#anyway i got the idea for this when i got my pilot's license a few months ago

[hippolotamus]

thought i planned for everything (just didn’t count on you) | 1.6k | E (BuckTommy)

Earlier today I promised my wife @bidisasterevankinard an incentive for studying in exchange for making her think about too many WIP ideas. Since husband @diazsdimples is also going through it with schooling, this is for both of you 😘 ps: idk anything about what certs and licenses and stuff Tommy would need. Just roll with it and be nice, yeah? Also, this is unbeta’d so if you see any mistakes, no you don’t.

Tommy scrubs at his forehead, blowing out a frustrated breath. He’s looked at the material in front of him for months now, determined to ace his recertifications. And it had been going well. Really well, in fact. He had a study schedule mapped out, accounting for his shifts and time with friends. He even left a small margin for the unexpected. There was just one factor he hadn’t accounted for. Evan.

The past few years of dating haven’t exactly gone anywhere serious. Some casual dates, one that he thought could go the distance but only broke his heart. So the expectation of having that feeling again? Of having someone thoughtful and caring, who gives him butterflies and makes him want things? Pretty much zero.

But then a hurricane happened. Actual and metaphorical. It tore through his life, upending the idea that love – or anything close to it – just wasn’t in the cards for him. And when everything settled, there was Evan. Evan, who asks how his shift was, tells him when he gets back from a call, and turns a pretty shade of pink as he blushes and says ‘I missed you’.

Tommy doesn’t regret any of it, but he does wish the universe’s cosmic timing could’ve held off just a little longer. At least until the state of California tells him what he already knows and says he’s fit to pilot an aircraft.

A knock on the door gets his attention, but he seriously contemplates ignoring it. He didn’t order anything and he doesn’t have plans. Unfortunately, the first responder in him can’t help wondering if one of his elderly neighbors needs something.

Fine. He sets down the pen he’s been chewing on and reminds himself it’s been too long since he stood up and walked around anyway.

“Evan?” Tommy asks, surprised to see him standing there. He instinctively looks him up and down for obvious injuries or signs of distress, but finds nothing. Only his gorgeous boyfriend, smiling coyly. “I didn’t forget about a date, did I?”

“No, uh, nothing like that. Because you are supposed to be studying.” Evan raises one eyebrow like Tommy is in the wrong for answering his own door after somehow manifesting Evan’s presence.

“And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Evan says shyly. “I know I’ve been taking a lot of your time lately and wanted to help.”

For the first time, Tommy notices Evan’s got his hands behind his back and wonders what his definition of ‘help’ is. He’s dressed down, soft and adorable in a hoodie and joggers, so it’s unlikely to be a booty call. Though not completely out of the question. And not that Tommy would complain either.

“Did you bring flashcards or something?”

“As a matter of fact…” Evan steps over the threshold, past Tommy, like he owns the place. While shy, demure Evan is a favorite, confident Evan is by no means a turn off. Especially as he whirls around and proudly holds up a set of blue, yellow and pink index cards. “I did.”

“Evan-”

“A few nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I might have taken some notes of my own. And, like I said, thought I could make myself useful for my hot, pilot boyfriend.” He rocks up on his tiptoes, capturing Tommy’s lips for a chaste kiss before he meanders to the kitchen.

Tommy pushes the door closed, following Evan where he lays the cards down on the table, opposite the books and manuals Tommy has scattered. Evan walks to the cabinets and helps himself to a glass, filling it with water before returning. Next he makes himself comfortable in a chair, sitting slightly back with his legs spread apart.

“So, can I help?”

There’s a glimmer of mischief in the way Evan looks at him now that has his heart racing. Like helping is the last thing Evan plans to do.

Tommy gathers himself enough to sit down in his own seat and flashes Evan a confident smirk.

“Do your worst, kid.”

“I’ll start with an easy one. What is the atmospheric gas composition?”

“Twenty-one percent oxygen, seventy-eight percent nitrogen, one percent other,” Tommy rattles off.

“Well done.” Evan flicks the card down then casually leans over to untie one shoe and slip it off.

“What are you-”

Evan clicks his tongue, tutting in fake admonishment. “Can’t tell you all my secrets, baby. Next question. Each one hundred meter climb in elevation causes a temperature drop of what?”

“One degree Celsius.”

Evan simply grins and removes his other shoe, leaving him in socked feet. Tommy would be lying if he said his dick wasn’t taking interest now that he’s caught on to Evan’s game. It is thoroughly unhelpful.

“PAIP should be implemented how many minutes after an aircraft fails to give its position report or is overdue for arrival?”

“Fifteen. Got anything harder for me?”

Evan’s tongue darts out, licking along his lower lip. “Oh, you bet I do.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and think about… anything except bending Evan over the table. If only it was that simple.

They repeat the process, volleying questions and answers back and forth until Evan’s stripped down to his boxers, his cock obviously hard and leaking beneath the tented fabric. It’s distracting as hell and Tommy doesn’t know how he’s supposed to concentrate.

“Come on, old man,” Evan teases, palming himself lazily. “Lives are on the line here. You need to be able to think under tense conditions.”

“You’re such a brat.” Tommy’s jeans press uncomfortably on his own straining erection and he doesn’t bother to stop himself from mirroring Evan’s movements.

“Yeah, but I’m your brat.” Evan applies more pressure, letting out an obscene moan as he strokes himself. “Or I could be – ahh – if you get this – mmph – question right.”

“Fuck, Evan.” Tommy undoes his belt and zipper, creating the tiniest bit of relief.

“That’s the idea. Even – oh, fuck – wore the new plug I told you about.”

Christ, Evan’s gonna kill him before they get the chance to see this all play out. And that’s unacceptable.

“Don’t stop,” Tommy orders, stalking off to grab the lube stashed in the couch cushions. When he returns, Evan is still stroking himself exactly like he was instructed. “Good boy, Evan. Doing what I told you.”

Tommy grips his chin and crashes their mouths together in a filthy kiss, delighted as Evan makes the most beautiful whine.

“But, you – ah – didn’t answer me,” Evan protests when they separate.

“Myoglobin.” He leans close to Evan’s ear, nipping at the lobe. “Lesson’s over, kid. Face down over the table. Naked. Now.”

Evan nearly trips over himself, leaping up from his chair and shoving his boxers down. He drapes himself over the piles of papers and index cards, wiggling his ass like he’ll die if he has to go one more second without being fucked.

“Gotta say, I like your methods,” Tommy murmurs, starting to work the plug in and out, tracing his other hand along Evan’s bare skin. “But now I think it’s time for your reward. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yes. Please.”

“So desperate, my Evan,” Tommy coos. “Thought you would be in control, getting me all worked up. And here you are, laid out so gorgeously for me, just begging for it.”

Tommy pulls the plug out completely, discarding it to the floor. Evan keens and clenches around nothing, just waiting to be full again.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.” Tommy shoves his jeans and boxers down to his thighs. He slicks himself up with the lube and smears a generous amount on his fingers, fucking them in and out of Evan’s hole. Just enough to ease the way.

“Tommy,” Evan pants, practically crying when he pulls out.

He lines himself up, gripping Evan’s hips and pushing in without additional warning. He doesn’t pause for adjustments before he sets a relentless pace. It’s unlikely either of them are going to last, but he’s not going for longevity here.

Evan curls his hands around the edges of the table, leveraging it to fuck himself back against Tommy’s cock. It’s stunning and breathtaking, the rhythm they’re creating. A symphony of moans, squelches and skin against skin.

Soon the familiar heat pools in his belly, bringing him closer to the edge.

“Ohfuuuuck,” Evan moans, purposely tightening around him.

Tommy digs his fingertips into Evan’s sides, the world around him being reduced to static and white noise as he comes, filling Evan up. He thinks he might shout Evan’s name, but he’s not really sure, nor does he really care as he slumps forward, draping himself across Evan’s glistening skin.

“Gimmeasec,” he mumbles. “I’ll take careayou.”

“No need,” Evan murmurs back. “All good.”

Tommy presses a lazy kiss to Evan’s spine, enjoying the resulting small shudder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He kisses another ridge, and another, before answering. “For taking notes. For caring. Wanting to help out. For being you.”

“It wasn’t too much?” Evan whispers, hesitantly.

“Never,” Tommy assures him, dropping gentle kisses over his neck and shoulders, mindful of the mess forming between them as he maneuvers to properly reach. “Never too much, baby.”

He bites back words that are too early to say, even if he definitely feels them. Has felt them building in his chest, creating a near endless chant. He wonders how long he’ll be able to smother them before they burst forth. Hopefully long enough. Enough for Evan to feel them, too. For Evan to want to stay.

“Clean up and nap?” Tommy asks instead.

“Sounds good. Earned it.”

Tommy huffs an amused sound against Evan’s skin before pressing one last kiss there. God, I hope so, kid.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #hippo writes #tevan #tevan fic #what can i say #i love my spice #di tag 💙💍 #james tag 💍 #fic: thought i planned for everything

[bambiraptorx]

It's a tradition in flying circles that after a student's first solo flight, the back of their shirt is cut off. The date, their name, and the plane's identification number are then written on the removed fabric, which is usually pinned up on a wall with the shirt backs from other students. The first solo is a significant milestone in learning to fly, as it displays enough control and knowledge to fly as Pilot In Command.

TLDR: I think Donnie should get to fly planes.

Bonus: the plane (without Donnie or the slight lens blur)

i was not gonna spend a bunch of time figuring out how to draw a plane though so i just traced a picture lol (with a few alterations)

#rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #donatello hamato #donatello fanart #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanart #my art #would it have made more sense for donnie to be wearing his battleshell? maybe #but he does have a record of taking it off to wear clothing #and his battleshell is probably heavy/bulky enough to make it impractical when flying a small aircraft like this one #also i like the idea that he feels safe enough flying to take it off and/or he's confident enough as a pilot not to feel the need for it #anyway i got the idea for this when i got my pilot's license a few months ago #but then it sat in my wips folder for like three months lol

[carionto]

Nothing is safe from becoming "exciting"

I've read a bunch of HASO stuff and often when I'm writing something I know I'm drawing from a ton of somewheres, to the point where I can't pinpoint anything, it's all a big mush that my brain then spits out here. This one, however, I know was inspired by jpitha's writings, specifically the bit about Gene's High G Gym (I think that's the mostly correct name anyway). Shamelessly shilling their work cuz it's great, go read it!

______________________________

Humanity has begun expanding their hold over their native system. Like an insect hive, ships ferry just about everything to and from Earth, building stations both in planetary orbits and around the Sun. Nearly all experimental of some kind - a lot of ideas they couldn't try built up over the thousand years they were isolated.

They do also have countless small space worthy vehicles, nearly all with varying superficial designs and patterns, but also quite a few rather different underlying mechanical principles.

Soon we noticed a lot of activity throughout the entire system not affiliated with any organization or group. Just... individuals and small family units doing their own thing. We quickly gave up trying to categorize such behavior. When we asked, they said:

"Anyone with a license to pilot their craft can go pretty much wherever that isn't restricted. For some places and activities they do need to get a permission first though."

Worryingly lax on account that many of the larger "civilian" craft are still powered by their "Mini-Suns" as they call them.

One particular individual craft got our attention. It created a spike of thermal activity in one region of their Oort Cloud, so one of us went to ask this Human. Abigail was her name:

"Yo space dudes and dudettes, what's up?" Our translators were still incorporating the various Human linguistic peculiarities, but their liaisons are very helpful. We inquired as to what she was doing here so far out.

"Oh you are gonna love it!" another phrase we are learning to be wary of. "Victor, that's this bad boy right here," she affectionately slaps the armrest of her, now that we are closer, disturbingly modified vessel. Is that a second engine cluster bolted on the back? And a... weird exposed device with a large neon label - Space BBQ. We instinctively fear her and her next words. "He and I are making a race track with these here ice cubes. I got this idea when I was a kid, and it is going to be. So. Awesome!"

All of the red flags triggered. Then, Abigail demonstrates by shooting a harpoon claw... thing... at a nearby object the size of a few skyscrapers and begins pulling it towards a cluster of other planetesimals. Normally, these kind of clouds have stabilized over billions of years and each object is thousands and millions of kilometers from one another.

There were dozens stacked so close to each other that you could barely fit an escape pod between in some places. One in particular was surrounded by a small cloud of its own.

"Ooh, that one right there." She enthusiastically pointed out its somewhat flattened ovoid shape. "Doesn't it just scream to you that it wants to be the ultimate doughnut? Hector thinks so, he's my cat by the way - Say hi Hector! [hiss] (Fine, be that way, ya bum) Love that bastard. Anyway, just gotta finish blasting a hole big enough and it'll be the perfect finish line."

Not wanting to hurt our sanity further, we decided to leave her be, but not before she proudly exclaimed over all open channels:

"Remember to tell your folks if they ever wanna race to come here to Abby's Action Asteroids [quick whisper] (trademark pending)! Soon it'll have laser obstacles!"

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

[accihoe]

Deputation Gone Awry

Pairing: Avenger Bucky x Avenger fem!reader

Summary: The title is self-explanatory. But Barnes and Y/L/N go on a mission with Wilson and Romanoff. Things go awry. James and Y/N are stuck in a safehouse together amidst a blizzard.

Warnings: mean and condescending Bucky. Jealousy. Angst. Fights. Fluff. Injuries and stitches. Please don't this read if injuries make you uncomfortable.

Genre: angst to fluff

A/n: As always, my loves, please don't steal my work. Tag me and give me credit if you post my work on other platforms or use my ideas. God bless.

xxxx

"Good girl." Y/N grinned as the cat hopped onto her couch and snuggled up against her thigh (literally my cat and I rn. Her name is Goose.). A knock at the door startled the cat, who ran underneath the bed. "Dang it. Coming!" Y/N called as she got up and went to the door.

"Hey, kiddo, remember you're going on a mission with Barnes, Wilson, and Romanoff. You leave tomorrow. Get packing chop-chop." Tony clapped his hands together to enunciate his words. Y/N's stomach warmed, and her heart pounded when she heard his surname. She packed quickly. According to the list Tony had given her at the briefing in the boardroom.

She went to Steve's room and knocked on the door. Muffled voices quietened, and two pairs of footsteps came to the door. When it opened, Y/N bit her lip in excitement before shifting to the side as James pushed past her. "Hey Y/N/N. Can I help you?" Steve leaned again the doorframe.

"Hey Steve. Yeah. Could you please watch Goose? I'm going on a mission tomorrow." She asked. "Isn't that Fury's cat?" Steve was puzzled. "Yeah. That's why you've gotta take extra care of her." Y/N smiled. Steve agreed (after Y/N made him microwave brownies), and soon, all the belongings of the cat (Flerken) and Goose were inside of Steve's room.

The following morning, Y/N was in the Quinjet. Her belongings stowed away as she sat behind the stick in the cockpit. Bucky came in first. "You're early for once.". "Well, I've never been late, Barnes. I'm actually very punctual." Y/N said as she put her magazine down. James scoffed. "What are you doing there anyway? The seats are here." Bucky changed the topic, realizing he had no evidence to deflate her ego with in the previous topic.

"I'm the pilot." She said. "Yeah, right. You can hardly steer a bike." Bucky scoffed. "Bikes and planes are two entirely different things, Barnes." She sing-songed. "This is a jet." Bucky answered with a sly grin. He finally had something to belittle her for. One slip-up. "You know what I meant. Bikes and jets are still very different things." Y/N sighed.

"They're not actually that different if you compare the layouts and the functionalities. I mean, you've got seats in both, a steering stick in both -" Bucky started. "Okay, okay." Y/N moved out of the cockpit and went to the back of the jet. Bucky grinned in victory. Nat and Sam joined shortly afterwards.

"Where's Y/N?" Sam asked. "Dunno." Bucky shrugged. "She's already been here. It's her magazine." Nat said from the cockpit. Y/N emerged from the back. "Sorry. I was just checking our supplies." Y/N smiled as she stepped into view. "There's our captain." Sam grinned. "Pilot." Bucky corrected.

Bucky's scowl returned as Y/N went to the cockpit. He dramatically clipped in his seatbelt and held on for dear life as they flew to their destination. "You know she's a licensed pilot, right?" Natasha asked, not looking up from the magazine Y/N tossed to her.

"By the way she flies, it doesn't seem like it." Bucky hissed. "I'm able to read." Natasha said. "It's very turbulent. I don't know how." Bucky huffed. "We did just flie through a few typhoons." Nat answered calmly as she flipped a page. "Seriously? We're not hurricane hunters. Why's she flying us through typhoons?" Bucky groaned.

"Because she knows what she's doing." Nat finally looked at Bucky. Bucky resolved to silence for the rest of the flight and was less but still dramatic when they landed. The mission went smoothly, and all went according to plan until Y/N's suit belt hooked onto a rusted lever broke off and fell onto the steel floor.

Bucky grabbed Y/N and pinned her down as the opposition fired at them. Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, but she did not allow her silly crush to jeopardize the mission or her status. So she flipped them over and held Barnes down as she got up and fired single shots at the men, bullets laced with instant toxins to make whoever was shot pass out (unrealistic I know but bear with me).

After several moments of fighting, they ran out with their mission partners just in time to miss the start of the ambush. Amidst an ambush and a quickly approaching blizzard, Y/N lost sight of the rest of the team but thankfully bumped into Bucky. They ran off together, and Bucky hijacked a bike from the ambushers.

Y/N's cheeks were hot despite the snow as she held onto Bucky Barnes. They drove as far out of sight as they could. Y/N managed to locate a safehouse established by S.H.I.E.L.D and gave Bucky directions. Once they arrived at the safehouse, Bucky was fuming. "Why the hell would you put us all in danger like that!? And then shoot them all! We could have interrogated them for evidence or answers!" Bucky yelled at Y/N. Y/N sighed deeply. "Here we go..." She muttered underneath her breath.

Y/N had always been kind to Bucky despite his condescending persona towards her. She looked past it, blinded by her love for the man. He particularly liked to belittle her in front of others. She's no fool. She knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. "And now you're silent!?" Bucky went on condescending and patronizing her, but Y/N heard the exertion in his voice. It got meeker and meeker until they reached the safehouse by foot as the bike could not go through the snowpack.

Y/N noticed the limp in Bucky's step, his right leg particularly. She noticed the discomfort in his eyes when he sat down after checking around and locking the door. She grabbed her medical aid and kneeled in front of him by the fireplace. "Goodness, no, I don't need you messing up another thing. I'm fine. Wish I had Natasha here instead." Bucky groaned when he caught on to what she was doing. Y/N ignored the nauseating jealousy. Bucky looked mortified as she forced him to remove his trousers but allowed him to keep the thermal knee-length pants on.

She rolled the left side of the pants up where a dark red patch was. Bucky hissed in discomfort. Y/N gasped quietly at the wound, getting disinfectant and cleaning the wound carefully. She disinfected the needle with a lighter before stitching up his wound and putting cream and a plaster over.

The whole time, Bucky was complaining. Y/N droned out his voice to focus on his wound. When she was doing up the bandage, Bucky was still condescending her, "You tie as crap as you fly. Ha, that rhymes. But seriously. Did you attend the medical course?". That was it. Y/N ripped off that bandage (not the plaster) and gathered her stuff quickly before getting up and storming off. Bucky scoffed, but he did not even convince himself.

Bucky had several attempts at putting the bandage on properly himself, but he gave in when the pain got to him. Shamefully, Bucky made his way upstairs with the bandage. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw Y/N in her thermal clothing and not the suit. Y/N's mission attire was not nearly at voluptuous as Nat's, Bucky never assumed she had such a fine pair of legs. He watched as she scrubbed at his trousers to clean the blood before hanging them in front of the fireplace.

"You may come in, James." Bucky's heart dropped at her voice. She noticed him and called him by his full name. "I uh.. look, I'm sorry. But I need help with the bandage." Bucky croaked. Y/N sighed as she put her hands on her hips. "Why? I assume you attended the medical course?" Y/N tilted her head to the side. "No.. I didn't." Bucky's dropped his head slightly. "Sit down on the bed which, by the way, I'm sleeping in tonight." She said.

After wrapping Bucky's bandage properly and giving him clothes she'd found, Y/N shooed Bucky out of her room. Out of boredom, Bucky went through files of the agents the safehouse had and their personal lives. Bucky lingered on Y/N's. He looked at her rescuing people and animals. He kept his eyes on one where Y/N held a baby. A brief image of her holding a blue-eyed baby and standing beside him flashed before his eyes.

He looked at her in a pretty sundress. Good grief. How did they know and acquire all this about her personal life? Did she know? Was someone stalking her? Bucky's blood boiled with rage at the thought. Bucky closed the file and put it away as he heard Y/N coming downstairs. His skin crawled as he recognized the sweatpants adorning her lovely legs. Steve's.

"Where'd you get Steve's sweatpants?" He asked before he could think. "I didn't know that they were his. I found them in the drawer." She said. "And you didn't check for any women's clothing?" Bucky snarled. She had it.

"I am done with you constantly condescending me, James Barnes! I have only been kind to you from the start, and all you've done is misuse my kindness. I'm fed up with your constant attempts at making me feel less clever or competent because I can assure you that I am at a much higher level that you make me out to be. I'm aware that I might not be some professionally trained assassin or spy or have any remote form of superpowers or supernatural abilities, but I am far more intellectually competent than most! Mark my words. Once we are done with this mission, I will make sure that you never have to spend a moment in my presence again! You can find yourself a woman who meets your delusional capabilities for accommodating you on a mission! I. Am. Done." She went back upstairs.

