebook wants you to re-connect with probably ended up working.  The movie could have done something with this, juxtaposing a workaday exterior with the horrors hidden within, but doesn't bother.

Kevin's house looks like they got permission to film there by promising to buy it from the realtor who's been trying to sell the place for six months.  They probably got all their shooting done in an afternoon and then absconded before anybody could demand a down-payment.  Like the warehouse, it's completely bland.  Both the exterior siding and interior walls are beige.  There's not much by the way of décor, and almost no furniture.  I think we're supposed to believe that only Kevin and Amy actually live there, though it seems a bit odd that they'd be living together when their relationship is emphatically not sexual.  Based on what we see of the others, however, it looks for all the world like Kyle camps out on the living room sofa every night, and Daphne apparently lives with Nick in his van in the driveway.

I probably shouldn't judge.  I've seen weirder living arrangements among twenty-somethings.

Then there's Club Scum, which is supposed to be a strip bar where tough types hang out.  I think it was filmed in an elementary school auditorium.  All the 'set dressing' is stuff that can be quickly taken down because the PTA needs the space for their Holiday Bake Sale on Saturday.  And despite the place's supposed reputation, the movie balks at showing anything questionable actually happening there: some extras drink fake beer, and Amy 'strips' by taking her gloves off.  That’s about it.

Some band that was willing to work for ‘exposure’ puts in an appearance here.  Their song is bad but it does its job, which is to make the movie three minutes longer.

Costumes are as minimal as sets.  It's a funny thing about costumes and sets – when they're done well, you don't notice them.  They become nothing but the clothes people are wearing and the places they are in.  If you're looking at them as costumes and sets, it means that somebody has fucked up.  The people on the Club Scum set are wearing costumes, dressed up as tough types but in no way actually inhabiting those characters.  They look like they're at a Hallowe'en party.  So does 'Fantazia' the phone sex girl, in her leopard-print top and tight gold pants.  The clothes worn by the main characters look like they're a product of the actors being told “dress like a _____.” Dress like a soldier.  Dress like a prude.  I dunno, just show up with clothes on.  The only costumes in the whole movie that really work are those worn by the security guards, and that's mostly because security guards in real life don't look like they particularly inhabit their uniforms, either.

As well as nothing to look at, there's nothing to listen to.  The characters have nothing interesting to say, because like the sets, they're boring and flavourless.  Each has a single note that they never deviate from.  We have no idea why any of these people hang out with each other.  Why are Amy and Daphne friends, when their only personality characteristics are the diametrically opposed 'prude' and 'slut'?  Why do Kevin and Kyle hang out, when they barely interact?  Why are Kevin and Amy dating when they don't even seem to like each other? The only relationship in the film that is given any kind of basis is that of Daphne and Nick, who seem to be together entirely for the sex.

I want to say that writer and director Rick Sloane clearly has one hell of a madonna/whore complex, but considering that the men in this movie also seem to define themselves in terms of the sex they are or are not having... I guess he's actually just a creepy weirdo.

If this movie has any defenders (which I doubt – even Sloane knew it sucked corn-filled, coiled-up shit, because he submitted it to MST3K himself), they might now be saying that none of this matters, because the movie is a comedy.  One-note characters are part of the joke! That argument may hold water for some movies – Zoolander, for example, derives much of its humour from the title character's stupidity and narcissism.  It doesn't work for Hobgoblins, though.  In order for something to be part of a joke, the movie has to have at least one joke.  Hobgoblins does not.  It has premises that could be used for jokes, but no jokes are ever made with them.

The most obvious example is probably Daphne.  Daphne is a slut.  The movie tells us this over and over: Daphne is the sluttiest slut ever to need an improbable amount of semen pumped from her stomach, and... that's it.  That's as far as it ever goes.

That's not a joke.  Daphne is a slut is not a joke, it's merely a statement.  Your mama's so fat, she went to a restaurant and got a group discount is a joke. It takes a premise (your mama is fat) and does something with it, taking it too far and drawing an absurd conclusion (the restaurant staff thought she counted as several people).  You can't just say your mama's so fat and end there, because that's not funny to anyone over the age of six.  Neither is Daphne's sluttiness, Kyle's phone sex addiction, Amy's repression, or Nick's assholetude.  The movie acts as if these things are funny all by themselves, but they're not, not even on the puerile and insulting level of a 'your mama' joke.