Though she was stern with what she had to say, she did not yell or raise her voice. She addressed him calmly and maturely. Bucky felt even worse because of that.

Bucky made little effort to stop himself from going back to the file. His heart launched into his throat. He felt like a cartoon character with heart eyes floating after his lover and a visible hammering heart. There stood Y/N in a 1940s themed dress. Hair curled accordingly. Lips painted red. Her dazzling smile captured his heart solidly. A soldier's blazer, almost identical to his, was draped over her shoulders. If he had not seen her date of birth, he would have assumed that she was from that time.

Bucky put away the file after he had looked through it around eight times. He made his way upstairs after ensuring the door was locked and the fire was out. With a slight struggle to be quiet, he was in front of her door. He knocked quietly. "What, Barnes?" He could hear the frustration in her voice. "May I come in?" He asked. "Why?" Was all that she answered. "I want to apologize to you. Face to face." After a few moments of silence, the door creaked open. Y/N closed it once Bucky was in to trap in the heat.

"I don't know where to begin.." Bucky admitted. "Sit down. You need to ease the usage of your leg a little. And before you say anything, we were taught this in the course." Y/N said. "I wasn't going to condescend you. I swear I'll try my best to never do that again." Bucky said truthfully as he sat down.

Y/N assisted him in elevating his leg. "I don't know why it's so... normal today. My wounds are usually much less painful and heal easily." Bucky said. "It's a pretty deep wound, sarge." Y/N said. "Sarge?" Bucky grinned. "Sorry." Was what Y/N said as she sat down on the windowsill. "No, no, I like it. Takes me back to my golden days." Bucky smiled. "You sound as old as you are." Bucky laughed at that.

"Look, Y/N/N. I should probably start from the day we met. I should never have treated you like any less. And let me assure you, I've never for a moment believed that you are any less, even if I've treated you otherwise. I knew from the start that you were sharp. Smart. Kind. Able. Clever, very clever. Undoubtedly beautiful. And what threw me off is when you were kind to everyone else, and I was new, you were kind to me. When everyone hated me, you were still kind to me. I feared the worst. So I tried to convince myself that you are less than what you actually are, to justify the fear of being mortified by such a real doll. A dame. A babe, as you youngsters say." Y/N chuckled at the last bit.

"I am not trying to justify my actions with nice words! I'm being completely honest about what and why. You looked at me like you were proud of me. Like I wasn't such a worthless undes-" "Hey. Don't inflict any more hatred on yourself. HYDRA created enough negative neural pathways. We need to cover them with positive thoughts. So that we can see more of that smile that charmed ladies into paying for a meal." Y/N said. Bucky looked at the floor with tinted cheeks. "You're a.. what do they call it? Nerf? Nurd. Nerd. You're such a nerd." It was Y/N's turn to laugh.

"I didn't want to make this apology about me. I really am so sorry. I sure don't deserve it, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'd be honored." Bucky said with a small smile. The air in the room was far more pleasant. "I forgive you, Bucky. I forgave you the moment you knocked on that door." Y/N said. "What? Why?" Bucky was puzzled. "Because you made the effort to come upstairs and apologize to me. You could've called me downstairs or buzzed me. But you came upstairs. That alone was an apology in itself." Y/N smiled.

Bucky recognised that smile as the one from the picture with the baby, and the one where she cradled a kitten amidst a rescue, and the one with the sundress, and the one on that 40s themed photograph. He saw her true smile. A sight that he was instantly hooked on. He mimicked her smile. "Could we try again? At being partners in the work field? I really need you on my team. Even though I never wanted to admit it. Maybe friends?" Bucky wanted so much more than friends.

"I'd love nothing more, sarge." Y/N got up and shook his hand. That's where the friendship brewed from.

xxxx

Fin.

Part 2?

Not proofread.

Gif not mine

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader

[cazzyf1]

My Favourite Quotes from: Niki Lauda Das Dritte Leben

So it's been 4 years since Niki has passed now. Over a year since I became so involved with Niki's life here. It's crazy how short of a time it's been.

It's been a while since I made one of these, but as I have brought two new Niki books recently, I figured I should make this to share. The book is fully in German, which I have had to use google translate on; so there will be grammatical issues in this but for the most part, I'd say this is accurate.

Enjoy

"Only Graham Hill and Chris Amon had private planes, and they were simple propeller mills. It had more to do with sport than luxury or gaining time when they came to the races in Fleger. Once they flew from Spa to London in Graham's Piper Actec, and because I was going the same way, they took me with them. Back then, you didn't travel 20 minutes after crossing the finish line of a race, but on Monday morning. It all started with Graham complaining about a headache that morning from drinking so much at the Grand Prix party. It was raining miserably and the runway was a grass runway. We barely made it over the embankment and darted rather noncommittally into the laundry room over the canal. Hill and Amon constantly argued and yelled at each other. Hill was a captain but only had a visual pilot's license, Amon understood instruments, and I think that's where the trouble came from. I sat in the back and had no idea of ​​anything. Anyway, we ended up in London. I didn't feel like I wanted to be a pilot or have an airplane." - 8

"The impression improved when my cousin of a clear friendly tone took me in his Cessna 150 for a sightseeing flight over the Inn Valley. Everything was nice and smooth and friendly, and flying so easy. The view over both sides of the Alps suggested a direttissima between Salzburg, where I now lived, and Ferrari. I became a student pilot and I loved practicing in Salzburg-Bologna. That's how flying got a meaning." - 8

"Stay in your own house on the edge of the forest. Breakfast with Marlene. Fifteen minutes drive to Salzburg Airport, Kemetinger has already fired up the Golden Eagle, an hour later she sails into Bologna. Sante Ghedini picks me up. Two hours at Ferrari's circuit. Enzo Ferrari himself comes over from his office. We're going to Cavallino for lunch, I can do Polsk at the old man's (unfortunately very important). Another hour of testing. Off to Bologna. At half past five I walk in at Marlene's door, like someone who comes home from the office happily. To imagine that day with a scheduled airliner was impossible to fit in twice a six-hour drive: a horror." - Niki's routine

"A few years earlier I had been a hopelessly incompetent loser in high school, in my apprenticeship as a mechanic and then again at high school, and now I was playing the great analyst of Formula 1. I had a good sensorium in my butt, I could feel it Car lived, also in details." - 10

"I met Marlene in the summer of 1975. She was Curd Jürgens' girlfriend and as such the lady of the house at a party in Salzburg. She has a Spanish mother and an Austrian father, was born in Venezuela and mostly grew up there. She has a lot more Spanish than Austrian character. The name Niki Lauda meant absolutely nothing to her. Marlene was infinitely far away from racing and asked the most hair-raising questions, like a child. A few months later she definitely didn't marry the racing driver in me, she took that with her without realizing what she was getting into. As a racing driver you need naïve optimism ("nothing's going to happen to me anyway"), otherwise you wouldn't be able to get into the car at all, and Marlene was willing to believe in it just as I said she would. She was endlessly carefree, and before she knew she was right in the middle of the horror. I was 27, world champion and on my way to my second title. Before I got into the Ferrari on August 1, 1976 at the Nürburgring, Austrian journalists told me that the Reichsbrücke in Vienna had collapsed a few hours earlier. It was a strange feeling: that the biggest bridge in the city, in the whole country, could simply collapse in a second." - p11

"Frank Gardner in a Cortina Lotus had won. At the podium he put down the wreath and descended with tears in his eyes. He had just been told that Jim Clark had died in Hockenheim. Jim Clark was also my big idol, so that also affected me. What particularly bothered me about it was that it was caused by a technical defect, back then there weren't safety bolts in the rims, and if you had a puncture, the tire could jump off the rim. So Clark simply took a turn on the long straight in Hockenheim and pulled straight into the forest without it being his fault. That kept me busy for a long time." - p16

"First, there were these microscopic slivers of burned face shield (balaclava) that had been transplanted with the fresh skin I had developed an allergy to. He got 70 such things out of me in a three-day ordeal with tweezers, carefully treating everything with peppermint oil. The ears, or what was left of them, were raw flesh and painful beyond belief. Willy called the surgeon, who said: The rest of it will probably rot off as well, then the pain will be gone." Willy marched down to Lake Fuschi and dug up some roots, to which he said things like: That helped the Crusaders. As a result, I was able to sleep for the first time in three days, and for 15 hours, and two weeks later I had skin again over what was left of my ears. Then it happened incredibly quickly, also because I was so eager to return to normal life. I soon started running and strength training, and I noticed the progress every day." - p25

"Hannes was a good conversation partner in my euphoria for the future Lauda Air, which was already going through my head in 1977. He had an idea for the "style" that we wanted to develop, for our self-representation and our self-image. We talked about flying, about upcoming planes and an upcoming airline. No detail was too small for us, no fantasy too big. It "It was just fun to sand the contours of a vision. Hannes sketched a jumbo tail and painted a red L in it. This is what the logo could look like. No type of aircraft was better suited than the jumbo, because of the corresponding slant of the towering tail. However, since there was no company yet, the corporate design of the Lauda Air could initially only be applied to my crash helmet: a double red L, lightly scripted, on a white background." - p31

"In the years that followed, Hannes Rausch accompanied me to almost every Grand Prix. Of course there was also Bertl Wimmer. Bertl lived in my (Salzburg) area, worked as a salesman for motorcycles and mopeds for KTM and, through his enthusiasm for motor sports, came into contact with Walter Wolf and finally mine. Our common interests were motorcycling, flying and all kinds of nonsense, and by about 1975 we were friends. Ideally, I packed a team of four as a Grand Prix accompaniment in the Citation or the Lear Jet: Marlene and Messrs. Willy Dungl, Bert! Wimmer, Hannes Rausch (one for the body, one for the heart and one for the brain", at least according to Hannes' interpretation)." - p31

"I only passed the theory part of the exam on the second attempt in Braunschweig. For the practical part, I needed a long-range flight, so I shipped the flight instructor and examiner to the Lear in New York and then flew on to the US Grand Prix in Long Beach. Bernie Ecclestone was already waiting there, saying he urgently needed to go to Las Vegas. So I flew him there. Before I left, I flipped through the messages that Bernie had brought me from the hotel. I should urgently call Frau Maier, our housekeeper in Salzburg. In the phone box at the airport I was told: "An Buam ham S', an Buam ham S'." Our first child was born: Lukas." -p44-45

"Of course, I also drove a full Formula 1 season. When I came home from the Monaco Grand Prix, our kitchen was slightly damaged. Did the dogs behave like that?" I asked Mariene. "No," she said. I had a tantrum" She had her fit during the TV broadcast from Monaco when she saw Didier Pironi try to pass me at Mirabeau, riding on the back of my Brabham and missing my neck by six inches before slamming into the guardrail . Pironi's maneuver was so bloody stupid that you could get angry about it. But that wasn't why Marlene dismantled the kitchen. She was just so incredibly angry because she once again had to watch what she had been doing since the Nürburgring in 1976 knew exactly: That racing is idiotic. Everyone who takes part is idiots, and I, right in the middle, played a brilliant leading role: Congratulations!" and a kitchen box was due. When I got back into the car six weeks after the fire accident, she didn't stop me because she basically allows everyone every freedom, but she thought I was stupid. She thought the whole racing sport was stupid, our rituals, the rush, the heartlessness, and that you can cripple yourself. Marlene never again had a relaxed relationship with racing. My selfishness was strong enough not to let that deter me. I believed, and I do the same today, that in a partnership, too, the free development of the individual must be out of the question. If there isn't room for it, it's just not the right partnership." -p47-48

"Back then, I actually wore beige lace-up velvet trousers every day that had a burn hole over which Marlene had sewn blue fabric in the shape of a fish. I also wore a beige Niki sweater and the shoes painted by Hannes." - p51

"Gilles Villeneuve died in Zolder on May 8, 1982. I liked him for his charm and naturalness, admired his willingness to surrender unconditionally to sweet madness (which, however, had nothing to do with his death fall). In the last hours of his life I had two typical experiences with him. Thursday night at the hotel: I was about to go to bed and heard the flop-flop-flop-flop of a helicopter gone mad. It was pitch black and a searchlight scanned the area in front of the hotel, trying to sort out pylons and cables. The thing did land, it was Villeneuve's Agusta 109, a nice twin engine with retractable gear, Gilles had an immaculate Clarification: "I flew away from Nice when it was still quite light." The next day, first training, first ride. I happened to come out of box right behind Gilles and saw him in the allerer. flew out of the first curve. When we stood together later, I asked him out of genuine interest why a person would throw themselves out in the very first corner of a training session. He said: "Niki, I can't do it different." There was something in him, that simply does not allow him to drive in a calculating or cautious manner, no matter what the track (at the beginning of a training session, the ideal line is not yet sanded clean, that only becomes apparent after a number of laps) That was the last thing I heard from him heard: "I can't help it." - p61-62

"Now, sitting still on the plane, sadness, worry, anger and the burning uncertainty, of course also self-pity seeped into me: What had I done that I had to be the center of such an oversized disaster? In Kennedy I was finished, physically and mentally. I trotted to the PanAm counter, handed over my ticket. The Man looked at it, looked at me, made two dashes through, gave me the ticket and said Stand By". I hadn't bothered with the ticket before, no- had no idea I was stand by to Washington. When the PanAm man said "stand by", I didn't give a damn for the first time in six days. I thought I did like me Out of. Tilt Then again: I have to go to Washington. But how? should i cry shouldn't I cry? I was remote controlled, but the helmsman was not at the post I turned and walked back into the hall and squatted down. I couldn't do more. As if I had been beaten and can no longer hit back. I stared at the ticket without any realization. I almost passed out, I didn't care, I couldn't take it anymore. I would sit here, just sit there I couldn't sleep either. Except for race fans, no dog in America knows me, but now everything was different. - p139

"I flew from London to Salzburg to see Marlene and the children. Marlene was still completely distraught. The ten days that had passed since the crash hadn't lessened her shock. Lukas also showed concern, only Mathias was quite relaxed, listened to a lot and said he was going to play tennis." - p149 (about the plane crash)

"Lukas then came out with the fact that jokes about it were already circulating at school. For example, if you don't love your wife anymore, then send them with the Lauda Air."" -p150

"Niki Lauda's wife loves the neighbors was the headline in August 1989. With a photo (not of the neighbors on Ibiza, but of me), the report took up half the front page. The lover was not only described ("he is 33, tall, blond, blue-eyed"), but also called by name. It was the partner, now husband, of Marlene's sister Renate and one of our closest friends So they didn't bother with even a minimum of research. Since Renate was pregnant at the time, we were able to win the lawsuit against "Bild", which is otherwise hardly possible in such cases in Germany. By and large, the tabloid writes what it wants." - p240

"When the first journalist somewhere heard that I had an illegitimate child, he confronted me about it. "That's right," I said, but it doesn't help anyone if it's in the newspaper, not the child, not the mother, not the father and his family." right Okay, said the journalist and didn't write a word. Over time, others found out about it, too, and I said to them: 80 Yes, it's true, but anyway, he's known about it for a long time. He doesn't write it because he's helping me with it." They didn't write it either, and at some point quite a lot of people knew about it, at least beyond the narrow circle. None of them developed the ambition to make a particularly nice headline with the private life of Niki Lauda. Until at some point a German writer from wind and put it boldly in his newspaper, then followed short confirmations in the Austrian newspapers, but Christoph was already in kindergarten age. That's how my mother experienced it, for example. In her slightly crumpled Schönbrunner German she said: Niiiki, did that have to be?"- and never a word of it again." - p241-242

"Christoph is a bright fifteen-year-old growing up in Vienna and with whom I have little contact. We see each other about three times a year, so of course no sensible father-son relationship can develop from that. I only have one family, it stays that way, married or divorced, it doesn't matter. I have a bad conscience that it happened," and I can't get rid of it either. The situation presents itself as unsolvable in the sense of a result that could make everyone happy. I don't want to cut myself in half, and I can't see a middle ground that I could reasonably walk. Christoph grew up completely differently than the children under Marlene's and my influence. I feel the difference very strongly, but of course it's okay." -p242

"Marlene is my life person. She has uncanny strength and security, and she rests in the midst of a chaos she beautifully crafts." -p242

"I had lived with a very disciplined young lady for seven years and married Marlene within a few months. I didn't take it that terribly seriously, I just wanted to know what it's like: being married, and Marlene was exactly the kind of person who could understand it well." - p243

"When I confessed the illegitimate child to her, she was hurt but decided that if I wanted that to happen, nothing about our family should change. Of course I wanted. If we did eventually divorce, she demanded, "I'll have the kids, the dogs, the camera." So we continued this weird kind of marriage that we were both comfortable with. A relationship can only be based on how two people understand each other, and we got along well. I remained stubbornly focused on my egocentric life, racing, company, and Marlene accepted that. Normally you can only choose between family and freedom, I could choose as much as I wanted from both. I could lean my head back when I felt like it and when I felt fit I could run away and do whatever I wanted. Everyone knows that I wasn't a saint anyway. But even there it depends on what is ultimately the case remains. It's easy for me because I can decide for myself in this constellation. We do not need to discuss the responsibility for the three. If Marlene pulls the lace and says, what now?, I'm there immediately. Just: She has never pulled the lace. I know exactly the limits. And if the boundaries need to be shifted, then we'll shift them against me too. But since Marlene gives me such freedom, thank God, I also live it. But when push comes to shove, she always wins. Just as we got married, we divorced in 1991. It didn't matter and it didn't change anything. The official in Thalgau asked about the reason for the divorce. ..There isn't one, I want a divorce." "It's impossible without a reason." ..What could be a reason, for example?" ..If someone wasn't at home for six months." I haven't been home for six months." ..Are you sure?" Yes, of couse." "The marriage is divorced." On leaving, Marlene said: "The children, the dogs, the camera." I was flabbergasted. It had worked the way she always said it would. And nothing changed. Of course I took all the steps to protect her, and also signed the house in Salzburg over to her." -p244

"For five years only the very closest circle knew about it. Marlene wanted to spare the children who went to school in Hof near Salzburg the public discussion of our private lives. So we kept quiet" - p244

"Accordingly, it turned out that Lukas had nothing in mind with cars and motorcycles. He just got comfortable with cycling, that was all. I resented how he grew up with no technical spark. I had to do something. When he was about thirteen, I bought him a small motocross bike for his size. He was super excited about it, but for two months he just started the thing up in the garage and went wrrrrmmm, wrrrrmmm. No, he doesn't want to drive, he doesn't want to. One Saturday the whole family was sitting at the Schloßwirt in Anif, it was a wonderful day. I said to Lukas, let's drive home quickly, I'll show you something. On the lawn in front of our house I put him on the front of the motorcycle, sat on the back, grabbed the handlebars, showed him how to use the gas and clutch. But he only stopped in the middle of the handlebars and wasn't willing to move his hand towards the accelerator. So we drove around in the meadow, two on a small bike. It seemed like a solid hour before he finally parted his hands enough to get the gas and clutch. I suddenly jumped off. He roared like crazy, made a slow giant arc, and I had to run alongside. In the end I had to catch him because he couldn't get his feet on the ground properly. Very slowly, in first gear, he trembled through the meadow and scolded me. Anyway, he was on his way. - p246

"The next time I came to Salzburg, Lukas said: So what?" Come down with me. I'm going to go motocross." "Come down." He dressed carefully. Leather outfit, boots, fall home, the whole fuss. I stood there bored and waited for him to shake his way out. He jumped on his motorcycle and sped out of the garage on the back wheel - an image I'll never forget become. I ran to Mathias.,,What's the matter?" The little brother then told me that the day after our first trip, Lukas had gone down to the farm boys on his motorbike, and he had driven with them until he could, becoming more and more ambitious, and in the end totally stupid." - p247

"With Mathias, the result was the same, only the way to get there was much easier. He wouldn't have gotten up on his own, so I put him on the bike, said that's the gas, that's the clutch, he said yes, I know. He drove away, made a detour, came back and drove unsharpened to the garage door. ,,Are you dumb?" "I don't know where the brake is." He was fearless. Full throttle from the first second. And his brother was such a protégé. Anyway, they started riding motocross together" - p247

"If you really aspire to a motocross career, you should start just after walk school. So it was by no means too early when Lukas and Mathias, aged 14 and 12 respectively, asked for decent motocross machines for further training. Marlene had a fit, but I told her to let her go: Motocross is the hardest thing there is. You will never get ahead. There's no money to be made, the sport is just exhausting, dusty and dirty, they'll soon stop doing it." Marlene accepted and I bought the boys two 125 Hondas. They drive it really well and there is no longer any difference between the two. They are equally wild and equally good. I hope that it doesn't turn into a motocross career, and that suggests that they're jumping around like crazy out of sheer jokes and frolics. But they lack the seriousness of cardio, running and weight training every day, so I believe I think the racing bacillus will eventually suffocate in the eternal dust of motocross. Marlene has now fully embraced the kids' hobby, drives the machines back and forth, checks in between Barcelona and Ibiza." - p248

"My mother survived him by eighteen years. I didn't see her very often either, but there was always a bond and affection, maybe there was also a hidden longing for the family that had been lost so to speak. Her last days were moving. She had cancer, only wanted therapy up to a point, and then no more. Brother Florian and I took turns at her bedside for the last week and never left her alone. They were important days for me and for this last remnant of family. I think after all our mother understood that she had sons who loved her. Now only Florian is left. We had always had little contact, but after the death of our mother we became closer again. He lives his life completely differently from me, hasn't done anything in all his 46 years that I would call work, but that's by no means criticism, on the contrary, I admire him for it. He studied but didn't finish, did this and that, was always happy, and because of them Family circumstances he could also afford it." - p250

"I never had a problem with my appearance after the accident. problem That's what I look like, that's it. I therefore only had the medical technically necessary operations on the eyes and ears chen, but no plastic surgery. James Hunt, my 1976 World Cup rival, said the accident was the best thing that could have happened to me: "You finally have a face to look at." - p253

"In the meantime, an Austrian brewery had expressed interest in providing me with a Gösser"-Kapperl, green of course. Practical and unsentimental as I am, I thought five million schillings is a lot of money these days, so why shouldn't I have one green Kappl marching around?” I really didn't have any major concerns and made a preliminary contract. Then I showed up at the company with the green Kapperl on a trial basis. The employees were stunned. They thought I wasn't quite tight anymore. Lauda can't wear a green cap, he can't have any other cap but this red thing, and the fact that it says Parmalat isn't an advertising message, it just happens to be written on Lauda's cap. Of course, I have so much respect for symbols and the opinions of the employees that I allow myself to be taught. So I canceled the Gösser lecture with difficulty, wept briefly and violently over the beautiful coal and politely put the red cap back on. It will probably stay that way, I think." P254

"I had just come back from Miami, with the flu, overworked, overtired, came to the Viennese apartment next to the Hotel Sacher and suffered a heart attack. I fell to the ground, unable to move. With the utmost effort, I crawled to the phone, but who should I call? Emergency call, ambulance? It was the time of my worst argument with the AUA, and even in my fear of death I couldn't give them the triumph that the red Kappl was being carried out of the Sacher-Haus on a stretcher. So Willy Dungl, but he wasn't there. I asked for a call back, extremely urgent. Meanwhile, still on the ground, I scribbled notes for Marlene, account numbers and so on, farewell. After hours I think Dungl finally called. I'm having a heart attack, I said, please take me to the hospital discreetly. Willy and his wife picked me up, took me out of the house and straight to the general hospital, where on the Cardiac station everything was already prepared. First check: everything ok. healthy heart, as in the last pilot examination. Infinite relief, however wrong with unchanged Pains. So it could only be a misaligned vertebra, a pinched nerve, which is Dungl's specialty anyway (actually it was the fifth thoracic vertebra, I think). I'll take you straight to Gars, where I can treat you properly," said Dungl. I was dragged to Willy's car in the hospital yard. It came to me like a rocket from the subconscious Remembering Willy Dungl's car skills. ..Who's driving?" I asked, suddenly wide awake. I'll drive," said Dungl. I whimpered, "Let me drive, Willy."- p272-3

"The greatest driver personality over my 25-year span has been Ayrton Senna. The strongest, the best, innovative, extremely sensitive as a driver and as a person. He dealt with racing perfectly and with unbelievable intensity. He had everything under control and was creative in all his ideas. He was warm-hearted and friendly and inspired me as a person, although his religiosity was completely alien to me" - p291

"At the time of the 1993 Spanish Grand Prix, I tried to lure him to Ferrari. I met him in his Barcelona hotel room and told him how great it was to immerse himself in the Ferrari myth. But he didn't give a damn about myth and said he was only interested in a car that he could win races in. We didn't even get to talk about money, and in the end he probably drove for Williams almost free of charge in 1994 because he basically had to buy Prost out." - p292

Hope you enjoyed the read! When I finish the next book I'll try to get it out. Also tagging @f1yogurt

#niki lauda #classic f1 #f1 #niki lauda quotes

[whatsabriard]

Watch With Me: Hart to Hart 1x01

Episode Title: Pilot Original Air Date: 8-25-1979 Important Notes: This 2-hour Pilot episode did a great job of setting the series up, and introducing the viewer to Jennifer and Jonathan and the entity that is their powerhouse marriage. However, the show's internal canon was all over the place especially re: the early years of their marriage. So scenes discussing Jennifer's family and wedding should be taken with a grain of salt because they will all be ret-conned by the end of the series. This episode is the only time we hear the Hart's special song - Now, by the Carpenters - and the only episode missing its iconic theme song. (Mark Snow, I could kiss you on your mouth for that theme song.)

Quote of the Ep (tie): "If I rolled over right now and tried to make love to you, would you call the police?" Only if I thought you needed help.

"This is going to be your first time, isn't it?" To be fair, not exactly.

Right off the bat, they try to insinuate that Jonathan is not very involved with running Hart Industries, something that will change drastically. I mean, Deanne has been his secretary for a month and has never seen him?

"They found the missing Rembrandt" - were they trying to Thomas Crown this?

Jonathan might want to take Jennifer's mother out for her birthday - the mom that has been dead since Jennifer was a child. Oopsie.

They call the spa where they blackmail people "The Golden Goose" lmao. Smooth.

Jennifer is doing a series of articles on the nature of macho. She does intensive research - she's known for it. GASP.

I have no idea what Max was making in the blender with raw eggs and a dash of whiskey? And Jonathan gave it to Freeway? why god.

PS Freeway's actor's name was Charlie and he was 12 when the series ended. He's a Löwchen and my ass is on a waiting list for one with a friend in San Diego who just started in the breed a few years ago.

I have to warn you. I don't watch this show for plot. That would be stupid of me and you.

A Health Farm. what a weird concept. So 70s/80s.

Jill St John dressed as a baby during "regression therapy". Future wife of Robert Wagner, too, 11 years down the road.

"Shouldn't she be in school?" Jonathan Hart is a sarcastic little bitch sometimes.

18 minutes into the episode and we get our first look at Jennifer, racing to the Golden Goose in her Mercedes convertible which apparently does not have its signature "Hart" license plate.

"Even as a child I was all thumbs." It must have been painful for you to handle a yo-yo. Guess what. Jennifer is also a sarcastic little bitch sometimes.

Doing an enemies-to-lovers mini arc was pretty inspired. Do it tonight, bungalow 10. They wanted the viewer to believe Jennifer was an assassin.

This chick is teaching water aerobics in heels.

"Templeton, you got nerves."

His real name is Jonathan Hart - IT SEEMS HE FANCIES HIMSELF A DETECTIVE AS WELL.

He showed up for an undercover stint with his clothing custom made for his persona. That attention to detail is what makes Mr Hart better than your average mega-rich wanna-be detective.

"Apologize? You? Whatever for?" *smack*

Only the bravest men wear a white onesie. It's the confidence that pulls it off.

This lady smuggled alcohol into her room in her perfume bottles.

"This is going to cost me money?" LOL omg

One of the first scenes RJ and Stef filmed together was the long scene in bed. They nailed it. Chemistry everywhere all over the place.

"Your feet are cold." Compared to who, your fulsome friend? "She threw me out." No taste broad.

Like ok it's nice that they're all touchy and kissy in bed and stuff but the most important thing is that they talk. They really like each other. They're best friends. (*cough*cobert*cough*ihaveatype*cough*)

IRRIDESCENT NYLONS AND A UNITARD.

on this blog we try not to discuss natalie wood and the whole..you know...thing. but she has a cameo in this episode and it would be irresponsible not to mention it. we're like 2 years from The Incident, anyway.

Sylvia is wearing a bathing suit that has a hood? FASHION.

Stefanie Powers did her own hair and makeup for this show. So.

"How goes our first day?" This has all been one day? Jesus.

Jennifer's at a health farm doing exercising all day and she's laying in bed doing sit-ups. Psycho.

Then again, Max brought burgers for dinner so.

In this entire ass office of books for these supposed psychiatrists and they just happen to have a book by Jennifer.

ding dong sylvia is dead.

this episode has the first, last and only time Jennifer threatens to withhold sex as a way to control Jonathan. It's also one of the very few times they bicker, which was never a good look for them. The only other time was at the end of season five when the powers that be wanted one of them to cheat on the other, those absolute FUCKERS.

"You're thinking that if you kiss me I'll get all mushy."

"OK, what the hell. Let's stay. So we'll die together. Max will probably bury us."

JONATHAN. WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE RIGHT AWAY OR I SWEAR TO GO I'M BECOMING A NUN.

An entire scene of Jennifer and Jonathan "fighting" while flirting with each other.

award winning acting work by Jennifer, who can actually cry on cue.

i want ya'll to know that this is the first of many times that Jennifer is hypnotized on this show. she's getting drowsy...very drowsy. i'm p sure jonathan is only hypnotized once.

I have seen this episode a LOT but I do not remember why jonathan is putting masking tape under his jacket. wtf is that. he also put a wad of cash in the glove box. i told you i don't pay attention to plot.

Jennifer under hypnosis is talking about how much she loves jonathan and they have that love theme playing under it. So sad that we never hear it again.

oh. he's putting the tape on the glass to cut the window and get into the office. derp.

jonathan is using a stethoscope to get into a safe-locked door. that's almost as brilliant as dr mike using an apple corer for Brian's brain surgery.

these bad guys have this whole hypnotism set-up to get their marks to drive over the cliff by the flashing yellow lights. Meaning they've done this more than once and nobody got suspicious? Everyone is just like "guess people like to die there" and went on with their business?

this entire fight scene with the amazon warrior in purple and jennifer is all "hey stop messing around and get in the car we gotta GO."

they're at a poker game in the middle east. there are camels.

this DOG though. i love him.

at the end they're detouring into Africa about a sabotaged diamond mine, hinting that they purposely get involved in their cases. Fortunately for all of us, they end up just stumbling on them most of the time which is way more fun. and insane.

anyway, as per usual the episode ends with making out. a fine tradition.

the end.

Important unimportant detail: Jonathan Hart Towers is also the location of the office of Remington Steele. So I firmly believe that at some point Jennifer wrote a piece about Laura Holt and her firm, specifically years later when she can spill the tea about Remington Steele not even existing and that she had to make him up to get work.

Important unimportant detail #2: my mom's friends used to jokingly call her jennifer hart in the 80s. they were not wrong.

it tickles me beyond all that is holy.

#hart to hart #jennifer hart #jonathan hart #watch with me #stefanie powers #rj wagner #80s tv #nostalgic tv #life ruiners the original recipe

[superfluousspork]

Job hunting

Okay so I'm gonna treat my Tumblr as an actual blog for a second: 

 So I've pretty much been flirting with burnout at work for a while now, and I've finally hit a wall where I'm pretty sure my health is being effected, so I'm starting a job hunt (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ 

I know I have "job skills"; I've "jobbed" quite a bit in my time, but trying to distill what I've done over the past few years into something marketable is *not fun*. Additionally it doesn't help that my job goals are literally *something that is not [current job]* and pays the same or better. 

 When I stop to think about what I'd like to do with my life, the escapist part of my brain kicks in and is like "sign on to be a crewmember of a cargo ship and travel the world" or "become a park ranger and have *hiking trip, the job*" or "finally look into getting that pilots license", all of which are, I suppose, doable, but like would require a bit of retooling of my current situation. 

 Ultimately, I'd like to do something that allows me to have the time and money to live a life outside of work, to pursue my interests and actually have enough energy to do that. It feels like a tall order. So anyways, completely daunted at the prospect of selling myself as an employee. I want to be not broke and somewhat happy. Like I said - tall order. 

 Opening a cafe / bookstore sounds nice. But is that what I want? I saw how much effort it took my cousin to start a business; he and his wife practically lived there. Not to mention I've never done anything like that. But at least it would be intentional. I got into my current career field to please my parents. 

Doing something for myself instead would be better, wouldn't it? Can I achieve happiness in a cubicle? I think I've sold myself the idea of life being a grand adventure and I haven't quite let that idea die despite letting it lie dormant. 

I want to surround myself with people that see the world the same way. Most of my coworkers are miserable. It's contagious. A bookstore / coffeeshop wouldn't be the most original idea in the world, but something like that, with an apartment above it and maybe a back lot with a garden would be nice. I'm daydreaming now. I'd better get back to job hunting. 

 If you made it to here, thanks for listening. I'm probably going to be blogging like this more often.

#max speaks #blog entry #I kinda forgot you could use tumblr as an actual blog for a minute #job hunting

[danniburgh]

Evergreen Intrusion (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

Summary: You never knew what happened or why it did; at nights, when you wrapped yourself around his body and he held you in place so you wouldn’t slip away from him, you talked about it, always coming to the same conclusion right before falling asleep. It was real.

Word count: +8.2k

Warnings: angst, hints of grief, smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), this is my attempt at magical realism, bear with me.

A/N: okay guys, this took me over 2 months to finish, i left it incomplete bc sex with frankie intimidated me but i sat today and said "youre gonna get done bitch" and it did, with major changes, but it did. anyway, thanks <3 and i wanna thank @mouthymandalorian​ because since the start i ranted everything to her and she read it in april and said “its good bitch” and wow, i love her so much i wanna cry

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // playlist // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

moodboard by me // gifs: @pajamasecrets and @conveniently-available

Many years later, when Frankie thought of the smell of the thick fog making contact with the grass, petrichor, is called, he would recall the time he spent with you on that place, in that time, and he would remember the eerie aura that you had carried with you during your stay, you glowed. It wasn’t like the feeling the rain gave him when he heard it. It was something else, something he couldn’t name, even decades after it happened.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” you sighed out, looking around you and seeing nothing but thick high pine trees.

Your feet ached because of how long you two had been walking together; Frankie decided the previous day that as you both had your weekend off, maybe some hiking would do you good. He had found a location he liked three and a half hours away from the racket and hustle of the city; he had driven you both in and guided you both inside. The air inside the forest was chilly, the ambient was silent, and at the height you were currently in, a thin layer of fog was roaming and settling right above your heads.

The view was breathtaking, though. The trees made a shelter high above your bodies, the leaves and tweaks and small bushes under your feet were soft, almost mushy, the moss around the tree trunks adorned them in different, formless patterns that you could make out if you were close enough to them, and if you touched them, they whispered the secrets of their host.

It was a weird time in your relationship with Frankie, he had just finished his therapy sessions and he had just recovered his pilot’s license, but he could still get lost into himself at times, he could still sit silent in a room full of people, thinking and thinking and thinking.

He had changed, the Frankie you knew and loved had changed since Santiago had practically dragged him to Colombia for a job. And when they came back, Santiago sent to you pieces of a man, poorly glued together.

Helping Frankie re-build himself was a challenge in itself, first you had to help him find himself among the mess that he was when he came back home. And slowly you had to help cleanse himself from the metaphorical dirt he had carried with him, dirt that was so embedded into his skin; under his nails, behind his ears, entangled in his hair, between his fingers, under his feet, that you had found yourself taking off time from work, and basically life to help him scrub it all off.

All to aid him become himself again. Not lost time. Completely worth it. Because when you had finished helping him, he had looked at you, deep in the eyes, and he had thanked you in the best way he knew how.

But he could still get lost into himself at times.

“No, we are not lost, babe,” Frankie’s voice was low, he was trying to get the map on his hand in some other direction to locate himself.

“Frankie, we are lost,” your hand dropped to his shoulder and he raised his eyes to you, his gaze glistening with the soft light that shone through the pine branches that hovered feet above you, making them look like fine pieces of dried amber, almost hypnotizing.

“Okay yeah, I have no idea where we are,” he sounded resigned to admit it, his shoulders dropped as his head moved so he could take your surroundings in, taking his cap off, brushing his curls back and putting it back on. His eyes for a second got fixated on something far away and you tried to follow the direction his gaze was going, finding nothing but trees, dirt and bushes. His head turned slowly back to you and he left out a sigh when he saw you smile at him.

“What?” Frankie muttered, you bit your lip as you saw his preoccupied quirk, his eyes were trying to find some reassurance in yours, as if he thought you had an answer to a question he had yet to ask.

“We can always walk back from where we came, don’t we?” you suggested, shrugging lightly, trying to get Frankie to loosen up a bit. If he started to freak out, then you knew everything had gone to shit. And you didn’t want that.

Frankie looked at you and he looked behind you at the path you had come from, considering the suggestion.

“I mean, yeah,” his eyes fixated again on something or somewhere and then his brow furrowed, you followed his eyes and yet again, you found nothing but trees, “I jus–what the fuck?” you widened your eyes.

“Frankie?” your voice was as thin and disperse as the fog above you and it seemingly didn’t reach Frankie’s ears, because you had to find your air and put it all in your diaphragm to almost shout at him “Frankie!”

He looked around him slowly, his brown eyes were roaming around trying to locate something, anything and his worried stance and his shocked face made your stomach churn in something closer to fear than expectation.

“I can’t find the way we came from,” he whispered, and you saw the fog slowly turn into a transparent arm and reach to his mouth, eating his voiced words. Delightful, the fog said.

“Don’t play with me,” you pleaded, shivering as you felt as well the fog’s arm feel out the confines of your mouth, tasting your words, not liking them and spitting them on the floor.

Frankie looked at you, his eyes telling you he wasn’t lying, his brows were almost touching each other and his mouth was open in bewilderment, he shook his head slowly a few times and you felt your legs flutter and a heavy weight fall onto your shoulders.

“Look for it,” you mouthed, Frankie saw you breathing heavily and he rushed to you, he dropped his backpack to the floor. His hands on your body felt electrifying. His touch was heavy with preoccupation, his face was quirked in confusion as he guided your breaths in and out, in and out, in and out.

Once the air entered your lungs and exited them as food for the trees around you he tried again to look for the narrowed path you two had walked into the forest.

“C’mon, I think is this way,” he pointed in a random direction and you whined. The fog’s arm rejected it as well, and it fell in front of your feet; you looked at it and found out why the fog didn’t like it, it was stale, incorporeal, bland.

“Are you sure?” your question felt like a prayer and a plea and a beg. Frankie nodded. He wasn’t but he nodded.

Frankie took your hand and turned around to put on his backpack. But the backpack was gone and the ground where it was thrown onto before was ruffling about it.

“Fuck,” he swore and brushed a hand on his forehead to wipe the thin layer of fog that was clinging to his skin, mimicking sweat. “let’s go,” you nodded and gripped his hand as hard as you could, your other hand gripped the shoulder strap of your own backpack and for a second you glanced at the space on the ground that had eaten Frankie’s and it growled softly.

You and Frankie walked for what it felt like hours upon hours upon hours. And you got nowhere. 

At that point the forest looked like a carbon copy of itself, the moss was showing the same secrets and you started to be sad, and angry, and scared, and Frankie noticed and the forest noticed.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Frankie muttered to you, you felt an ever so known and unwelcomed sting in your throat, “I’m so sorry,” his arms found you and he held you close to his chest, he kept muttering apologies. For getting you two lost, for choosing that place, for wanting to hike, for not giving you the time you needed, for making you lose a piece of yourself in the works of putting him together. He was sorry. And you felt it. And the forest felt it too.

You cried, as everything felt like you weren’t going home anytime soon.

And Frankie held you, because he was the only piece of home you had left, and you were the only piece of home he had left.

Your tears escaped your eyes and the fog’s arm feasted on them, and you let it. It was the only delicious thing you could offer to it, anyway.

You didn’t know for how long he had been embracing you and letting you damp his shirt with the tears that the fog’s arm didn’t choose to eat when you heard it.

But you didn’t hear it, you felt it entering your head, roaming around your ears and getting itself settled in your mind. 

A whisper from the forest. It sounded like a tree’s secret, but sadder, needier, stronger, bigger, heavier, darker and lighter.

“I wanna go home,” you whispered out, to him. To Frankie.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he broke the embrace and his hands slid to cup your face, he brought you to him slowly and took your lips in his. 

He kissed you with gentle desperation. His mouth moved at the rhythm of an unheard, newly made up song, chordless, lyricless, soundless; his grasp on your head felt like the silk of the sheets you never lied on, the sound of his tongue sliding into your mouth was lewd and warm and happy and there. You grasped his wrists and held onto him as if he were your home. Not letting you go. Not letting him go. No one was going anywhere.

You kissed for what it felt like hours upon hours upon hours and when he stopped kissing you; you chased his mouth and kissed him again and the songless song began again, and the never owned softness stayed in there, and the ever so present warmness became warmer.

When the air of your lungs faded into the leaves and the pinecones screamed at you and the moss stopped whispering their host’s secrets at the surprise of you kissing for so long, you stopped.

And Frankie’s big, warm, brown eyes felt ever more present, as if they had been there for years and years.

He smiled at you. And you were sure the thin fog that invaded the space faded away because of it.

“You wanna try again?” he asked softly, and you nodded, replying to his smile with one of yours.

So Frankie grabbed your hand again, and you two started walking in whatever direction you two felt like walking.

Soon enough you would be home.

“Oh” Frankie let out, tightening the grip on your hand, you looked at him with anticipation and question in your eyes. His gaze seemed to be fixated on something and you, yet again, followed his eyes, not really expecting to find anything. But you were surprised at what your gaze encountered.

“Wow,” you sighed out. You felt Frankie's eyes on your face and you turned to see him. His eyes bewildered, his smile giddy, contagious, child-like. His. It was him.

“Shall we?” he asked. You nodded enthusiastically, giving him the brightest smile he thought he had ever seen in all his years on the earthly plane.

You had found a house.

A small, old-looking house.

The outside was battered, the pass of the life’s years had darkened its wooden walls, made them look like wrinkles in an old person’s face, the small, squared windows on the front were foggy and covered with white, fine dust and an even thinner layer of mist, it had a small rot-wooden deck, moss and mold and a bright green vine covered the steps. From the spot you were standing at, you could see the way the climbing plants and the secret teller moss adorned the single slope roof. 

Tiny droplets of water that had grasped and clung tenaciously onto the roof edge from the fog that had faded into the sky were succumbing to the gravity and fell onto the floor, sounding like some form of a song you were sure you knew but never heard.

As you two walked hand in hand, you noticed the open door. The house felt old; it felt weak; it felt blight, yet so warm, so bright, so inviting, so welcoming.