The closest Hobgoblins ever comes to having a joke is when the characters agree that one person should hold all the wallets while they're in Club Scum – they elect Kyle, who is promptly robbed at knifepoint by a thug who was listening to the whole conversation.  This is obviously supposed to be funny, but again, nothing is done with it.  It's just a thing that happens and is then immediately forgotten about.  It's shit, just like everything else.  Fuck this movie.

Seeing as I've already said I consider The Starfighters to be possibly the worst movie ever shown on MST3K, I'm sure somebody reading this is wondering which I would rather watch – Starfighters or Hobgoblins.  And to that person, whoever they may be, I answer thusly:

#mst3k #reviews #hobgoblins #fuck this movie #80s

[chichirod]

Content. The addiction to the flow of the internet.

Sonny.

Maybe it’s a time travel piece. I love the idea of time travel. And done in a grounded way, What if the time travel was extremely mundane. Why sonny? Well he’s got this tone to his personality that feels like he’s being surprised by everything that happens.

What if he could time travel, but it only took him to one specific place.

Sonny and his dog. Maybe his dog is racist?

Sonny the karaoke man.

Sonny hits a car in a lot. He’s parks somewhere else. He thinks he’s off, but someone sees him. Stops him.

What are the ways that sonny could be confronted?

Sonny

Pulling wallet out to pay. The false gesture.

The tip. He writes a cheap tip, but he notices something wrong with the bill. He has to confront the waiter. The waiter confronts him. Waiter asks what percentage it is, he can’t do the math in his head.

He’s somewhere public. He’s watching an inappropriate vid. Gets called out.

Shits himself.

Self sacrifice.

Goes for a date with a girl. Girl says something a little racist.

He nicely ends the date. He tells his friends, but one of his friends tells.

Sonny he’s a man who wears his emotions. He’s consistently apologetic.

He’s a hopeful auditionee. He’s not bad actually. He sings karaoke. Records it. He’s nervous. But he makes an enemy. He ends up shitting himself mid audition.

Maybe the first scene is him hitting the car, getting caught. Getting caught by the lady and then leaving the note. Or Sony watching the game and someone fucking the moment he is waiting for. Sonny and the guys waiting for this moment. Maybe they’re auto shop guys.

We are in a ship cafeteria. A man lays dead on the floor. The checkout lady realizes asks who wants his food.

The set-up. The conflict. And Every choice creates consequences.

In the dentist chair.

Scene:

Sonny he’s with one of his friends outside a restaurant. They see a famous boxer passing by. Coop asks him politely for an autograph. The boxer is pissed. He’s sick of being stopped. Coop says, well you’re a celeb man, it comes with the territory. The boxer does’t like it. Coop says, c’mon man, I watched you at Caesers in 2014. He steps in and snaps a selfie, the boxer knocks him out. Sonny stands there. Boxer- I’m tired of being objectified.  Coop comes to. Holy fuck. Are you ok? Ya. Dinner. They sit at the table. The dude has a huge welt. He’s ok, but he sits pretty silently. Sonny tries to keep his mind off of it. Makes small talk. Still, nothing from Coop. Then, he spits it out. Why the fuck didn’t you do anything? You just stood there. Boomgaurtner? What the hell was I supposed to do?

Woman talking about how brutal her period is right now. Eventually sonny and this woman hook up. She turns the lights off. … We cut to him having a pee, blood all over his face. OR Someone comes in?

These are the two stories. A satire. And. A docudrama.

One character. No lights. Small crew.

A gymnast. A hockey player.

INTRO

Sonny

Gymnast?

- open on videos of her as a kid jumping and enjoying the gym. Cut to today, in the bathroom. Nursing blisters and malformed toes.

- Eating toothpaste.

- The brutality of the bar.

- Mom locking the door to the fridge.

This is the story of a child gymnast. She’s is skilled, but she’s not naturally talented, but her coaches see a physical ability that they want to harness. They see the opportunity in her. A glory that they never had. They use her as an outlet. Pushing her is also a way for them to control something in their own lives. There is physical pain yes, but worse is the emotional warfare. The sacrifice that she must make while every other 12-year old goes to school, watches tv, plays on their phones. The final image?

Man and woman rent a cottage. A creepy neighbor, but oh well. They have a nice time. A new-sh couple. They have romantic time. They are making dinner. And they get into an argument over gender politics.The man is a better cook. Woman have lost their place in the kitchen because of a taboo. That night they go to be upset. The woman fingers herself quietly. The man realizes. He gets mad. He goes into the bathroom to JO. The creepy neighbor is seen coming towards their house. The two of them are scared. The woman wants to come into the bathroom, The man refuses. He argues. She should go downstairs if this relationship is equal.