So you entered.

Frankie let out a soft gasp at the sight.

The inside was even more tainted.

The walls were partially covered with the remains of a rotten, tattered, poorly kept wallpaper, the color had faded and the only noticeable feature of it was the flower print that seemed to adorn it after years and years of exposure to everything around you.

The wooden floors looked long-lived; some of the wood tiles were cracking, some of them looked sturdy, some others were rotten and there were a few places around where there were no tiles and it was just wet, dark dirt.

You looked at Frankie with a smile adorning your face and he was looking at the ceiling; you looked up as well and saw the wooden beams above you, angled and darkened, some weathered and damp, some robust and dry. They looked relaxed, yet hefty. Soft yet firm. Some of the climbing plants you had seen creeping on the roof had crawled and slithered and found themselves at home in the beams.

It was beautiful.

“C’mon,” you tugged at Frankie's hand and pulled him further inside. He followed close. The first room, the biggest, had on one side a worn out, misted loveseat in the middle of the space and a stone fireplace that the time and the weather and the forest and the fog had taken care of turning green. On the other side there was a small table, topped with fallen leaves from the climbing plants, a wood stove right below a window and a legged stained sink with a copper faucet.

You bit your lip and narrowed your eyes, thinking.

“What?” Frankie asked when he saw your face, you smiled and walked towards the sink, with him following you, with your free hand you reached the faucet handle and twisted it. The pipes started moaning in protest after being awakened so rudely and without notice and then, clear water started pouring from it.

Frankie barked out a laugh. And you smiled at him, your eyes bright and shiny as if the moon was stationed inside them.

You got rid of your backpack and left it on the floor while Frankie washed his hands and cupped them to gather water and drink it, after he finished he left them under the faucet and nodded his chin to them. You leaned down and drank from his hands. The water tasted sweet; it tasted like rain; it tasted like a summer night breeze, and the early days of winter before a snowstorm. It tasted like home.

Frankie’s skin was warm at the touch, despite the outside's brisk temperature. When you finished drinking, your throat happy and satiated, you smiled at him as he twisted the handle to stop the stream of water. You wiped your mouth dry with the sleeve of your shirt and your eyes meandered around the space, taking in the colors of the wood, the small crevices of the teared wallpaper, the way the window adorned herself with tiny specks of dust that formed a thin yet thick white cover all over the glass, and the way Frankie seemed to fit like a puzzle piece in the middle of the room. As if he was part of it. As if he was meant to stand in the middle of the rotten wooden floor, among the fallen leaves of the climbing plants that never seemed to die.

“You’re really pretty,” Frankie muttered, his brown yet amber eyes glistened with the anticipation of what was about to come but you didn’t know yet. The great something-about-to-happen. You smiled at him and his chest fluttered, swollen with the extensive, deep love he had for you.

“Let’s go see the rest,” you suggested, Frankie nodded as he saw your voice eagerly come out of your lips in crescent waves of light, and smiled back at you when you took his hand again, intertwining his fingers with yours, sending his spine a few shocks of loving electricity.

You walked to the center of the big room that functioned as both an impressively functioning kitchen and a rotten living room and at the end, on the wall, there were two doors, both medium tall, dark, mahogany doors, one of them closed, the other halfway open.

Frankie followed you as you tugged gently at his hand, you walked first to the one closed and the doorknob felt like room temperature butter when you twisted it open, it was a plain and simple bathroom, the three essentials, a misty, foggy, dusty mirror on the wall and a misty, foggy, dusty window in front of you, you smiled to yourself when you saw the way the climbing plant was creeping its way inside the room from a little crack on the upper left corner of the window.

Walking back you stepped towards the halfway open door and you pushed it open with two fingers. The hinges howled softly as the door moved to the side and let you enter through it. You scoffed as you saw a double, tubular bed in the middle of the room, the green bedding seemed plush and cozy, it looked like a giant sheet of that secret telling moss that gave you the warm welcome when you were walking towards the house.

Directly next to the bed there was a bigger window, still covered and hidden by the dust and the fog and the white mist that apparently covered every single glass surface around the house, as if it was its job, but it still let the light come through to the room, illuminating it with the smiles of the little sunlight that the trees allowed to enter their space.

In front of the bed there was a dusty mirror, the frame of it was bigger than the glass but fitting, and it reflected the tiny, thin, imperceptible sun rays that the window happily let through.

The room felt colder than the bigger space outside and you didn’t like it.

“Let’s take that outside, it feels like a freezer here,” Frankie said and you nodded. Both of you walked and each one grabbed an edge of the bedding. You looked at Frankie with your eyebrows raised and asked without asking if he was feeling the same thing around your hands.

The sheet felt like velvet and moss and the single petal of a rose that fell on a table when you put its owner on a small vase, it felt soft as the whispers of love you would give Frankie when he slipped inside of you, soft as the whispers of the forest you had heard earlier, but happier, relaxed, lovelier.

Frankie then looked through the window and he narrowed his eyes a bit.

“I think the sun is about to set, baby,” he mumbled, you agreed with him without looking at the window “come on, we have to rest.”

You two walked outside the room with the thick sheet on your hands and let it fall carelessly on the floor of the rotten living room, between the tattered loveseat and the green stone fireplace.

You felt Frankie’s hand leave yours and find its place on your waist, soothing you even when you didn’t need to be soothed. Caressing you, knowing you always wanted to be caressed.

You turned your head to see him and he reached in to grab your lips in his, his mouth tasted sweet and earthy, his lips told you what he was thinking without saying it and you turned around so your bodies could talk to each other.

“I love you,” he inserted in your mouth the words without having to break the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the curls that escaped eagerly from his cap and your skin felt like it was melting and mixing with his, your scents got to know each other again and for a brief, brief moment, it felt like you were floating several inches from the floor.

A soft crack above you interrupted your kiss and you and Frankie turned your heads up to follow the sound, one of the ceiling beams was moving, slowly. Frankie moved you gently, pushing your waist and you stood there, watching how the middle of it cracked itself open from two different points. The soft noises the wood made as it opened itself sounded like an egg hatching, you narrowed your eyes when the cracking stopped and then, a single, almost perfectly squared piece of the ceiling beam fell to the floor, landing next to your feet with a soft thud.

Frankie let go of your waist and leaned down to pick the piece of wood up with curious eyes.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered to himself and to you.

“What?” you questioned, narrowing your eyes in amusement at his soft expression and his small smile.

Frankie then reached inside the beam and slowly pulled out a thin, small purple flower.

“Oh,” you gasped, covering your mouth with one hand, Frankie, ever so delicately finished taking out the flower from the wood with everything and roots and admired it closer, smiled to himself and then gave it to you.

“Una flor para otra flor,” (a flower for another) he whispered and you both chuckled, taking the small flower from his fingers.

“So fucking cheesy,” you teased, reaching to his cheek to cup his face with your other hand, brushing softly over his patchy beard with your thumb, taking in the sight of your boyfriend’s face, the dimmed light that the windows allowed to get through them gave him an aura of safety and his skin seemed like it was sparkling.

You looked down to the small flower, still cupping his face, and you smiled at the way the purple petals danced on the stem, stirring as if the wey stretching after a long while dormant and encapsulated inside the wood of the beam. You brought it to your nose and the petals brushed the tip of it as you inhaled softly the scent of its core.

The flower smelled like the garden of your childhood home, like the perfume that your grandma used. It smelled like the mixed berries Frankie liked to munch standing in front of the open fridge in the middle of the night, it smelled like the dream you had the night Frankie came home after Colombia and that you couldn’t wipe out from your head.

You looked back at Frankie; he was grinning at the way the flower seemed to hug your nose as you smelled it.

“What?” you asked him, reciprocating his smile. He shook his head. Nothing. He inserted in your mind without parting his lips. You slid your hand to his neck and pulled him softly to you, he reached out, knowing what you wanted. Frankie always knew what you wanted.

When his lips brushed yours, you lifted your other hand and pushed the small flower between your mouths.

Frankie let out a chuckle at the action and sighed into your mouth when the flower opened up its petals to kiss you both back.

You let the flower fall to the floor when Frankie’s hands found their home on your waist again and pulled you to him, bringing you flush to his broad chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

Frankie’s lips tasted like the flower’s pollen and a faint hint of the fog that had tasted his words

His lips stole a moan from your throat as he used his tongue to open yours and you both heard the way the flower imitated your moan on her newfound place on the floor, making you both smile at the soft, almost imperceptible sound.

The air became warmer, thicker with all the love that exuded from your bodies. You both heard the secret teller moss yell at the way he was kissing you so the forest found out and it made you incredibly proud to have a man like him devouring your lips ever so softly.

“Make love to me, Frankie,” you whispered on his lips, carefully reaching into his throat and pulling out a soft groan out of it with your words. He just nodded in response and slowly guided your body to kneel on the sheet and kept kissing you.

Your mind reeled at the way Frankie used his lips to make you feel safe, protected, loved, cared for. By the way he, with a few movements of his lips, could make you feel like you had been kissing him and kissing him and kissing him for years and years and years.

Frankie’s hands roamed around your waist and the small of your back, without hurry they got under your shirt and you sighed at the warmness, soft roughness of his touch on your skin, you took his cap off and let it fall on the floor, next to the flower.

The flower crawled towards the cap as you continued praying against Frankie’s lips and snuggled next to the brim.

He broke the kiss, and you felt a gentle, faint breeze cover your body when Frankie took off your shirt, it felt as if it was caressing you softly, and it made the hairs on your skin rise.

Frankie stole your kiss again and hands trailed to cup your tits over the fabric of your bra and you let out a low whimper when he teased your nipples over it. You slid your hands from his neck to his chest and worked slowly to unbutton his plaid shirt. Your feathery touch on his warm, sun kissed skin made him moan softly, and the flower mimicked the sound again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured on your lips when you made him take off the shirt. You smiled on his kiss, with him on you, on any part of you, you always believed him.

His lips traveled down to your chin, where he left a soft bite and ripped another soft moan out of you.

As you helped him to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans, Frankie liked a stripe of skin from your chin to your neck and you smiled, your eyes were closed when his plush lips started nibbling at your tender, fog tasted flesh and once his belt was unbuckled and his pants were unbuttoned, he slid them down.

“Take off yours, baby,” he whispered, you bit your lip and did it; you undressed as he did and once you were completely naked, bared and vulnerable in front of him, he stopped his own movements to admire your body, “gorgeous.” the word slipped from his lips like thick, raw honey and fell onto the blanket, smearing on it, the fabric sensed it and absorbed the word and your eyes, as he reached for your naked waist, saw it disappear inside it.

Frankie brought you to him once again and his kisses fell on your skin like soft, summer rain; warm and light and all over you; your hands found themselves caressing any part of his body they could reach, making him drop little moans and whimpers on your skin, marking it, leaving it tainted with the soft noises that he produced as you enjoyed the softness of his body.

He laid you down on the sheet and it made itself cushioned under you, it was fresh, comfortable, soft and stirred ever so slightly under your body; it made you shiver softly.

Frankie’s lips went down your neck, his warm, soft tongue played with your nipples as his hands roamed up and down your torso, you buried your fingers inside his curls; scratched his scalp gently with your nails, making him grunt against your breast.

“Frankie,” you whispered out, his name floating all the way up like an inflated balloon and crashing onto the wooden beams with an unhearable thud, Frankie hummed in response with his mouth worshipping your other breast, his beard making the most gentle burns onto your skin “eat me.” you begged, closing your eyes when he smirked against the tender, already sensitive flesh of your chest.

Without saying more words his kissed trailed down your body, several of them on your lower abdomen, you chuckled and opened your eyes, lifting your head to look at him; Frankie was already looking at you; his deep, brown and amber looking eyes telling you without hesitance what he wanted, what he had been asking for months and months and months. You threw your head back on the sheet with a smile adorning your face as he took your thighs and gently opened them up for him; his face buried inside you and he inhaled the scent of your deepest corner.

With kitten licks, Frankie started tasting you; making you moan when his tongue went deeper, he opened you further and buried his tongue inside you, prompting a groan out of you; guttural, soft. Frankie smiled against your folds, proud and enamoured of the sounds he was making you produce.

Your hand pushed him further deeper inside you, Frankie eagerly opened his mouth around your core and started sucking and licking and nibbling and tasting. You threw your head to the side and your heavy lids opened just enough for you to look at the small purple flower that was snuggled right next to the seam of Frankie’s cap. It was lying on the floor almost lazily, its roots were stirring and stretching and you smiled at it; it was feeling it too.

Frankie’s fingers found your entrance and pushed inside, starting to curl and press and push to the sides and upwards, making you lift your back off the sheet and hatch your hips on his face, you moaned as he pulled his fingers out and in again at a tantalizing rhythm he knew you loved; his lips nibbled at your clit and his tongue teased at it in synchrony with his fingers, you let out a long moan and Frankie groaned against your core. The vibrations of his voice against your tender, swollen pussy made you stiffen and hold your breath, you gasped when he sucked at your clit rather hoarsely and the air that left your lungs through your lips traveled like a feather falling through the air and fell directly on the purple flower.

Frankie sucked and curled his fingers inside you and you rolled your hips against his face, he had built a coil inside you that was getting warmer and warmer with each wet lick on you; your hand fisted his hair and as the coil snapped in half, you pulled it, making Frankie grunt against you. He helped you ride your orgasm and as you came down from one of the highest climaxes he had made you feel in what it felt like years and years and years, he crawled slowly upwards between your legs, covering you with his body.

“Hey,” he whispered above your face, you opened your eyes and smiled when you saw his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his inches from you “you okay?” he asked. You nodded and cupped his slick covered face with both your hands, closing the distance between your mouths and tasting yourself in the process of devouring his lips.

Frankie whimpered at the depth of your kiss and when he broke it, you heard the slightest of sounds; a yelp that sounded both from afar and up close. You turned to the side at the same time and you let out a soft chuckle when you saw the purple flower standing. Its roots well planted into the wood tiles of the floor. An almost imperceptible coat of transparent slick covered its petals.

You turned to Frankie and he smiled at you, falling onto your lips once more.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his neck and your legs opened up for him to brush the underside of his duck against your wet folds; you shivered, feeling the way he was throbbing for you.

“I love you.” he whispered without whispering and you rolled your hips closer to him. He slid inside of you with any other intervention than the sole need you had for each other; he moaned softly against your mouth as his hips started thrusting inside you at a gentle pace you didn’t know he was capable of going at.

You stopped kissing him and pulled his body to rest on yours; one of his hands rested on your hip as the other moved to frame your head and he ground into you slowly; deeply; harder while his rhythm wasn’t strong.

Frankie hid his face in the crook of your neck and you wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle for both, you moaned when his cock started grazing a soft spot inside you that made you close your eyes and see the stars up close.

“More.” you heard a voice that wasn’t yours but sounded like you, and Frankie whined against your skin, licking you. He picked up the rhythm and went faster enough so you gushed around him and the noise of him pumping inside you inundated the room; as he drove into you and your throat made the most sweet and soft noises he swore he had ever heard you make, you heard the fog creeping into the house; it slithered in through the small openings the creeping plants were watching you make love from. You felt the weight of the fog falling on top of you and when it covered you whole, Frankie started pounding into you.

“Oh, god.” you moaned out. Frankie held you in place with a hand on your head and another on your waist and went impossibly faster, the noises that your skins made when they clashed together were being muffled by the fog, whose arm formed once more and caressed you both in places you wouldn’t let anyone else touch.

You heard another yelp from afar and your eyes looked for it in the purple flower, but it had turned its back to you and you noticed how, from the seams of the wood tiles on the floor, little purple nubs and buds started growing.

You gasped when Frankie changed the angle, sliding in and out faster than before, hitting your g-spot with more strength, and your breath hitched when he started grunting inside your neck. You turned your head to the other side and saw more of the purple buds. Some of them were opening already, and you felt your eyes water when you saw several small, slick covered purple flowers stretching their petals to the ceiling.

A deep, particular thrust of Frankie into you made your legs tremble. He started kissing your neck and your jaw and your chin, still driving into you at that murdering pace of his you had never felt before. You felt his beard tickling your skin, and you grew aware of every inch of sweaty, fog covered skin you owned; when he kissed your lips and ate the small moans you didn’t realize you were letting out, you grew aware of everything that rested inside your body, and you felt it move, grow, swell and deflate at the same time.

“Frankie,” you whispered against his lips, his cock driving into you and making you squirm beneath him “Frankie.” you gasped, his mouth trapped yours and you felt him throb inside your cunt.

“You’re here.” he muttered against your lips. The sudden, overwhelming emotion of being wrapped around him made you cum almost immediately with your eyes closed shut and your mouth opened at the fog’s mercy, that ate your moans with fervency.

Frankie slid in and out of you for more time than he had ever done before after your orgasms, he was whispering to you words you didn’t understand; you felt your eyes shed the tears they had held as you came at the sight of all the nubs and buds opening as Frankie thrusted into you. All of them opened as beautiful, small, slick covered purple flowers; carbon copies of the one he had found inside the piece of beam and gifted to you.

“They’re ours,” you gasped, Frankie hummed in affirmation, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth agape, his breath hitting your face, you cupped his face. “let go,” you whispered to him, caressing the flush skin of his face. “it’s enough, let go.”

Frankie moaned out and grunted, locking his hips with his cock fully inside you as he filled you with himself as deep as he could. He opened his eyes once the last drop of his seed was poured into you and gazed at you.

“How are they?” he asked, panting and trying to recover from his orgasm.

“They’re beautiful.” you replied with a teary smile, Frankie kissed you softly and turned his head to the sides, still inside you, looking at all the precious, tiny purple flowers that surrounded you.

“They’re ours.” he said with a smile adorning his face.

__

“Where the fuck have you been?!” the scream Santiago let out made you flinch, and you fisted and gripped Frankie's dampened clothes. His hold on your body tightened, and you felt another errant tear escape from your eyes.

“Pope.” Frankie could only let out that sole word, his throat was closed shut and the only thing that was keeping him from falling knees first onto the floor was your body and your need to be supported so you didn’t fall to the floor as well.

“Fish, what the fuck, man?” Santiago frowned at the look you two were carrying; your clothes were soaked wet and dirty, your hair was dripping muddy water. Frankie had wet knots on his hair and for Santiago it was odd looking at him without his cap on. You were shaking and almost climbing onto Frankie’s body.

Frankie didn’t answer. Santi looked at your feet and neither of you were wearing shoes.

“C’mon, c’mon in,” he stepped to the side and Frankie whispered in your ear to move, but he ended up almost carrying you inside. “you need a shower,” Santiago muttered when the both of you got inside and the swampy smell that clung to you brushed his nose. Frankie nodded and slowly walked inside Sant’s home towards the bathroom “Fish,” he heard the voice of his best friend behind him and stopped walking, not bothering to turn around “man, it’s been a year, where were you?”

You sobbed into Frankie’s shoulder and lifted your head to look at Santiago, who frowned when he looked into your bloodshot eyes.

“Living.” you whispered out, missing the fog’s arm, that was not there to eat at your words.

__

After a thirty-minute shower; in which both of you sat on the shower’s floor and Frankie attempted to unknot your hair as gently as he could while you shared furtive glances, feathery touches, kisses of understanding and heavy; painful tears, you were sitting on Santiago’s dining table wrapped in his clothes and a blanket, gripping each other’s hands as hard as you could.

“Where were you?” Santi asked, his voice soft, his eyes on you and the way Frankie didn’t seem to separate an inch from you.

“The forest.” Frankie muttered. Santiago sighed and tried to look away from you.

“For a year?” he let out in an incredulous whisper.

“It didn’t feel like a year.” you murmured, your voice thin as a thread, your eyes on Frankie’s side, you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What do you mean it didn’t feel like a year?” Santiago raised his voice and immediately caught himself and tried to calm down “we were about to pronounce you dead,” he tightened his jaw and his finger pressed on the wood of the table, you smirked at the parallels; his finger almost looked like Soleil, the first flower that you and Frankie gave birth to “both of you.”

“You wouldn’t get it, Santi.” you whispered, looking at him from Frankie’s shoulder.

“Explain it to me, then.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest, Frankie let out a huff.

“No.” Frankie said.

“We got lost,” you started. Frankie stiffened next to you and turned to the side to face you; he looked at your pleading face and with his eyes asked you if you were sure. You cupped his face, scratched his short beard and nodded ever so slightly; missing the way he would slip his words inside your mind when he didn’t feel like talking, “we got lost in the forest.” you said, still looking at Frankie.

Santiago stirred in his chair. He had never seen you do that, look into each other’s eyes so profoundly it felt like you two were sharing not only the same air, but the same brain; the same heart.

“And we found a house,” you turned to see him, teary-eyed and a soft smile adorning your face. Frankie hid his face inside the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply, your hand caressing his nearly knot-free hair. “and we stayed there.”

“For a year?” Santiago deepened his frown, you huffed and shook your head gently.

“For a week.” you whispered.

Santiago stood up from the chair and closed his eyes, he scratched his beard for a few seconds and turned to you.

“How?” you shrugged.

“We tried to make sense of it as we walked home,” you muttered. Santiago noticed how your eyes got lost in the space between you and him. “we don’t look like a year has passed, right?” you blinked a few times and focused on him. He shook his head “we were supposed to stay there until the sunrise, we just got lost.”

“What made you stay a week?” he asked, hesitantly.

You choked down a sob and felt Frankie’s hand slip out of your entanglement. He wrapped his arms around you.

“The babies.” he let out, his voice deep, his tone hurt. Santiago closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and index.

“What babies?” he whispered out. Frankie scoffed at his friend’s reaction.

“Ours.” you let out.

Santiago sat down again and you felt yourself stiffen with the memory of them.

Frankie started talking, but his voice sounded far off and distorted. 

Your mind could only focus on the hundred little flowers that were born out of you and Frankie, on how they would make space for you and him to walk around them, on how, if you stopped, they would wrap themselves around your feet, burying them with their soft petals and bathing you in their pollen.

You felt your throat clench at the memory of them waking you up in the mornings as your limbs were wrapped around Frankie’s body, of their smallest voices laughing at his bad jokes or at them bathing in the sheer sunlight that entered through the windows.

They were yours.

They were yours and Frankie’s.

“They died.” Frankie let out with a shaky breath. You felt your face wet with the tears your memories had brought to your eyes and Santiago looked at you; his face quirked in worry, his eyes wet with sympathy.

“How?” Santi dared to ask.

“A storm.” Frankie let out.

You buried your face in his shoulder and cried.

Frankie looked to the seamless ceiling of Santiago’s home and felt his chest turn and burn at the sound of your sobs.

The morning they died, Frankie woke up by the sound of a loud thunder that shook the house; he gripped your body absentmindedly, the memory of the hard rain burning inside his mind made him reach to you, he didn’t like the sound of pounding rain. He loathed it, but you were sleeping next to him and your body was giving him the warmth he didn’t have before.

You were woken up by the second thunder that made the flowers shake their pollen off in fear.

The two of you were naked and the dreadful sound of big drops of water made you sit on the blanket. You turned to look at each other just as the rumbling of another thunder made the misty, foggy, dusty windows shackle on their frames.

At the fourth roar of another thunder several windows broke and the sharp curl of sturdy wind came through the windows, you screamed to him and you dressed quickly and went to look for anything to cover the broken windows.

You tore the blanket apart in several pieces to cover some of the now opened windows, rushing to stop the ferocious wind from coming inside the house, but the storm was strong and gripped at the pieces, snatching them away from your hands every time you tried to use them as a barrier.

Frankie yelled at you to try to use the parts of the loveseat that you had moved to the middle of the kitchen space, and when you tried the deafening, thunderous sound of a sky-tearing thunder made the front door fly open and the rain to flood in.

You were soaked to the bone and you looked down at your feet; the flowers were trying to climb up to your calves but failed each time. The water started streaming into the house from invisible tears on the ceiling and the water level was rising quicker than either of you would’ve liked.

“They’re drowning!” you gasped, covering your mouth with your eyes to prevent from scaring them more than they already were; the tears you knew you were shedding had mixed with the rowdy water that came from each broken window. Frankie acted out of his own fears, he frowned and kneeled on the floor, trying to pick them up, but each time he picked up some, they fainted on his hand. “stop!” you yelled at him. He did it again, not listening to your pleas. You rushed to him and pulled him back “you’re killing them!”

“They’re already dying!” he yelled back at you, his eyes reddened and his jaw tensed in pain. You pulled him back again when he tried to pick up more. “stop!” he yelled, pushing you away from him “let me save them!”

“You can’t!” you screamed at him under another thunder that made the ceiling crack, both of you looked at the beams trying to hold together but they swell with water and were about to give in “Frankie!” you called him, he stood up and took your hand in his.

“Let’s go!” you nodded and let out a sob when you saw the purple petals of the flowers floating on the muddy water, lifeless. Frankie pulled you towards the open door and forced you to run out.

Your feet landed on puddles of swampy water that were ankle deep and you gripped Frankie’s hand as he pulled you away from the house; he tried to regulate his own breathing, the feeling of mud burying his bare feet reminded him too much of another time in his life he didn't want or liked to remember, the rain fell on your bodies like needles and stuck to your clothes, tainting them with a green, dirt color that made you feel disgusting.

You walked together for what felt like hours upon hours upon hours; the secret telling moss was dead as well; the floor that had eaten Frankie’s backpack was flooded with the sharp water that fell from the sky. Corpses of bushes and moss and bugs and birds floating around your legs. It smelled like life. It reminded Frankie of war.

“And then we got out of the forest.” Frankie sniffed out.

Santiago was looking at the both of you with sympathy and pain in his eyes. He stood up from his chair and walked around the table. He stood behind you and wrapped his arms around the both of you.

“I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed out louder.

__

Many years later, when Frankie thought of the smell of the thick fog making contact with the grass, petrichor, is called, he would recall the time he spent with you on that place, in that time, and he would remember the eerie aura that you had carried with you during your stay; that aura that wrapped your naked body and that followed you wherever you walked to, you glowed.

Whenever you played with the flowers, or their tiny petals wrapped themselves around his fingers and you let out the lightest, freest, most liberating of laughs; you shimmered.

You never knew what happened or why it did; at nights, when you wrapped yourself around his body and he held you in place so you wouldn’t slip away from him, you talked about it, always coming to the same conclusion right before falling asleep. It was real.

And the love you had for each other grew because of it. And the love you felt for your babies existed. And the feeling of peace that it made you feel was still there.

It wasn’t like the feeling the hard rain gave him when he heard it. It was something else, something he couldn’t name, even decades after it happened.

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#Frankie Morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales fanfic #francisco 'catfish' morales #Triple Frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #Santiago Garcia #evergreen intrusion #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters

[dherzogblog]

The Birth of The Daily Show: 25 Years of Fake News and Moments of Zen

It was July of 1995 and I had left MTV to become President of Comedy Central. It was the basic cable equivalent of going from the NY Yankees to an expansion team. I was on the job just two weeks when I received a call from Brillstein Grey the high powered managers of Bill Maher, host of one of the networks few original programs, "Politically Incorrect". We were informed Bill and his show would leave the network when his contract expired in 12 months. It was a done deal. Bill wanted to take his show to the "big leagues" at ABC where he would follow Night Line. Comedy Central was left jilted. Terrible news for a network still trying to establish itself. We had a year to figure out how to replace him and the clock was ticking. So began the path to The Daily Show.

It was very much a fledgling Comedy Central I joined, available in barely 35 million homes, desperately seeking an identity and an audience. It was just over three years old, born into a shot gun wedding that joined two struggling and competing comedy networks, HBO’s Comedy Channel and Viacom’s HA!, Watching them both stumble out of the gate, the cable operators forced them to merge, telling them: "We only need one comedy channel, you guys figure it out”. After some contentious negotiations the new channel was born and the red headed step child of MTV and HBO set out to find the pop culture zeitgeist its parents had already expertly navigated. The network had yet to define itself. The programming consisted mainly of old stand up specials from the likes of Gallagher (never underestimate the appeal of a man smashing watermelons), a hodgepodge of licensed movies (“The God’s Must be Crazy and The Cheech and Chong trilogy were mainstays) and Benny Hill reruns. The networks biggest hit by far was the UK import “Absolutely Fabulous”, better know as “AbFab”. Comedy Central boasted a handful of original shows, including the wonderfully sublime "SquiggleVision" of “Dr. Katz”, the sketch comedy "Exit 57" (starring the then unknown Amy Sedaris and Stephen Colbert) and of course Maher’s "Politically Incorrect". In retrospect I don’t think Bill got enough credit for pioneering the idea of political comedy on mainstream TV. Back then he was the only one doing it.

Politically Incorrect performed just fine, but got more critical attention than ratings. It was a panel show, and I had something a bit different in mind to replace it. I knew we needed a flagship, a network home base, something akin to ESPN's Sports Center where viewers could go at the end of a the day for our comedic take on everything that happened in the last 24 hours….."a daily show". I had broad idea for it in my head. I would describe it as part "Weekend Update", part Howard Stern, with a dash of "The Today Show" on drugs complete with a bare boned format to keep costs low so we could actually afford to produce it. We could open with the headlines covering the day's events (our version of a monologue), followed by a guest segment (we wouldn't need to write jokes...only questions!), and finish with a taped piece. Simple, right? We just needed someone to help flesh out our vision.

Comedy Central was a a second tier cable channel then and considered a bit of a joke (no pun intended). It had minuscule ratings, no heat and even less money to spend. Producers were not lining up to work with there. Eileen Katz ran programming for the channel and the two of us began pitching this idea to every producer who would listen. One of the first people we approached was Madeleine Smithberg, an ex Letterman producer and had overseen "The Jon Stewart Show" for us at MTV. We thought she was perfect for the role. “You can’t do this, you can’t afford this, you don't have the stomach for this, it will never work ” Madeliene said when we met with her. We could not convince her to take the gig. Ok then....we moved on. The problem was we heard that same refrain from everybody. No one wanted the job. So after weeks being turned down by literally EVERYONE, I said to Eileen: “We have to go back to Madeleine and convince her to do this with us"!

Part our pitch to her was we would go directly to series. There would be no pilot. The show was guaranteed to go on air. We had decided this show was our to be our destiny and we had to figure it out come hell or high water. As a 24 hour comedy channel, if we couldn't figure out a way to be funny and fresh every day...what good were we? We told Madeliene we were committed to putting the show on the air and keeping it there till we got it right (for at least a year anyway). That, plus some gentle arm twisting got her to sign on. Shortly after that, Lizz Winstead did too.

Madleiene and Lizz very quickly landed on their inspired notion of developing the show and format as a news parody. It brought an immediate focus and a point of view to the process . All of the sudden things started to take shape and coming to life. Great ideas started flowing fast and furious while an amazing collection of funny and talented began to come on board. Madeliene and Lizz were off to the races. Now all we needed was a host.

The prime time version of ESPN's Sports Center was hosted by Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann back then and it was must see cable TV. But I had recently started to notice another guy hosting the show's late night edition. He was funny, with a snarky delivery reminiscent of Dennis Miller. His name was Craig Kilborn. On the phone with CAA agent Jeff Jacobs one day, I asked if he knew happened to know who repped him? “I do" he said. "We just signed him”. Within days he was in my office along with Madeleine, Lizz, and Eileen who were all a bit skeptical about the tall blond guy with the frat boy vibes sitting across from them. After opening the meeting with a few off color comments that would probably get him cancelled today (an early warning sign fo sure), Craig ultimately won them over and we had our host.

FUN FAC#1: Minutes after the news of Craig's hiring went public, Keith Olberman's agent called me directly to ask why we hadn't considered hiring him?

Ok, we had a host and producers...but what to call it? After sifting through dozens of ideas for a title, Madeleine called me one day and said, "I think we should just call it what we've been calling it all along...."The Daily Show". As we approached our launch date we taped practice shows and took them out to focus groups to get real life feedback. The groups hated it.... I mean with a red hot hate. They hated Craig, the format, the jokes, everything. We were crushed and dejectedly looked around at the room at one another. "Now what?" “Either they’re wrong, or we are". I said I think they are...but it doesn’t matter, we're doing this!" We never looked back.

The show took off quickly garnering some quick buzz and attention, we felt like we had crashed the party. Well, sort of. We had no shortage of fun, growing pains and drama along the way. The Daily Show version 1.0 was about to unravel. In a December 1997 magazine interview Craig made some truly offensive and inappropriate remarks about Lizz and female members of the staff. Whether it was poor attempt at humor or just plain misogynist (or both) is beyond the point. It was all wrong, very wrong. Craig was suspended for a week without pay. Lizz left the show. In the moment I chose to protect the show and its talent more so than Lizz. That was wrong too. It's more than cringe worthy looking back now, and I regret not making some better decisions then. My loyalty to our host was later "rewarded" when in the Spring of 1998 Kilborn's team, a la Bill Maher, unceremoniously informed us he had signed a deal to follow Letterman on CBS when his contract expired at the end of the year. No discussion, a done deal. Comedy Central jilted again. Like Maher, Kilborn wanted his shot at the network big leagues and we had a little over six months to figure out how to replace him. We all know how that chapter ended. That search would eventually reunite us with Jon Stewart who along with The Daily Show took Comedy Central and basic cable to the "the big leagues" on their own terms, redefining late night comedy in the process The rest, as they say, is "Fake News" history.

Fun Fact #2: before approaching Jon (who I did not originally think would be interested) I initially offered the job to a chunkier, largely unknown Jimmy Kimmel, fresh off his co hosting duties on "Win Ben Stein's Money" ...only to have him turn us down.

My fascination with late night began as a kid. I remember how exciting it was to stay up to sneak a peek at the Carson monologue and watch him do spit takes with his chummy Hollywood guests. Later on I also loved the heady adult conversation Dick Cavett would have with everyone from Sly Stone to Groucho Marx. But it was the comedic revolution of Saturday night Live in 1975, followed by Letterman's game changing show in 1981 that truly established late night as the coolest place on the television landscape. I could only dream of one day being part of it.

25 years on, I couldn’t be more proud of The Daily Show and its legacy. Those days helping build it alongside Madeleine, Lizz, Eileen and the team were among the most satisfying (and fun) experiences I have ever had. It was thrilling to take a shot at the late night landscape and try and make our mark, especially when no one thought we could.

I am prouder still of what Trevor Noah and his staff have achieved since they took the hand off from Jon, evolving and growing the show through a new voice and lens. I think my personal "Moment Of Zen" will last as long as Trevor remains behind the desk, allowing me to selfishly boast of having hired every host this award winning and culture defining franchise has ever had.

25 years later. it remains as relevant as ever, a bona fide late night institution, standing shoulder to shoulder with all the great shows that inspired us to start.

#the daily show #jon stewart #trevor noah #comedy central

[thefloorisbalaclava]

pragma - part twenty

Pairing: Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: some angst, SMUT - oral (m receiving) and armchair sex (? lol)

A/N: TWENTY. I can hardly believe it! Thank you all for sticking with this story for so long and loving it and Frankie with me. I am so grateful to each and every one of you who comments, reblogs, sends messages...everything. Thank you!

Summary: Frankie makes a decision that leaves you shaken but it’s all for the best.

pragma masterlist

The camping trip had been something both you and Frankie needed and now that it was over, you were kind of sad. You stared out the window of his truck and sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking one hand off the steering wheel to grab your hand.

“I’m just gonna miss the peacefulness we had for those few days,” you said, lacing your fingers with his.

“We can do it again whenever you like.”

“We should make it a monthly thing. One weekend out of every month we get away from it all.” You smiled over at him although his eyes were on the road. The side of his mouth curled up at your words.

“That’s a good idea.”

“You know what else I think we should do?” you asked, rubbing his hand with your thumb. “I think we should see about getting your pilot’s license back.”

“I don’t know…” His grip on your hand loosened but you continued.

“I’m sure there’s a way. We’ll do some research when we get home.” You brought his hand to your lips and kissed it.

“That’s nice and all but I need a steady job before anything else.” He took his hand away from you and put it back on the steering wheel. You looked at him and noticed his dimple was gone—he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Okay…we can do that.”

“Not we. It’s something I have to do.”

“I want to help you, Frankie. Will you let me help you?” you asked.

“What if I’m a lost cause? Just some pathetic druggie who can’t get his shit together…mooching off his girl.” He gripped the steering wheel so tight you could hear it creaking under his pressure.

“Stop talking like that, Frankie. I won’t have it,” you snapped and he looked at you for a moment before turning back to the road. He stayed silent the rest of the way home even getting out the truck without a word. You walked up to the door and unlocked it as he carried the packs. He dropped them unceremoniously by the front door and began pacing. “Frankie…”

“I think I need to move back home,” he blurted and you felt the world come crashing down around you.

“What? Why?” You couldn’t believe that after such a lovely time together he would want that.

“Talking about work and everything just got me thinking. I’m getting too comfortable staying here with you.”

“But I thought we were gonna work together to get you a job. I just wanna-"

“Help…I know, but you got your own shit to deal with. I’m not piling my mess on top of that. I wanna be better for you. I want to actually deserve you.”

“But you do. Don’t you know that?” You hated yourself for bringing this up at all.

“I gotta figure things out on my own,” he sighed.

“I just got you back.” Your voice was small and sad. “We just had a beautiful weekend together and now you want to leave?”

He walked up to you, grabbing your arms gently. “You’re not losing me, okay?”

“But Frankie…I don’t wanna wake up and not see you there. Not again…”

“We’ll still see each other and talk every day because I don’t think I can go a day without hearing your voice, but I have to do this.” He cupped your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Don’t do this. Please,” you begged. “I…I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than anything in the world.” He took his hands from your face and turned away. You hugged him from behind, pressing your cheek to his back.

“My Frankie,” you cried. “You’ve come such a long way.”

“I still have a long way to go.”

“And I want to help you,” you said quietly.

“Stop spoiling me,” he said. You thought you heard a hint of a smile in his voice.

“I don’t want to,” you sniffled.

Frankie turned in your arms so he could wrap his around you. “That’s the problem, babe.”

“So…you’re leaving because of me? It’s my fault?”

“No…no…it’s just I don’t want to be one of those men that gets too comfortable with his girl doing everything for him.” You opened your mouth to speak but Frankie continued. “I’m not gonna be staying here but that doesn’t mean I’ll love you any less.” He hesitated for a moment. “Will it make you fall out of love with me?”

“I could never fall out of love with you, Frankie. I just…I got so used to you being here. I don’t know how to…be without you.”

“Looks like you got a little spoiled too, huh?” He chuckled.

“I really sound like a brat, don’t I?” You pulled on the bill of his cap, forcing him to lower his head to bring his lips closer to yours. “Will you still come visit?”

“Of course. We can still, you know, have sleepovers.” He tried to kiss you but you pulled away.

“Sleepovers? Do I get to paint your nails? Do your hair?” you teased.

“Oh, very funny. You know what I mean.” He tickled your sides.

You giggled but went back to pouting quickly. “I’m gonna hate not waking up next to you every morning. My bed won’t smell like you anymore. And what about our random late-night talks when we both can’t sleep?”

“How about this: you call me whenever you need to. I’ll always answer.” He noticed you were still pouting. “It’s not the same, I know.”

You just held onto him for a while trying your best not to cry. He wasn’t leaving you, he was just leaving your house. And you understood his reasoning but that didn’t mean you had to like it. He tucked his hand under your chin and made you look at him. In his eyes you saw determination and a strength that hadn’t always been there. When you two were younger, he was always so unsure, always just doing what everyone else told him to, but now he made his own choices and decisions and you had no right to take that away from him. You couldn’t make him doubt his decision just because you would be lonely.

“I’m so proud of you,” you said quietly.

“What?” He looked as though he had never heard those words before.

“I’m proud of you, Francisco. I'm proud of who you’ve become. You’ve come a long way.”

“Dammit, don’t make me cry,” he said, his eyes already tearing up. He tried laughing it off, but he buried his face against your shoulder and sniffled. “Most of the time I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, to be honest. I spent most of my life so…lost.”

“But you’re not anymore.”

“Thanks to you.” He lifted his head and smiled at you, sheepishly wiping his tears away.

“No. I don’t deserve any credit for it.” You shook your head but he made you look at him.

“I’m serious. I am who I am because of you. You make me want to be a better man and I will be. I want you to stay with me this time.” His voice cracked and you ‘aww'd' quietly while touching his face.

“I’ll always be here for my Frankie.”

“And I’ll always be yours. You’ve had my heart since the day I laid eyes on you anyway.” He bumped your nose with his and smiled before kissing you.

“God, I’m gonna miss kissing you whenever I want.”

“Well, we better do all the kissing we can now, right?”

*

Frankie had only been gone for a week and you were already missing Frankie’s presence. He called you almost every morning like he said he would and sometimes even video called you so he could blow you kisses. But it wasn’t the same. You missed knowing he was in the same space as you. You missed his breakfast in the morning. You just missed him. The first night he was gone, you had opened the refrigerator and burst into tears because a few of his beers were still there.

Your phone rang and you picked it up right away. Frankie was video calling you.

“Hey...wait...are you still in bed?” he asked.

“Yup.” You smiled and he chuckled.

“Hey, check this out.” He moved the camera from his face and showed you his outfit. He was in a white button up and tie and slacks.

“Well, well, well. Look at you, sexy.” You wolf whistled and his face was slightly red by the time he put the camera was back on him. “What’s going on?”

He smiled proudly. “Got an interview.”

“What?! That’s great! Where?”

“Don’t laugh but...a doggy daycare.” He made a face.

“Okay consider me jealous. You’re so lucky.”

“Calm down. I don’t have the job yet.” He looked nervous, pulling on his tie uncomfortably.

“You got this, Francisco. Call me and let me know how it goes, okay?”

“You bet, baby. Gimme a kiss.” He puckered his lips and brought them close to the phone.

“Muah!” You kissed your phone and he kissed his. “Buena suerte. I love you.”

“Ah, you’re learning. I love you, too. Talk to you soon.” He hung up and you rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to shower. You were going to surprise him.

*

You waited a few hours before leaving your house and going to the liquor store to find his favorite beer to surprise him with. You also picked up a pizza along the way to celebrate. Frankie would probably tell you not to get too excited about it, but this was the best excuse you had to see him.

As you pulled up to his house, you noticed his truck in front of the garage, so you parked on the street and got out. Just as you did, Frankie called.

“Hey babe,” he said happily.

“Hey, how’d it go?” You struggled with balancing the pizza and beer. “Whoa!”

“What happened? You okay?”

“Yeah. Tell me how it went.”

“It went great actually. I got the job!” The excitement in his voice brought tears to your eyes.

“Oh my...Frankie!” you yelled then bit your lips, remembering that you were right in front of his house. You walked up to the door and knocked.

“Who the hell...” Frankie said. The door opened and you did a little dance.

“Congratulations!”

He stood there in shock for a moment, staring at you. “You’re here.”

“I am…now help me, please.” You handed him the pizza and walked into the house. “Oh, you cleaned up.”