- possible stories

- she kills her coach.

- she is paralyzed.

- amputates her chest.

A undocumented worker. Their parents dying. Working on a farm in California. Witness a crime. Wife kills abusive husband.

Guy parking at an office. He hits a car.

First scene should  - eat the type of world we’re dealing with. A bite of satire.

What is the final image of the film.

The wrestler -

Find him at his glory, in the ring MSG.

Cut to the locker room. Present day. Creaky version of himself.

Fans visit him. Remember the good days.

He goes home. Door locked.

Sleeps in his van.

Next morning bang bang bang.

Woken up by kids. Wrestles with them.

Car pulls in, interrupts the moment. He watches the car.

Int office. Moments later, he tries to bargain with owner of trailer

Nothing.

Woman runs him extension chord for his blender.

Goes to work in supermarket

Asks for more shifts.

We see him working with the Mexican dudes. Lugging.

Int gym. He holds a glass vile. His buddy says its as good as the German stuff.

Plunges the needle into his naked ass.

Cut to mall. Greets a shopkeep friendly. He gets into a tanning bed.

Hair salon. Korean woman bleaches his hair.

Driving. Eyes. The strip club.

INt shitty wrestling match. A promoter lists the matchups.

They prep for the match. Going through moves with some young blood.

Ram - a chick is here to see you.

In the hall - hey kiddo. A young girl greets him.

She there to root on her old man? No. She’s there to make amends. 12-stepper.

Interrupted by two meatheads. He puts on his act for them. The girl is pissed at the interruption.

In the ring. Kid loco taunts him. Calling him a loser. Something turns and he takes the upper hand. Ram Jam

Int dressing room. Gets offered the 20th anniversary rematch with the ayatollah.

Stip club. Door man asks for hgh. Bartender slides him a beer. Cassidy is working vip. Girl same age as his daughter on the pole

Walks passed the VIP. Casidy is being berated for being old by frat boys.

Randy busts through. Makes them apologize. Expects a thank you. Cassidy is just pissed.

Cassidy warms to him. Lapdance. Ram’s explaining the 20th’ aniversary opportunity.

They chat. Ram bleeds. Cassidy helps him. Leads to him showing her his scars.

Cassidy quotes from passion of the christ. The sacrificial ram. Her song comes on and she’s pulled to stage.

99c store. Picking up weird supplies. Thumb tacks.

Cut to match .

Randy’s heart is giving way in the match. Has a heart attack. They pull him out of the ring.

Hospital - Bypass.

Dr says no more wrestling.

Gets trailer back.

Showers.

Plays vids with Adam.

Adam leaves. Ram does jumping jacks. He gets winded. He starts to cry.

Goes to Cheetahs for comfort. He asks her out. Something more real.

She meets him out back. Sympathy. But he’s overstepping.

Looks at old pic of Daughter. Goes to visit his daughter. She’s studying child development

SHe’s on her way to class. Tries to evade hum, but he charms her a bit.

He gives her a ride. Fesses to heart attack and she loses it. Now he wants to make good!? Now that he’s scared of dying?

Goes to fan expo. Learns from an old promoter that he’s been left out of a reunion.

He watches another old wrestler. In a wheelchair.  Piss trickles into a catheter bag.

Back at trailer. Scared to go in alone. Drives to..

Cheetahs

Cassidy tries to get dances, no takers. SHe’s happy to see randy show up.

She asks about daughter. Randy doesn’t know much about what she likes. Cassidy suggests a second hand shop.

Randy goes to bar, cassidy a little rejected.

She comes to him, offers to go with him on Saturday to the shop.

Randy goes to work. Asks for something more permanent. Wayne offers deli counter.

Saturday, ram meets cased at the second hand shop. First time seeing cased clothed.

They find a shitty green jacket. Cassidy doesn’t like it, randy does, she plays nice.

They are about to part ways. Randy asks for a beer. Cassidy resists. She’s got a kid. 9years old. Ram gives her an old toy of him. Take care of that 300 bucks on eBay. Really? Nah. Cassidy obliges. One beer.

Talk about kid. Her hopes to move. Quitting cheetahs. Def leopard. Randy dances for her, They sing together. They bond over that pussy Cobain boo hoo Seattle. It’s the moment they need to meet. No contact with customers she says after they kiss. She’s gotta run.