“I did.” He put the pizza down on the table and once you put the beer away, you ran to him and held him for the first time in a week. “Oh, that feels so nice.”

“Gimme a kiss,” you said, parroting his words from the phone call earlier. He kissed you softly as if he was nervous. “Francisco Morales…kiss me like you mean it.”

And he did. He wrapped his arms around you and held you against his body tightly before kissing you so powerfully it took your breath away. You were floating. Flying. Soaring. You’re not sure if it was his thrill from getting the job today or from just seeing you, but it was the most passionate kiss in the world. He only pulled away to smile at you then went back to it, walking and pulling you along with him until he fell into his armchair. The skirt you wore slid up your thighs as you made yourself comfortable on his lap. His hands found their way up your thighs and under your skirt, groping and squeezing at the supple flesh.

“I missed you,” he sighed against your lips.

“I can tell,” you teased and he scoffed. “I missed you too, Frankie…mmm!”

He kissed you some more, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. It’s like he never wanted to stop. You cupped his face, scratching at his scruff gently. He bit your lip carefully and you did the same, making him open his eyes and look at you.

“The pizza,” you murmured.

“Fuck the pizza,” he responded.

You giggled. “I thought you’d want me to f-"

He put a finger to your lip before you could finish. “I know exactly what you’re gonna say. I walked into that one.”

“So…tell me, are you happy?” You unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke.

“I got a job and the hottest woman in the world is in my lap undressing me. Happy is an understatement, mi amor.”

“Sit up,” you commanded and he did as he was told so you could slide the shirt down his arms and off, tossing it behind you. He was left in his under shirt and slacks. Have his shoulders always been that nice? He sat back and smiled up at you, his lips looking softer than usual. “God, you’re sexy.”

“And employed. Don’t forget employed.”

“So fucking proud of you, baby.” You ran your fingers through his hair and he closed his eyes.

“Is this my reward?” he asked with a grin.

“Well, I really was just bringing you pizza and beer but…this is better.” You laughed as he kissed you. “Much better.”

“Arms up,” he said. He slid your shirt up and off leaving you in your bra and skirt. “I guess this is one of those sleepovers I mentioned?”

“Want me to stay?”

“Duh.” He kissed your neck then bit down. “Do you remember the last time we…uh…did it at my house?” he asked against your skin.

“Hmm…yeah. Our first time together.”

He sat back in the chair to look at you. “I was so damn nervous. It was right before I left for the service, right?”

“Yup. We had…seen and touched each other before but we never quite went all the way…until then. I was nervous too. But you were so sweet and patient especially when I had told you that it was actually my first time.” You looked away, still a little embarrassed about it. Back then you knew Frankie had been with other women before you, but you had never felt comfortable enough with anyone to go that far with until Frankie. Most people would have laughed knowing that you were in your twenties and still hadn’t had sex, but he seemed to be touched by the fact that you wanted him to be your first.

“It wasn’t my first time but it felt like my first time, if that makes sense,” he said. “My hands were shaking and sweaty. I thought you would be grossed out when I touched you.”

“I remember you making me wait out here while you ran and threw all the mess on your bed and floor into your closet.” You laughed.

“Had to make it presentable. I didn’t have candles and flowers or anything so the least I could do was make love to you in a somewhat clean room.” He shrugged then slid his hands up your thighs again.

“Is that what you did today? Throw all your stuff in a closet?” you teased.

“No ma’am, I actually cleaned. And I wasn’t even expecting you so I deserve some props for that.”

“You do.”

“Well?” He looked at you expectantly and you clapped your hands.

“Yay!” you cheered but were cut short when he grabbed you and tickled your sides, making you yelp and squirm. “Don’t you dare, Francisco.”

“I kinda like when you squirm like that on me though.” He tickled you again and you squirm away, making him look down at where you sat on him.

“You don’t need to tickle me to get me to do that.” You grabbed his hands and held them against the seat as you moved your hips on him. “See?” His eyes rolled back then closed.

“Wanna go to the bed?” He already sounded like he was trying to catch his breath.

“Why not here?” You moved against him again and he cursed under his breath.

“Here is fine. Just...” He cleared his throat as he reached down to unbutton his slacks.

“Let’s take them off.” You stood up and he pouted at the loss of your body on his. He lifted his hips so you could pull his pants off. “These too?” You pointed to his boxer briefs.

“Please.” You slid them down his legs and threw them on top of his discarded pants. He took his undershirt off and watched as you stepped out of your skirt then turned away to take off your bra and panties, bending seductively to slide them down your legs. He whistled lowly. “How did I go a week without you?”

“Hm, I don’t know.” You finally turned and let him admire you. He had surely memorized every inch of your body by now, but you let him enjoy it.

“Get over here.” He gestured with his finger but you shook your head and dropped to your knees. “Oh…” he said quietly.

“I feel like I don’t do this enough,” you said, reaching for him.

“You…” he gasped as you touched him, “…you don’t have to do it at all.” His eyes closed and he sat back, swallowing hard. When he opened them again, you were snug between his legs and he had to look away. “It’s not like I expect it from you all the time.” He laughed then grunted as you began stroking. “I…I don’t…”

“I know but I don’t mind especially because I know it makes you feel so good.”

“Everything you do makes me feel good…damn…” He squeezed his eyes shut again just as you took him into your mouth. His mouth moved as though he wanted to speak but his brain had forgotten how to form words.

You smiled to yourself as you continued, loving the way his hips began to move slightly. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it, lost in pleasure as he is, and you don’t mind. He deserved it. His hands reached out to you but dropped to his thigh, balled into a fist.

You pulled off him. “It’s okay, Frankie. You can touch me.” He still hesitated but eventually you felt his hand on your head, fingers massaging your scalp. Any time he accidentally did anything that resembled pulling your hair, he apologized. You wanted to tell him he didn’t have, instead you just kept going, enjoying the sounds you pulled from him.

“Your mouth,” he started. “How?” He looked down at you, meeting your gaze. “Remind me to never ever try to go for a week without you again.” As a response, you took him into your mouth deeper, looking into his eyes the entire time. His hips arched up off the seat and his eyes rolled back again. “Okay, okay, okay.” He pulled you off him causing a very noticeable pop as he slid out of your mouth.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, wiping your mouth as neatly as you could.

“More than okay.” He pulled you up off your knees and onto his lap again. His hands rested on your lower back then drifted down to your ass which you had realized was one of his favorite things to touch.

“I knew you were an ass man,” you joked.

“A what?” He looked confused even as he rubbed your booty. You laughed then kissed him, cupping his face as you did. He rested his forehead against yours and sighed, getting lost in your eyes.

“You’re amazing,” you told him, kissing his nose then his lips again as you use a hand to guide him into you.

“I am?” The sound he makes is one of surprise and pleasure. He rested his head against your breasts, steadying himself.

“You are.” You began rocking your hips against him, riding him slowly.

“I just…wanna make you happy.” He looked up at you, eyes full of the passion that he only had for you.

“You do. Always.” The chair creaks with each swirl of your hips and you get nervous. “Frankie, how long have you had this chair?”

“Dad gave it to me when I first moved out, why?”

“I don’t want this thing giving out under us.” You smiled and he chuckled, patting the cushions of the arm rests.

“It’s sturdy enough. You don’t wanna stop, do you?” he asked, putting his hands back on your hips.

“Hell no.” You put your hands on his shoulders and ride him harder, faster, ignoring the sounds the chair made. The sounds Frankie made were much better anyway. You loved how vocal he was—moaning, groaning, cursing—you loved it all. Sometimes he whispered things to you in Spanish because he knew how much you enjoyed that.

Now one of his hands was between your legs but his eyes stayed on you, making everything feel more intense. Even when you cried out and threw your head back, he kept his eyes on you, sometimes trailing down to your breasts to watch how they moved as you rode him, but his eyes always found their way back to your face. He lived for seeing your face change with every thrust, every pleasurable shock that went through your body—the faces you made because of him.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he said quietly, breathlessly as he touched you. Your hips moved faster on him and he knew you were close. Your hands left his shoulders and moved to his knees so you could steady yourself as you leaned back and rode him with reckless abandon.

“I missed you too,” you cried.

Frankie used his free hand to help you keep your balance, placing it on the small of your back. “Hermosa,” he whispered.

“Francisco,” you whimpered, your hips moving erratically, losing rhythm as you hit your peak. Your body feels weak now but Frankie keeps you upright and moving, thrusting up into you now.

“Tell me you’re proud of me again,” he murmured, bringing your lips to his in a quick, messy kiss.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, Francisco. I love you so much.”

“Yeah?” He smiled before biting his lip and you nodded.

“Yeah.” You kissed him before he had to pull away so he could groan. He held you so tightly against him it took your breath away. He laid his head against your breasts again and with a few more rough thrusts, he came, grunting and whimpering. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and tangled your fingers in his hair as he came down from his high, catching his breath.

Eventually, he sat back against the chair, pulling you with him. His breath fanned against your sweaty skin as he caressed your back. You held each other quietly for some time then he finally looked up at you, blinking slowly.

“Hey handsome,” you said and he hid his face again but you could feel him smile against your skin.

“Wanna have a sleepover?” he asked.

“You already asked, sweetheart. I said yes.” You made him look at you. “Of course I do.”

“Bathroom?” he mumbled as he kissed your skin.

“Yeah.” You lifted yourself off him carefully but he still hissed and clenched his jaw. “Come on.” You helped him stand and he rubbed his lower back.

“We’re not as young as we used to be, huh?” He held your hand on the way to the bathroom and you turned on the shower.

“No, but we’re just as in love.”

“Nah, I think we’re even more in love than we were back then. Our love has aged gracefully kinda like us.” He walked over to the shower as if he hadn’t just said the sweetest thing you had ever heard.

“That was beautiful, Frankie.”

“Yeah, well, so are you. Come on.” He held his hand out to you and helped you into the shower. You watched as he let the water cascade over his head then reached up to smooth it out of his face. He was truly the most beautiful man you had ever seen. “See something you like?” he asked.

“Hell yeah.”

He pulled you under the stream of water with him and held you there. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

Our love has aged gracefully kinda like us.

[twenty-one]

Tags: @cable-kenobi @saltywintersoldat @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @pedrosdoll @psychobillybunny @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts @thinemineours @huliabitch @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @lavenderl3mons @mrscrain-x7 @fioccodineveautunnale @gooddaykate @themilkface @tiffdawg @ms-dont-care @mus1caln0tes @awesomefandomsunited @seawhisperer @virtualxjournality @badassbaker @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ @lokiaddicted @forever-rogue @sloantravels @javier-djarin @jawabear @longitud-de-onda​

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x Reader #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #headcanon

[thanksjro]

Dark Cybertron Chapter 1: Welcome to Comic Event Hell

You know what readers love? When the stories they’ve gotten invested in over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

And you know what writers love? When the story they’ve been crafting over the course of a couple years get interrupted for some pseudo-crossover bullshit.

Did I say love?

Because I didn’t mean it.

“Dark Cybertron” was penned by John Barber and James Roberts, with collaboration with comic writer and artist Phil Jimenez, and was published from early November, 2013 to late March, 2014. Atilio Rojo, James Raiz, and Livio Ramondelli did the art, each responsible for scenes in specific locations, with Robert Gill filling in as needed. Alex Milne, Andrew Griffith, and Brendan Cahill would also contribute pencils to the first issue and the back half of the series. It was a celebration of the 30th anniversary of the franchise, and the second birthday of Phase Two... which went on for over four months, but never mind that!

Both "Dark Cybertron” and its preliminary materials were made to go alongside the Transformers: Generations toy-line, each issue being included as a toy pack-in with whatever character was being featured… or, at least, that was the plan. Sometimes it didn’t work out. Regardless, this storyline was created to sell toys directly, as opposed to the MTMTE/RID series being made to sell toys more through the power of suggestion. It’s a small distinction, but important, because it will help explain any lack of soul one may perceive while they read “Dark Cybertron”.

“But Hannz!” you cry out, reaching to grab me by the throat and shake me like a rag doll, because to you I’m merely a faceless voice on the internet. “Surely by calling this specific storyline soulless, you’re completely ignoring the very nature of this franchise that you’re almost uncomfortably invested in!”

To which I’ll say this: look, I’m pretty realistic about where my giant space robots came from; Transformers as a franchise would not exist the way it does without Ronald Reagan introducing the Free Market to literal children and fucking up how we interact with media for the rest of time. There is no ethical consumption under capitalism, and that rings especially true when I’ve got a Spinister on my bookshelf staring me down as I write this, that was likely made out of plastics which either involved blood oil or unethical labor practices, if not both.

However!

The choices of a company to have their comic license holders to cook up an entire plot that derails what they’ve already got planned out for toy tie-in comics is a completely different animal than what IDW had had going on up to this point. Phase Two had been about exploring different ideas that hadn’t been able to be explored during the war, and seeing what happens when you take away a third of the logline for Transformers G1 as a whole. Being a part of a brand of toys was almost inconsequential to how the stories were being told; even the Spotlights, which were also toy tie-in comics, had plenty of charm to them, if only because there weren’t quite as many constraints placed on the writers, and they were stand-alone issues.

Of course, being tie-in comics isn’t the only reason that “Dark Cybertron” is a bit of a slog, considering everything IDW itself was trying to get done within this storyline, but we’ll cover the publishing company’s/Simon Furman’s/Transformers’ tumultuous relationship with the concept of gender identity and expression later on, when it becomes relevant to the story proper. This point also ties into the interesting origin of Windblade, who we’ll meet in a few issues, and what happens when you let your fanbase have a taste of power and forget that people might like to see themselves represented in the media they consume.

“Dark Cybertron” is what ended up making me stop reading MTMTE the first time I tried it in 2015. A big part of it was because it forced the reader to need so much information from RID and even events prior to Phase Two, it wasn’t very fun to try to parse what was going on, on top of the writing beginning to flag because of obvious constraints to what Barber and Roberts could actually do, both within their deadlines and the rules put in place by their higher ups for the event.

 “Dark Cybertron” is the result of the sort of executive meddling that kills reader enjoyment by requiring writers to cram their two worlds together as quickly as possible, without the option to go for nuance because there simply isn’t time. The reason we have four separate artists for the front half of this story is because Milne and Griffith didn’t have time to draw both their current workload and “Dark Cybertron” at the same time... but sales probably went up due to the nature of how the story was published, so I’m sure they didn’t really see a problem with it.

That’s a general “they”, not a Milne and Griffith “they”.

In short, we’ve got license contract obligations, fan-poll obligations, and gender stuff fighting for space within the next 12 issues, which will be published in the span of roughly four months. Things are probably going to be a little bloated and sloppy.

Regardless of any of these points, this is what we’ve got. It’s not like it’s all bad- “Dark Cybertron” has the benefit of being written by two people who had been working closely before it had even been conceptualized. Barber was the senior editor for MTMTE, and IDW as a whole until he left in 2016. It also isn’t a proper crossover- y’know, where two completely separate titles get mashed together for a bit. MTMTE and RID exist in the same universe, just have their own things going on, so a decent amount of things still carry over without you needing to have read every single thing in both. The writing, while not quite up to par with pieces that had more creative freedom and breathing room between scenes, is still recognizable as being Barber and Roberts’. Their voices are still here, they’re just strained under the weight of everything that has to be said inside of 12 issues.

With all THAT out of the way, let’s dive in to Dark Dawn: Dark Cybertron Chapter 1.

We get a quick rundown of the most basic information you’ll need for this entire story to make sense, as we reintroduce the fact that Shockwave is an ecoterrorist with more agendas than a daily planner factory on meth, and also that he grows magic crystals. I don’t care what he says, the Ores are fucking space-magic. If you don’t want to read through all of RID for everything else, please see Robots in Disguise (2012), #1-22- A Recap, For Reference Purposes.  We also get a quick rundown of the Lost Lighters’ deal, as Swerve potentially has a meta-episode.

Be careful what you fucking wish for, bucko.

Our story proper starts with a flashback to the shittiest road trip Cyclonus ever went on, as the Ark 1 finds itself at the edge of a mysterious portal. This is likely why he wasn’t super thrilled when the portal to Luna 1 showed up- portals are probably a touchy subject for him.

Jhiaxus doesn’t know what this portal is- surely this means that science has failed us, and it’s time to call in the religious crowd to try and suss out what’s going on here.

It’s moments like this that make me wonder what exactly happened in the Dead Universe that made Cyclonus’ cheek meat just pack up and leave.

Now, we know that Cyclonus is correct here, because we as readers have more knowledge than the characters at this point, but Jhiaxus tries to write off this theory as hogwash, because he is a man of rationality and science. This is a slight removal from his character in the present, whose most notable traits seem to be a lack of ethics and screaming.

Everyone here seems to be slightly different from their current iterations, actually; Galvatron doesn’t say a word as he steps between Jhiaxus and Cyclonus, only using his body to communicate that the scientist might want to back off. Cyclonus himself is certainly the wordiest we’ve ever seen him to be, droning on through his actual thought process before he comes to a conclusion on what exactly they’ve found. Compare this to the Cyclonus of today, who only deigns to grace everyone with his voice if they outright threaten him, have something he wants, or are Tailgate. If he were to ever pull this verbal meandering on board the Lost Light, people would probably assume he’s having a stroke.

Nova Prime- you remember him, don’t you?- gives not a fuck about the Dead Universe, only what it means for him personally. And what it means for him is more locations to subjugate, because he is cartoonishly evil. His character is the least removed from his present-day iteration out of everyone. He tells the crew they’ll be getting a little closer, only for the portal to do the work for them, by way of dark energy tentacles.

Wow, the pilot for the Ark 1 really is just straight-up named Butt, isn’t he? And what the fuck is that face you’re making, Cyclonus? Are you- oh my god, are you emoting? Oh my god, he’s emoting.

As the Ark 1 is pulled to its doom, Jhiaxus makes a quick phone call to Shockwave to tell him he’s his favorite, and to keep up the good work.

In the present, Shockwave reflects on just how friggin’ long this whole ordeal has taken. Fortunately, Waspinator and the Titan are almost here, and he can hardly wait.

Not, uh, that he’s got emotions or anything. It’s been established that he doesn’t have those anymore. Is impatience an emotion? Does that count?

Shockwave seems like he’d be really frustrating to write for.

Anyway, the Titan shows up, the Ore inside him and the Ore in the underground Crystal City combine, and the Titan starts screaming because everything hurts. Shockwave’s about as thrilled as he can be about the situation, given his lack of emotions.

Above Crystal City, we finally get back to that nonsense about the early sunrise, as someone- maybe Starscream, given the color of the narration box- waxes poetic on the planet of Cybertron, wartorn and wild in its rebirth, ruled by paranoia that has nothing to bounce off of, and so creates its own walls.

Then we get a detailed shot of Rattrap’s mug, and the moment is broken.

Rattrap’s character is a lot of fun in everything he gets tossed into, but you’re a goddamn liar if you think he’s pretty to look at. You are lying to yourself, and I won’t apologize for saying it.

Starscream walks out of his room in his hot new body, feeling fine and ready to take on the world. We’ll check in on him later in the day to see how that positive mentality is working out for him.

So, the sun hasn’t moved, and it’s way too early for the sun to even be up right now. That’s weird. Because I guess he didn’t know how the sun works, Starscream’s only just realized that this is perhaps a problem. He does some computer work and realizes that this is indeed a very bad thing, and asks that Rattrap call the Autobots. Not the ones who fucked off into the wilderness, the other ones. The gay, space ones.

Up in space, Orion Pax and his pals have found themselves in dire straits, the collapsing Gorlam Prime sucking their ship back down as the Death Ore consumes everything.

That’s not how engines work! And I think it really says something about the “Prelude” issues that I completely forgot why Wheelie was down an arm for a solid five seconds.

It turns out that Orion was the narrator the entire time, which I should have known- since when is the once and future Optimus Prime not the primary voice in any media he appears in?

It’s looking rough for the fellas, but luckily we’ve got to get the plot rolling, so the Lost Light VZZZZTs into existence and picks up the Skyroller to place it gently into its belly.

Orion isn’t exactly jazzed about the fact that Rodimus didn’t listen to what he told him, not even bothering to thank the guy for saving his life. I say y’all keep going on your Thunderclash Quest and leave this ungrateful loser behind. No space yachting for you, Orion.

The rest of the Pax Posse enter the Lost Light proper, and Hardhead reveals that he nearly joined the Quest, before he saw who all would be coming with, while Garnak has a tearful reunion with Rodimus. The fact that he’s calling him Sir- which I don’t recall him doing in Transformers (2009), at least not in a way that seems reminiscent of an unfortunate Antebellum Period Romance- feels rather weird, but I’m glad someone’s fucking happy to see Rodimus at least. Ultra Magnus asks Orion if he’ll be assuming command of the vessel, as Rodimus tries not to look horrified by the thought alone, but fortunately Orion’s not going to pull his “I’m Optimus Prime and I Can Do What I Want” Card just yet.

Smash cut to the bridge, as Rodimus tries to make himself sound competent, when Starscream calls. Orion doesn’t like that Starscream has their number, Perceptor almost reveals the fact that this ship technically doesn’t belong to a faction, likely due to being purchased after the war, and Cyclonus gets brought in for his professional opinion.

As it turns out, that early sunrise isn’t a sunrise at all, but a portal to the Dead Universe. This is a problem, because the Dead Universe really sucks, and you don’t want to go there, especially if you enjoy being alive. Orion seems more concerned about the fact that Starscream is ruling the planet, and Bumblebee is nowhere to be found.

Speaking of Bumblebee, he and all his camp buddies are psyching themselves up for a confrontation.

Swoop, please, this is hardly the time for crudeness.

The Dinobots, sick of Bumblebee’s dithering about, decide they’re going to fight the fucking sun and gear up. Prowl, though generally disliking their brand of problem-solving, does share his begrudging respect of their can-do attitude.

Their can-do attitude over fighting the fucking sun.

Then an earthquake happens and the ground rips open to reveal that Titan that Waspinator showed up with.

Shockwave takes over the narration at this point, and we get artsy, as we see events that haven’t transpired yet over musings on the nature of... time? Maybe? It would be in line with Roberts’ go-to topics, but honestly the whole thing’s kind of vague so I couldn’t give you a solid answer. Shockwave gets awfully introspective for a guy who shouldn’t care, I know that much. The point is, he is inevitable and is super good at logic and science.

Also, Nova Prime and Galvatron are back, which is cool, I guess. Not sure where Galvatron had gotten to exactly after the events of “Chaos”, but he’s back now, so it doesn’t matter too terribly much. Shockwave serves them, which we’ll probably get an explanation for at some point.

God, you can practically taste the desperation to pin all these plot points together before the entire thing implodes on itself.

#transformers #jro #dark cybertron #issue 1 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Been having a weird/off week. But you know what’s made it better?

Spending some more time in Midvale with Supergirl Ep. 6x06, “Prom Again!”

Spoilers!

So! Last week was the fun shenanigans/set-up, THIS WEEK we get the emotional pay-offs and oooooh. So good. So good.

Historically, Supergirl kinda struggles to stick its landing when it comes to paying off its set-ups, but I think this episode is really solid in that regard.  

And thus, we begin! With the forest showdown! And I love it. Love every part of it. Love Kara flying in and freeing Nia and Brainy with her heat vision, love that one of Kenny and Kara’s go-to plays is called ‘Speed Racer’, love Brainy’s whole, ‘my buddy’s gonna BLAST YA if you don’t cooperate’ and Kara just. Threatens the bad guys from the shrubbery.

She’s supposed to be scary and intimidating with the heat vision eyes but dagnabbit...it’s just kind of cute.

Last week I completely forgot to mention how much I love that Kenny and Kara have go-to plays WITH NAMES. (NERDY names at that!) And also that Alex is so exasperated by it.

JUST YOU WAIT, KIDDO. 

Fast forward to the Fortress and everyone’s happy! The day is saved! The timeline is restored! Alex apologizes for being a bit of a grouch!

*cough* understatement *cough*

And Brainy doesn’t get the fist bump, d’awwwww. XD

Nia has a lovely chat with Kara wherein SHE is the elder hero who inspires the youths. Nice. NICE.

And THEN, the first of some good Danvers Sisters scenes...we’ll call this one ‘the mini-van chat.’ 

Kara apologizing about the ‘Zookeeper fight-y thing’ and the GLASSES FIDGET.

Shout out to the writers, who were ON-POINT with the dialogue for both parts, and shout out to the young actresses as well. It’s...honestly uncanny, how well they nailed playing Kara and Alex. 

(I mean, we knew this already, of course, but GOSH. What a wonderful showcase. So, so glad, that we got such a large Midvale story in the final season.)

Right, so, another dialogue highlight from the mini-van chat (but like, not in a silly way. More in a, ‘oh wow that’s very sweet’ way) Alex, to Kara about her choice: ‘It’s the right one because you made it.’

THESE KIDS.

Then we go to Nia and Brainy on the Legion Cruiser!

Nia’s outfit? Outstanding. Brainy’s mask? Admittedly a little distracting because it didn’t look like it was fitting quite right.

But A+ song choice for their dance, show. 

(Really, A+ song choices across the board. You can tell they were absolutely LOVING getting in all those needle drops.) 

And then we discover--ALL IS NOT WELL! THE TIMELINE IS STILL BROKEN!

Cat Grant has released the aliens! And she has been captured! And yet she remains heckin’ fearless!

Love that she calls Mitch ‘Mr. Blue Sky.’

It took me a while to warm up to this ‘new’ version of Cat Grant but this episode really gave her some fun stuff to do and yep, I dig it. Great stuff. 

Meanwhile, back at the prom...

I'm taking this moment to applaud the Supergirl folks for their very nice workarounds for ‘crowded’ locations this season thus far. The episodes have never felt like, overtly obvious in terms of Covid protocol impacts (I mean there are a few scenes here and there where you’re like, ‘oh, yeah, this is set up in this specific way to probably account for some production changes) but I’ve never felt that the episodes are losing anything, you know?

Case in point! Two episodes, set in a crowded high school! But most of the stuff takes place before/between classes, or outside!

(Specifically enjoyed all the outdoor stuff and natural lighting. It’s not quite the same as that LA sunshine, but. Still nice.)  

Anyways, in “Prom Again!” the action/discussions are set in the hallways/classrooms outside of the actual Prom. Inobtrusive! Makes sense for the story! Doesn’t compromise!

Gold stars for everyone. 

Kara and Kenny are BOTH unrelentingly cheesy--Kara even says as much--and it’s wonderful.

‘Hey Stargazer.’ Kara, you smooth operator you.

Shout out to Kenny’s bowtie, it’s great.

...Shout out to Kenny in general.

(Like, Will is great, but he’s got a lot to live up to, now.)

So FURTHER PROOF THAT THE TIMELINE IS BUSTED: Kara is going to stay in Midvale!

:O

Me, knowing full well that Kara has to go to National City, but also being...just a liiiiittle bit team Kenny: 

And then...THE METEOR!

That Kara just. Body-slams.

It reminded me of another Danvers, who also body-slams some space stuff:

But UNLIKE Kara’s cross-company cousin, this particular move does not end well!

Because there’s KRYPTONITE! And also, a CLOAKED SPACESHIP, BLOCKING THE FALLING METEOR DEBRIS! And, you know, ALIEN HUNTERS THREATENING HIGH SCHOOLERS! And Kenny SACRIFICES HIMSELF FOR KARA!

(Well, okay. It’s tonight but you get the idea.)

Poor, sweet Kenny. Who feels WAY out of his depth as he’s imprisoned alongside Cat on the alien ship...but it does bring us one of her patented ‘tough love pep talks.’ Wherein she calls Kenny brilliant.

And also, Kendall.

Never change, Cat. Never change.

Also, “Go, go.”

Okay, some more rapid fire specifics that I enjoyed so that this list doesn’t get...too? Long? ...No promises.

Smol Kara squaring her shoulders in that classic Kara Super Pose! 

Alex being able to pick a lock!

Kara using the reflected sunlight from the moon to heal!

‘That’s an 80% failure rate’ ‘Oh yes it’s terrible.’

The scene where the police have Kara, and Alex comes rushing out all, ‘that’s my sister!’ and Kara’s gonna just RISK EVERYTHING to fix this?

100/10, excellent, love to see that Danvers Sisters angst in the Worst Timeline. Also? Alex’s desperate little headshake, silently pleading for Kara to NOT DO THE THING???? Devastating. In the best way.

‘The world will know that name...Keira.’ 

No Plutonian Landshark sightings!?!? Not even a graphic on a computer screen? FOR SHAME!

(Personally, I’m imaging that they look like Jeff, pictured below.)

Kara stowing away on the Cruiser, and her very cute, ‘Don’t be mad!’

Her entire speech about her future--She’s just seventeen! She doesn’t have her driver’s license yet! Eliza’s only let her do the laundry once! She’s not even sure she can make rice!

(Eliza, I love you, but for Pete’s sake, let your kid do her own laundry.) 

Brainy and Kara trying to play it cool upon being discovered by Kenny and Alex! 

Their story involving an excess of formal wear!

Nia inspiring Cat to start CatCo, and telling her she’s CAT FREAKIN’ GRANT!

“If you say Lois Lane I will expire.”

Wait, did I mention the lucid dreaming power yet? ...Nia’s lucid dreaming power!

The entirety of Kara and Kenny’s talk in the gym!

Kara in the Worst Timeline tell Alex, ‘you don’t have to shout’. And then in the Fixed Timeline: ‘inside voice please.’

And she quotes Monty Python that lil GOOBER.

THE WHOLE EPISODE(S) was a GOSHDARN DELIGHT, I TELL YA. (Did I say that last week? I might’ve said that last week, but I don’t care.)

And now, some slightly more in-depth, overall thoughts:

So, How ‘Bout Them Danvers: Not surprisingly, the girls end up in, if not the exact same place as the end of “Midvale”, then pretty darn close. I’m trying to avoid, like. All of fandom, these days, but unfortunately, the bad takes are numerous, and often untagged. So I did see a bunch of people insisting that Kenny living ‘ruined the Danvers’ relationship’ and that the show is ‘taking away everything that makes Kara Kara’

To which I say:

In the broadest terms, what needs to happen by episode’s end to match up with “Midvale”, and prep the kiddos for the stuff that happens in the Pilot - Kara needs to put the aspirations of super-ing on the backburner, and Alex needs to like. Not hate Kara, but also be committed to helping Kara keep her secret, you know...secret. 

All of these things are set up. I repeat: All. Of. Them.

And Kenny didn’t have to die!

(I will admit, I chuckled that they so blatantly teased an untimely demise for him...because I know it will annoy select corners of fandom.

Muhahahahaha.)

But anyways, back to those key ingredients for making a ‘Danvers Sisters in the same emotional place they were in @ Midvale’s end’ soup: Alex deals with that simmering resentment. Seeing Kara handle herself well in a super-ing context gives her that little, ‘hey, this isn’t so bad!’ outlook.

BUT INTERESTINGLY, in the Fixed Timeline, Alex and Kara don’t have that chat in the supply room, where Alex is like. ‘You CANNOT reveal your powers, BAD THINGS will happen if you do.’ 

That is saved for the Pilot!*

MEANWHILE. The Kara ingredients! She puts super-ing on hold. 

Her chat with Kenny functions as a replacement for her chat with J’onn-as-Not!Alura, in the sense that it’s here that she reveals that she didn’t choose to come to Midvale, she didn’t choose these powers. 

(...I can already sense fandom using those lines to prove their end-of-series theories and like. Ugh. Ugh.) 

But anyways. It’s also here that we get shades of Pilot!Kara, what with the season one conflict of being Super vs. being normal. 

It’s ALL THE SAME STUFF.

Fandom needs to like. Chill. 

And their (fake) concern for Kara’s characterization is entirely misplaced, because this was a really wonderful showcase for Kara in particular.

Like. The first episode was really Nia’s time to shine, and we still got solid Brainy and Nia action in this episode!

But man. That good Kara content.

THE CONTENT I CRAVE!

So speaking of good Kara content in particular, I LOVED Kara’s prom dress. It's got both a SKIRT. AND PANTS!

Amazing.

I know nothing of fashion, but it was very cute, very girly, and okay. Though I hate the comic, the one thing I actually liked about Future State is Kara’s costume. This was similar!

(Thank goodness it looked nothing like the prom dress from Rebirth. That...was a bit of a train wreck.)

(Look, not all comic artists are great clothes designers, it’s just how it is.)

We see the empowerment theme come up with Kara inspiring Kenny; he describes her as ‘an amazing light in a world of darkness’ and tells her that, ‘you changed me, Kara Zor-El.’

We love to see it. 

They also agree that stargazing and Monty Python make for the perfect prom these absolute NERDS I love them.

*Quick wibbly-wobbly, timey-whimey note WRT making this episode ‘fit’ with the Pilot: I’m not saying that it 100% does. There’s already the change with the Kryptonite, and the added info/awareness of the DEO. 

Those little changes, though, don’t really impact the overall arc of Kara and Alex, the way the emotional stuff might. 

Thus! The ‘Pilot’ of Earth Prime, and in fact, the ENTIRETY of the show’s run thus far most likely involved little differences throughout, but the emotional core is very close, if not the exact same.

BUT EITHER WAY, it doesn’t matter, because our Kara and Alex are still our Kara and Alex thanks to the multiple sets of memories! 

(So all of fandom’s freaking out is for naught. As it almost always is.) 

I bring this up because, again, as much as I talk about setting stuff up for where we find Kara six years from now--this Kara is a little different! She comes across as more confident, something Izabela Vidovic mentioned in an interview, when discussing her approach to playing Kara this time around. 

And now, Alex: Admittedly, she gets less focus as like, a solo-entity in these episodes--she really is there to serve the more Kara-centric plot. Personally, it didn’t bother me too much because outside of these flashback episodes, Alex has had some solid development and screen time, so. It balances out.

And the scenes we did get with those 2? Solid. Top tier. There was even a couch scene! Like, technically. Because there was a couch in the supply room. XD  

Spotlight on Kenny: fandom kinda loves to insist that all the men on Supergirl are trash, because, ya know. 'Feminism’ or whatever. It’s ships, it’s always ships. But, in fact! The dudes on Supergirl? Are actually wonderful! And Kenny is another example of a guy who isn’t afraid to be emotionally vulnerable, who 1000% supports Kara, but is also like. His own person. 

GOOD JOB, SHOW. GOOD JOB.

Brainy too, had some really nice stuff in terms of dealing with his emotions!

And it’s Brainy who gives us our closing line, as Nia asks him how he’s feeling now that they’ve accomplished their mission:

“Hopeful.”

NOICE.

In conclusion! “Prom Night” and “Prom Again!” were EXCELLENT! They had heart! They had stakes! They had the promised time-travel do-over alluded to in the titles! Outstanding performances from the entire cast! Tthe ‘young’ versions of characters in particular! And I WILL be watching these episodes on repeat throughout the three-month hiatus! XD

But before the Super Friends take their break: NEXT WEEK! The Quest for Kara Concludes!!!

#SG post #supergirl spoilers #supergirl season 6 spoilers #long post #gifs

[krenbotvt]

What The Fans Of (Almost) Every Scarecrow Design Are Like Just by Surveying Rogue Tumblr for Approx: 5 Months. (Not in any particular order. Also this is a meme.)

Year One: You probably needed a childhood to relate to/needed a justifiable reason to stan one of Gotham’s biggest criminals. (but if your childhood involves being half-eaten by crows i am VERY concerned)  BTAS: The gateway drug Scarecrow. You’re probably a gremlin, and also really like the Dork Squad(tm)  TNBA: He’s under-appreciated, and you know this very well, but you’re also thankful that you get some of the coolest artwork of your favorite spooky boy. (Also the voice. 11/10 you want him to read sleepy hollow to you.) TAOB: You are one of the only 3 living fans of Adventures Of Batman Scarecrow, but you give absolutely no shit. You love that uncanny valley, near on clown-like scarecrow, and i feel bad for you, because you’ll probably never get art of them. Super Friends: I...Wow. Y’all really do exist... Galactic Guardians: YOU GUYS ACTUALLY EXIST TOO??? BATB: JAZZY. You like his hat, and his voice. You also probably enjoy a lot of older scarecrow designs as well. You get sad because you wish there were more content.  The Batman (TV series): PFFT HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (But seriously though, you poor, poor things...There, There...) Assault On Arkham: AA Scarecrow in an otherwise good movie. Basically, you’re sad he didn’t get more screen-time. At this point, just stan: Arkham Asylum: ABSOLUTE GOBLIN OF A HUMAN. One of the gateway drug Scarecrows that lead you to The Rogues fanbase in the first place. You either love the serious artwork of him, love him drawn/written as a gremlin, or are STILL offended by his lack of footwear. Either way, you adore him and will remind everyone of it. Arkham Knight: OH FUCKING BOY. This can go one of two ways. 1.You love his writing (or don’t, but still stan), his poetic dialogue and his voice, and you also love how much he hams up the fear factor. You probably adore every artwork of him you see, and you REALLY love reading any fan-written material of him. You have many headcanons, and probably have googled A LOT of stuff to make them more genuine.  Or 2. You are very, VERY horny... (But as a good friend once said, “these are not mutually exclusive.”) Nightwing And Robin: Aw, y’all are so cute! Here, have some tea with the SF AND GG Fans, I think they have Earl Grey over in the CORNER OF IRRELEVANCY. (But I feel bad for y’all too.) Unlimited: BEEF BOY. You’re either in the group of people that love Scarecrow designs that use scythes, or you like how strange, yet fun his appearance is. Most art of him is super colorful too. There aren’t very many of you, but the amount of you that I’ve seen seem like super cool people. You all probably also enjoy the next one: Batman/TMNT: You knew the movie was a wild ride from start to finish, but you love it. You probably also like birds (I know, really obvious.) There aren’t many of you, but you like the idea of a corvid-like Scarecrow, and you wish for more. Or...You may be a furry that also likes DC stuff, and that’s ok too! We too also oddly love that weird ass cobra joker anyways.  Salecrow: You love his rhyming (which is arguably the best thing about him), but are also annoyed by the fact that most content of him use the same 3 images every time. You’re probably in the same boat as all the other scarecrow fans that genuinely want a proper medieval themed version of him. If you write/draw him, you’ve googled endless nursery rhymes. Its like Dr.Seuss up in this bitch. Also, them hands. Blackest Night: Chances are you’re still amazed that your favorite bag-headed master of fear even HAS that thing. You REALLY want him to wear that damn ring again, and will probably pay an arm and a leg to see it happen in a form of animated media. You also have very interesting artwork/writings of him. And your head canons are outlandish, but in the most fun way. (Seriously though, Hatter with a ring, huh...) Injustice: You either love the concept of The ScareBeast, or you’re here for the fact that hes voice by FREAKING ROBERT ENGLUND. Admittedly, you probably aren’t all too good at fighting games, but you still insta-lock him despite that.  The Dark Knight: Cillian Murphy portrays the character rather well, but you either are unnerved by his strangely dreamboyish face, or would wish for a slightly older actor. But!!! Despite all that!!! You love him, and probably still quote “WaNnA sEe My MaSK???” (Although I see some of you get absolutely tired of that lol) I don’t see any loyal fans of him, but everyone seems to agree that he’s not too shabby (heheh... shabby...) Gotham (Tv Series): ...Hello? Where are you guys? I KNOW you exist! Show yourselves! Jokes aside, you either love him or hate him. Live action scarecrows seem to be a hit or miss for some.  Harley Quinn (Tv Series): Softies. You adore everything about him. His dialogue, his humor, his very surprising accent, and his, albeit a stretch, questionable sexuality implications. Most art of him is very wholesome and good, probably because you’re STILL not over...Well... Maybe its better if I not mention it (all fans of him are the “If I see anything happen to them I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself” meme.). Detective Comics: Hroo Hraa, my friends. Hroo Hraa. Whether it’s his “Queer grasshopper leaps” or his strange laughter onomatopoeia, you can’t get enough of his antics. Nothing beats a classic, and the fact that there are still many of you that are fans of him makes me smile. New 52/Prime Earth: One of the few scarecrows that greatly changes his childhood, but you welcome the idea of it. He’s a very unsettling looking guy, but you’ll remind everyone that his writing makes up for it. He’s mostly treated like a semi-C tier villain in the continuity, but every time you see him you’re like “!!!!!!!”.You most likely have a list of every issue he appears in so you don’t have to suffer, and your heart still breaks when you read the scene with him and that one girl. (He said he was sorry, guys.) Batman:Hush: 2 and a half sweet and savory minutes of this guy, only for him to get kicked in the face? Nay, Nay, you say! A crime, you holler! You go to your keyboard to tell your friend about how good his character design is, and how well animated he was, but alas they say “that’s nice, bud.” Blast it all... The Lego Batman Movie/Lego in general: Our boy at his most gremlin. Sure, you know this is a 99% children’s medium, but that doesn’t stop you from smiling like a dummy every time you see him. He’s funny, he’s delightful, and he has... a weird obsession with planes? What is it with them and putting him in planes? Maybe he got a pilot’s license before he attended university? What a smart little block person!  Obviously, I left out quite a few here, but these seem to be the most popular. There are SO many comic renditions of him, so It’d take my forever. (My poor fingies already hurt!) But please enjoy this silly little thing :’] 

#tube says something #scarecrow #jonathan crane #gotham rogues

[kittystargen3]

Link:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13534569/1/Return-of-the-Survivors

Story Summary:  Alternate Universe- What if Anakin's mother survived and Anakin never went dark side. Padme has the twins on Tatooine and survives. Anakin tries to help the surviving Jedi, while still keeping his family secret. Meanwhile Darth Sidious has been crowned emperor and is going after the remaining Jedi. Rumors have it he's looking for a new apprentice. Anakin gets to be a daddy.

I’ve posted chapter 30 to Return of the Survivors.  Below is a small selection.  Please click the link to read more.  

Chapter 30 - Solo Escapades

“Chewy, are you sure about this?” the eighteen year old pilot asked.  

“Grrrrrrrumphh” his companion growled something in Shyriiwook.  “Grraaahwroh.”

“What do you mean, you have a good feeling about this?”  

“Grroooogrrraaaawrrrrrrrrmph.”  

“Oh don’t you get poetic on me.  I’ll have enough of that in these classes you signed me up for.”

“Grroooh.” The Wookiee shoved the pilot down the ramp and onto the tarmac below.  

‘Whatever does he mean, don’t be late again.  When was I late to begin with?’ The man starts walking anyway.  They had come to Tatooine to work for Jabba.  The Hutt, rumors had it, was paying good credits for pilots to smuggle spice and other illegal goods around the system.  That was what they came here for.  So why then am I on my way to school?  In Anchorhead of all places?  The rural town wasn’t even worth a pitstop.  But Chewy had heard about this center, and he insisted Han go there.  When a two point three meter Wookiee, one hundred and twelve kilograms of muscle, insists on anything, it’s hard to refuse.  