Deli counter. Robin name tag.

Serving customers, he’s clueless. Bad exahcnage, bad exchange, then a nice one. 57… O-57 bingo. Whats my prize?

College. Ram meets his daughter. What are you stalking me? DO stalkers bring gifts?

They walk along a midway. The reminisce about when she was young.

They sit on a bench. Mint chip ice cream. He accepts her unspoken apology. Drops her off. Hope the wasn’t too painful.

Ram puts a photo of them on his fridge. On the phone. He tells a friend to count him out. He’s retiring.

Cheetah’s. Guys put dollar bills in Cassidy’s g-string. Randy tries to put a purse envelope in.

They sit. It’s a thank you card. Rand tries to ask her out to a cover band bar. It’s becoming too much for her. You think I’m a stripper.. but I’m a mom with respoonsibilities. You’re a customer.

Randy slides a 20 across the table. Cassidy slides it back. You’re refusing a customer? Argeument. Embarrasment. Randy storms out.

Shop-rite. Old lady pound of potato salad.

Guy recognizes him somehow. Teamsters? Softball? Ram Jam. Slicer fingers get closer.

Trailer. Drinking Touching scar. Turns on gun and roses. Dances around his room like it’s a ring.

Collectibles store.  Scott Bromberg. Asks for referee opportunity. Booker D tries to work him into the gig. During the match randy steps in. Gets hit with a chair. They shower. Praise Randy as the master.

Hotel bar. Shit pit story.

Hotel bar. Hanging with girls. Coke dealer walks in. I don’t do that anymore. Me neither. Cut to them in the bathroom doing bumps.

Morning. Eyes open to find a poster of fireman.

Leaves the house. Gets home opens the fridge. Dismay. Picture of him and daughter on fridge.

Bang bang bang on her door.

Daughter pissed. She waited in the restaurant for 2 hours.

She hates him. Throws a pot. He grabs her. I’m sorry. You don’t mean it. You’re right. She calms. She’s totally done Wirth him.

He leaves. Starts to cry.

Shop Rite - line at the deli counter. “You believe these fucking morons?”

Slice slice. More pressure. Customers complaining. Slice slice. Jams his thumb into the slicer. Blood everywhere. Smears blood across his mouth. He smashes into the shelves dodging a woman.

At home. Calls the promoter. He wants in. Shaves. Tan in a can. Peroxide in the hair.

Cassidy shows up. How’d you find me? Big Chris.

Cassidy explains she’s trying to get to a place in her life and she can’t bring anyone from… good for you. Quitting is hard.

He hands he the flyer. Drives off.

Cassidy’s apt. Tells the sitter. In bed by 11, no bargaining. Her son plays with the ram doll.

Cheetah’s - cased dances.

She leaves the stage.

Randy at roadside payphone. Gets Stephanie’s answering machine. Tells he loves her and that he’s going back in the ring.

Randy naps on side of road.

Gets to auditorium. Man on the phone. Man business is rocking Just opened a third dealership. Randy looks on. This is the ayatollah

They chat. Did thnink it was on. Then I get a call , its on.

Randy wants to go over the moves. Ayatollah wants to wing it.

Cassidy at gas station. Asks for directions.

Int locker room. Ram taping up.

Cassidy pulls up. Looking for locker room

Randy now suited.

Ayatollah music begins to play. Announcement.

Randy turns to find Cassidy there. She tries to get him to bail. He’s still going through with it.

Randy- this is where I belong. Listen to them.

Randy enters the ring. Ramming chairs.

He grabs the mic.

I just got one thing to say to you people. Thank you. I started in 1982. I was 6 foot 1 3 back surgeries… End of the speach. The crowd roars. Ayatollah is about to smash him.

Randy is a little intense for the ayatollah. They trade revenge moves each more real than the last.

Their in the ring out of the ring. Chocking with flags and poles.

Ayatollah  - You wanna bring it home?

Cassidy pleads with ringside.

His heart is giving. Pounding. Irregular. Hard. Ram is about to finish him. Ayatollah says just pin him.

Cassidy leaves the match sobbing.

Horns are out.

He leaps . Glorious and immortal.

Some things last a long time.

I’ll eat your sandwich if you’re not eating it.

You’re got me going. You really got me going.

I can’t believe you got th t sian out.

It looks great on you.

I like this shirt.

Do you have any salt?

Walks into coffee shop. Puts hands on the glass. He moves like an animal something he’s stalking.