The building looked simple on the outside, much like the other industrial buildings in that section of town.  Inside it was airy and bright.  He walked up to a desk where a woman in her mid thirties sat.  “Hi sweetheart.” he was going to continue to flirt with her.  Perhaps get her to check the little box next to ‘class attended’ on his records and get the Wookiee off his back, but then she gave him a look.  A serious, no nonsense look that meant she had heard it all before and he’d get nowhere with her.

“Name?” She inquired.

“Han, Han Solo,” he answered.

“My name is Mrs. Skywalker.  Mr. Solo, do you have your entrance evaluations?” Han nodded and pulled a datapad out of his bag.  Mrs. Skywalker looked over the results.  

“Look, Ma’am.  I know I’m not that smart.  Street kids don’t have much use for reading and all that.  But I’d appreciate just being able to take these classes and move on.  I've got a job lined up and…”

“She absent mindedly nodded.  “You’re not the first student we’ve had who’d never learned to read, Mr. Solo.  I am going to recommend you take the Basic language skills class, but to save you time, I will allow you to start the career courses.  I am assigning you a tutor.  That will help you progress faster too, especially since you can’t read the lessons yet.”

“A tutor?  Uh, thank you.” Han almost protested the idea of having a tutor to look after him and help him with his homework, but he didn’t want to push Mrs. Skywalker any more.  

“Lets see.”  She read over some information on her own datapad.  “My son Luke is in several of these classes with you.  And he does need the tutoring credits.” She clicked a few things, making it official, then handed Han back his datapad.  “He’s in the gym now.  Wait by those doors.  I’ll message Master Kenobi and he’ll send him out to you when his class is finished.”  

“Hmm.  Wha?” Han was just contemplating the idea of the woman he was talking to having a son his age, when the rest of what she said occurred to him.  “Master, Kenobi?”

“He’s not as bad as he sounds.  Actually you’ll have your Negotiation and Political Discourse course with him also,”  Mrs. Skywalker said.

Han was sure Chewy signed him up for that course as a joke.  “What else do I need to learn?” he had said.  “I’m a natural at talking us out of trouble.  Aren’t I.”  Of course the Wookiee yowled something about always room for improvement.  And something else about maybe keeping them out of trouble to begin with.  To which Han couldn’t argue him out of.  ‘ Maybe Chewie has a point.’  

“Thank you Ma’am.” Han replied.  “If I asked him, would your Luke be willing to come out to my ship to study.  I don’t exactly have a place yet, but the Falcon is a comfortable ship.”

“Yes, I’m sure we could work something out.  Just, he’s not allowed to pilot.  I don’t care what he says.”  Mrs. Skywalker had a very serious face when she said this.

“No flying, got it.”  Han nodded. 'Gee, I wonder what the poor guy did to have his license revoked. This Luke guy sounds cool.'  

#Han Solo #Anakin Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker doesn't Fall to the dark side #Padme Amidala #ANAKIN X PADME #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Luke Skywalker #young Luke Skywalker #leia skywalker #leia organa #young leia #Young Han Solo #chewbacca #yoda #Wookiee #tatooine #Anchorhead #alternate universe #CANON DIVERGENCE #Star Wars Humor #star wars #starwars #starwars fanfic #starwars prequels #starwars fanfiction #Star Wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars prequels #prequel series #sw prequels

[perihelionicarus]

Alright, it’s long story time. I read a whole bunch of accounts of ex-cops yesterday, and they were all TOO similar to how my experience in cadets went. I think (I hope) I can shed some light from the inside about how easily corruption happens in a space like that. While you read, think about how similarly the police system works.

If you have no idea what cadets is, think of it like a junior military (ages 12-19). You get discipline training and drill training and classes about how the military works, but there’s no obligation to go into the military after. A lot of people do, though. A lot of them also go on to become cops. I was in cadets because you could get your pilot’s license without having to pay for it.

The way a cadet squadron is organized is you have commissioned officers (COs), who are actual military members and sort of oversee the whole thing. Then reporting to them are non-commissioned officers (NCOs), who are the kids, usually in their older teens, who pass a bunch of tests and stuff and achieve the rank of sergeant. At this point you become one of the “leaders” and are in charge of cadets, who are divided into sections and aim to work their way up to NCO.

Our squadron was famously pretty hard-ass about the NCO/cadet dividing line. Once you were a NCO, the other NCOs and the COs would make you delete your friends off Facebook who were cadets, and you had the “privilege” (eyeroll) of learning the NCOs’ first names. The phrase I heard a lot was “don’t fraternize with cadets”.

My friend who I went to high school with was promoted to sergeant before me, and had to delete me off Facebook. She pulled me aside at school, though, and warned me not to become an NCO. I asked why. She wouldn’t tell me at first, but after a while she confessed there was “initiation”, yeah, a fucking hazing process and the other NCOs would treat her like garbage if they found out she told me. I later found out they didn’t like her anyway, because she had spoken out and fought back during the hazing. Also because she told one of the other guys not to smoke weed while she was in the car.

I went ahead anyway, because I wanted my pilot’s license and the higher your rank the better your chances of getting on the course. I got promoted to sergeant at 17 at the same time as two other cadets.

I honestly can’t remember too much of initiation, because I’ve long since stuck it in a trauma box in my mind. I remember it involving tying our belts around our eyes, being shoved around, forced to say things, dance, and it ended with us being herded into a car and brought to someone’s house (at which point it was over). You have to realize though that I went into it fully prepared for it because my friend had warned me. I can’t imagine how scary it was for the other two who were with me.

After that, we learned their first names. They suddenly treated us like their best friends. The worst part? It worked. We were part of the inner circle.

We were then privy to the email chains. It was so long ago I don’t remember specifics, but it got pretty fucking racist, sexist, and any other -ist you can think of. We weren’t all white or straight, not everyone outright made racist statements, and it never got n-word bad, but it was still awful and we were all complicit in that the rest of us never called it out. And if you made fun of your own groups? Your respect level shot up. (I might even still have those emails, since I rarely clear my inbox).

We also basically had a no-narc policy where if one of us did something wrong--gave a kid contradictory orders, didn’t back down if we incorrectly scolded them about uniform etiquette, singled out and humiliated someone--the rest of us would not report it to the COs. But the number one no-narc policy was about initiation.

We had another initiation in the dead of winter, when three new sergeants were promoted. Their initiation was similar to mine, but they were also forced to strip down to their t-shirts while it snowed outside. One of the boys (he was only 14!!) got fed up, ran out, and called his mom to take him home. Another boy finished initiation, but was crying. For the coming days and weeks, we treated these two like less-than, ignored them in meetings, and generally treated them like shit, until they got fed up with it and reported the whole initiation thing to the COs.

I say ‘we’ throughout this whole thing because even though only 3-4 of us (out of 15-20 of us) were the perpetrators, the rest of us were fully complicit in our silence. We knew it was wrong but still allowed for it to happen. A lot of us were “good people” and treated the two boys, not to mention other cadets, just fine. We allowed ourselves as a whole to become a corrupt body because of “one or two bad apples”. Sound familiar?

Our punishment for initiation was a stern talking-to, a couple people (the ‘most guilty’, I guess) getting demotions, our parents being called, and being told to stop excluding the two boys who had reported it to them. That’s all. We were all still NCOs, and still in charge of a whole bunch of kids. My mom, notoriously strict, didn’t even give a shit. She was proud of me for not being a weakling for once. Really, staying silent was the weakest possible thing I could have done. The strongest people among us were the boys who reported it despite the threat of being ostracized by their peers.

I aged out of cadets shortly after, so I don’t know if initiation happens anymore. It stopped for a while as the COs kept a scrutinizing eye on us. But before I had even been promoted, initiation had happened for years, so it may well have started up again. That’s a lot of corruption that went unpunished. We were told that to be an NCO is to be a leader, and that integrity was to do the right thing even when no one was looking. We passed these sayings among ourselves, all believing we were the paragons of doing right. Nothing could be further from the truth. 

There is a really sinister high you get from being liked by a group of people that hates everyone else. It’s something I’ve been incredibly wary of ever since. In cadets you are given camaraderie within the NCO body, and power over other cadets. Recipe for disaster.

My point here is that I am 100% sure this is what happens with police. I don’t know if they do hazings, but I would not be surprised in the least. No matter how “good” they are, they power inevitably trip. They lose sight of what they’re supposed to be doing. Racism, sexism, homophobia, and ableism all run rampant. Their bonds with each other overshadow their supposed “sworn duty”. Every single cop is complicit in this; complicit in their actions and ESPECIALLY their lack thereof. All the ones who want to and do speak out are immediately ostracized. They’re organized by fear and not much else. There is no such thing as a good cop, just as there was no such thing as a good NCO. And it is no coincidence the sheer number of NCOs who later go on to the military or the police. 

It’s been almost 10 years, but to this day I’m ashamed of the way I acted. I’ve told this to maybe one or two people in my life. I’m sharing the story now because now is the time to see how easily “a few bad apples” can fuck up a whole organization. Google some of the memoirs of ex-cops, and you’ll see just how similar this is and just how easily that happens. So let me reiterate: power corrupts. There is no such thing as a good cop.

#long post #very long post #someone let me know if i'm swerving way out of my lane here but cops are garbage and i need yall to know why #I know I'm preaching to the choir but I've seen some members of the 'some cops are good' crowd on here and mmm nah #I was on the 'some cops are good' side until a few days ago when I started reading and remembered just how easily cadets fucked me up #not that im like naturally a good person but i certainly never had bad intentions and yet. here we are #sh*t percy says

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch17

This was meant to be a fic about Gordon but as I get further through the timeline the other brothers start waving more and pointing out that they are an important part of this and should be considered too.  Alan has been feeling a bit left out and wants some attention.

Thanks to @willow-salix for her amazing editorial skills and ‘quick chats’ that are somehow never very quick.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, 

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Seventeen

If Gordon’s journey out to Marineville for officer selection had been different to his first visit to the base it was nothing compared to the contrast of the journey home.  This time his journey north had needed no furtive sneaking off, no cover stories and no lies.  There had still been plenty of butterflies in anticipation of the trials ahead but he had faced those trials with the blessing and support of his family.  His father had even travelled to the airport with him rather than entrusting him solely to a driver.  

The journey south, however, was accompanied by butterflies an order of magnitude greater.  

As he exited Marineville to board the bus back to the airport it was impossible to miss the imposing hire car in the visitors’ parking lot or the even more imposing man stood next to it.  So far he had managed to maintain a level of anonymity but as he left the cluster of participants he was acutely aware of the whisperings behind him.  He ignored the mutterings and strode over to his father, his head held high, it didn’t matter if they worked out who he was now, he knew he had earned his place on his own merits.

“So Gordon, how did it go?”  There was still that look of pre-emptive sternness, as though Jeff was waiting to receive another mediocre report card.

Gordon couldn’t stop the grin that flashed across his face or the air of cocky smugness, he was riding the wave of success again and it felt good.  “Aced it.  The standard was a lot higher and only about a third of us got through but when the next intake comes around you are looking at the newest recruit to WASP.”

The sternness dropped away and was replaced by the look of pride Gordon had seen directed at his brothers far more than himself.  “Good, son.  You can tell me about it on the journey home.”

As they headed away from the base Gordon recounted the tests and challenges he had faced.  For Jeff it was like having a much younger Gordon back, the one who had regaled him with tales of race wins and given blow by blow accounts of dives, turns and sprint finishes.  His fourth son spoke freely and animatedly in a way he hadn’t heard for years and Jeff realised just how much of his sons’ lives, all of them, he had missed out on by burying himself in his work and leaving the boys to fend for themselves.  He was trying to be more involved again, to listen to them, but his sons had gotten used to existing without him around.  All too often he’d come in to hear Gordon ending a call to one of the others, usually Virgil, or arrive home just as Alan was finishing telling Gordon about his day.  He rarely got to hear their news now and was almost never the first to be told; it didn’t make it any easier knowing this was a situation of his own making.   

Jeff drove them, not to the main Marineville airport, but to a much smaller private air strip just out of town.  As they turned off the route being followed by the shuttle bus Gordon kicked himself for not realising sooner that they wouldn’t be on the regular flight.  Of course they wouldn’t, his father hadn’t taken a scheduled flight in years.

As they entered the cockpit of the jet Jeff slipped into the co-pilot’s position leaving the main pilot’s seat for Gordon.  It had been an intensive few months going from minimal experience at the controls through to being able to take charge of the family jet.  His swimming training had always prevented him from experiencing this part of the family education before but now his time in the skies had him thrown in at the metaphorical deep end in the race to get qualified before starting WASP training.   Scott of course had gained his private licence on his seventeenth birthday, desperate to achieve official recognition at the earliest possible moment, and Virgil and John hadn’t been much older than the official minimum themselves.  Gordon’s dedication had been tested as he crammed in what the others had spent years learning gradually.  

This was where the butterflies came in.

He still wasn’t yet able to fly unaccompanied but he was getting closer.  Today though it seemed he was to be tested to a whole new level.  A two hour flight down the coast, taking off from an unfamiliar runway, was a jump up from the short flights he had taken until now.  To make that leap while utterly exhausted following a gruelling three day selection course was perhaps a step too far.

He looked to his father for confirmation that this really was what was expected of him and received only a silent nod in return but if there was one element of being a Tracy that Gordon had truly mastered it was not backing down from a challenge.  He pushed the tiredness away, buried the self-doubt with it, and with Jeff next to him scrutinising his every move he requested permission from the tower and taxied out onto the runway.

Jeff stayed silent as Gordon completed the maneuver.  He watched the precise and controlled movements his son made, finding little to pick fault with despite watching with a highly critical eye.  He knew Gordon must be desperate for his bed, the dark bags under his eyes a testament to what his body had been subjected to, but he needed to be sure his son would be capable of rising to a challenge.  Now that he knew Gordon had been accepted into WASP and would receive rigorous training on all manner of submersibles his son changed status from dependent child to potential rescue operative.  

He had already started considering the possibilities of expanding the scope of his organisation to include water rescues, indeed he already had the first concept sketches for a submarine, but for that to become a reality he needed an aquanaut.  Being accepted into WASP was a start but until Gordon held both his pilot's licenses, for both up in the sky and under the waves, Jeff wasn’t yet ready to consider his fourth son as a full part of his vision and so for now he was content to watch, and wait, and plan, leaving Gordon ignorant of his ideas.

xoxoxox

Barely a week after the selection course the letter arrived confirming what Gordon had already been told at the end of the trials, that he would be joining the next officer training intake.  Even though the contents of the letter were no surprise it was still reassuring to see it in black and white, indisputable proof that WASP had confidence in him and that his future path was set.  

“So, when do you start?” Jeff asked across the dinner table.

“Huh?”  Gordon snapped his head up in surprise, he had been oblivious to the room around him as he read the letter through several times, drinking in the validation it gave him while butterflies fluttered in his stomach at the prospect of actually going off and doing it.  “Oh, um, beginning of July, then it’s…”

He didn’t get any further.  The scrape of chair and the clatter of discarded cutlery cut him off as Alan flew from the room and disappeared down the hallway, the slam of a bedroom door confirming where he had gone to ground.  Jeff sighed and half rose from the table, his expression showing anger at the rudeness of the departed teen, but Gordon waved him down. 

“No, I’ll deal with this.”  

Gordon had been sensing the impending storm ever since he got back from Marineville.  Amongst the congratulations of the family one voice had been noticeably absent and it seemed that the official confirmation letter was all that had been needed to bring it to a head.  The last thing he needed was for their father to make a difficult situation worse by laying down the law.

Alan’s room was the typical teenage mess.  Clothes lay discarded on the floor and various electronics were piled on surfaces next to empty water glasses but in amongst all the mess it was clear where his passions lay.  It was like wandering into an untidier version of John’s room.  Star maps adorned the walls and there was a model rocket that Gordon had every confidence could make it into space if that was how Alan had designed it.  The difference between this room and the usually unoccupied one next door, apart from the mess, were the newspaper cuttings, article print outs and piles of Olympic memorabilia that vied for space with the astronomical paraphernalia.  Dotted around the room was evidence of a devotion to Gordon and the swimmer was sure you could piece together the story of his sporting career if only you took the time to collate the collection. 

“Alan…”

“Leave me alone, it’s what you’re going to do anyway.”  The voice was muffled, smothered by the pillow in which Alan was buried face down.

“Alan, please, talk to me.”  Gordon picked his way carefully across the room and sat on the edge of the bed next to the sprawled figure.  The only answer he got was a choked sob and he felt a wave of guilt at the upset his brother was feeling.

“I hate it here.  I hate it.  I hate it.”  Alan sat up and glared at his brother, there was venom in the voice as anger crept in around the upset.  “Everyone gets to leave and I’m going to be stuck here on my own.  Maybe Virgil will add me to his pity list and call me cos you sure as hell won’t have the time.  I don’t want to be his next pet project and charity case though.”  

Alan’s words cut deep, as he had intended them to, and Gordon found himself wondering if that was all he’d been to Virgil, a project to feed Virgil’s desire to help people.  Surely not?  The friendship and growing bond between them felt real enough but the familiar doubts began to creep in about his self worth.  He tried to shake them off, knowing the dark places such thoughts could lead him to.

“That’s if Virg can even make time for me in his busy schedule once he goes off to Tracy College.  Why the hell does he need to get space rated anyway?  He’s never shown any interest in being an astronaut before.  Fine, John’s pretty much had his name down for the space programme since birth but why does Virgil get to go too?”

So that explained the animosity towards Virgil, Alan was harbouring a deep jealousy that he was getting to do something that was Alan’s own dream.  The youngest Tracy had always made it clear that he would be the third of that name to head into space after his father and middle brother and yet here was Virgil taking his spot, seemingly on a whim.  This, coupled with the growing bond between Gordon and Virgil, had evidently ignited a burning resentment.

A shuddering breath wracked the Alan’s body as the primary reason for his upset flooded back into his mind.  “I..I don’t want you to go.”

Whatever the issues were with Virgil, Gordon couldn’t shy away from the fact that he had been slowly drifting away from Alan to set up a new life.  He had been Alan’s primary source of company for so long, had been a confidante and carer to the younger boy, and now he was heading off leaving Alan facing a future of loneliness.  Their father was trying to be more involved but he was still a virtual stranger in Alan’s life and had a lot to learn about parenting teenagers. 

He wanted to let Alan know that it would all be ok.  Wanted to tell him that soon enough he would be out of this hateful city and in a place where their father and at least some of his brothers would be around a lot more.  He wanted to tell him about the rockets and the space station and everything that he knew would ignite his little brother’s passion.  But he couldn’t.  Even if their father hadn’t expressly forbidden it there was still a fundamental  issue in that the island wasn’t actually theirs yet and until the deeds were signed and move confirmed he just couldn’t plant the seeds of the dream in Alan’s mind if there was any chance of the dream crashing down.  Instead he had to make do with platitudes that must have felt empty to the devastated teen.

“It’ll be ok, you’ll see.”

“Will it?”  The words were spat at him.

“It will; trust me on this.  I’m not going anywhere for a little while yet and I’ll still be able to call, I’m going to be at Marineville not Mars.  Those first 6 month of training will be pretty intense but I’ll still get some time off.”

“And what about after that?  What about when you aren’t at Marineville but you’re getting sent all over the place like Scott does?  You won’t be able to just pick up the phone or head back for a weekend if you’re under water on the other side of the world.  You may as well be on Mars then.”

Gordon slung an arm around his younger sibling, drawing that smaller form into a hug.  He half expected Alan to pull away but he took it as a good sign that the anger was burning out when Alan acquiesced and leaned in heavily against him.

Alan felt like his whole world was dropping away.  Of course he had known this moment would come but the arrival of the letter had just hammered home the inevitability of the situation.  He felt angry at Gordon, angry at their father and more than a little angry at himself.  He was fifteen for goodness sake, he shouldn’t be needing hugs from his big brother, but he still didn’t pull away from that warm hold.  There was something comforting about those strong arms, honed through years of hard exercise, that made him feel safe and with that feeling of safety came the assurance of familial love.  He clung to it, knowing that all too soon his last brother would be leaving just like the others had; his big family had run out, he was the last and he would be alone.

Of course he had been alone before, Gordon had been away enough times at competitions that he was capable of fending for himself but this time was different.  This wasn’t just a few days with the excitement of following the swimming results to keep him occupied, this was a whole new future and he was facing the prospect of being alone with the father who seemed barely aware of his existence.  The next few years stretched bleakly ahead of him leaving a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“None of us know what the future holds but even when I’m not here you aren’t going to be on your own.  You’ve got four big brothers and we all care about you, you will always be able to get hold of one of us.  I need to do this though, Al.  If it wasn’t Marineville it would have been college somewhere and it won’t be much longer before you’re choosing what you want to do with your future too.”

There was a damp sniff.  “Gonna miss you.”  The admission was a quiet whisper but it stabbed deeply into Gordon’s heart. 

“Gonna miss you too, Sprout”  

They sat there a while longer, each lost to their silent thoughts but still needing that physical contact.  Gordon sincerely hoped it would be okay.  He’d been so focussed on his own future and excited about the prospect of a fresh start and fresh challenges that he hadn’t fully considered what he would be leaving behind, or rather who he would be leaving behind.  He had been looking out for Alan for nearly five years and now he would be leaving.  Alan’s whole life had been punctuated by loss as first his mother, and then the brothers who had stepped up in her place, disappeared one by one.  Now he would be adding another loss to the pile leaving Alan behind with just the father who had been far too distant for far too long.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #military selection #abandonment #loss #loneliness