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nexusnyx · 1 year

Note

For daddy Bucky<3

“Nobody will know if you’re quiet”

jade green daydream

dbf!bucky x f!reader ; [3.7k]

⚠️ minors dni, explicit content. | 🏷️ daddy, established relationship, secret encounter, laundry room sex, semi-public sex (they're at a party?), soft!dom!bucky, orgasm delayal.

Usually, Bucky was better at hiding how much he wanted you.

That's why you pulled this move tonight—using the jade green dress that Bucky had bought you had been bold. Daring. A little bratty, if you would. Not something his usual 'good girl' would do, but something that needed to happen.

Defying Bucky had been buried deep inside your mind since the second you first laid eyes on him, three years ago at your eighteen birthday party, and it had never left. Never diminished or dissipated, not even with him finally giving everything you wanted: the attention, the touches, the praise, the feelings, the rush.

Bucky had been yours for a whole year now, but the first six months of trying were a tentative, rocky road.

Now was when you were putting your claws out.

And the effect... it was beautiful.

At first, you think your shot's wasted.

When you first walked in, Bucky had only looked.

Fixed, frozen, under a spell.

Not a muscle moved in his body, but that, you were used to. Initially, you had mistaken it for hatred, even. A deep dislike, or perhaps indifference. The man your father introduced as "this is James, darling" looked stoic, serious, and every bit as business-like as any other one of his boring, old colleagues. As beautiful as a man could be—his beard had initials signs of the grey taking over him, and even in his slicked back hair the platinum strands shone under the party’s light, as a bold and clear statement that James sent: he had no shame in them.

Who the hell would have? He’s Adonis.

Adonis proved to be more than a lifeless, made-of-numbers guys.

There was no bark in him—Bucky kept things polite, classy, and elegant most of the time.

He never cursed. Always smiled in contained ways—his jokes were never crude, and your father loved him. “So good, that kid,” he said, multiple times over that first year. Bucky quickly made his way into your father’s small and annoying little circle of men that often showed up at the mansion for their gin or bourbon, pool games and Cuba cigars.

The first time his mask slipped, you knew it had been the alcohol.

Just like tonight.

Bucky kept it cool, at first.

He smiled in your direction, but soon was back at talking in his melodic and pleasing tone with your mother and a few of her work colleagues about the intricate but delicate state of modern art work creation in the rooms of Hollywood; entertaining enough for her circle of friends, and interesting enough for you to stick around.

It was her birthday. You couldn’t be mad at Bucky for giving her attention.

But damn it, you hoped for more.

The dress received looks when you walked in.

It reminded you of the feeling of putting it the first time in that Valentino store in Paris. The secret gateway weekend with Bucky where you were finally allowed to hold his hand somewhere, and where he let out his inner lion.

The image of Bucky with a champagne glass in hand in that enormous leather cream couch, with his legs spread wide open in the most douchebag pose you had ever seen—it suited him. It fucking clicked with his expensive suit and shoes, and that smug corner-of-the-lip smile that only you seemed to see, it burned behind your eyelids.

Dreams ever since you came back from that fortnight in a parisian dream molded themselves around the crinkle in his eyes, and were often painted in hues of light, sapphire, and royal blue.

If those all complimented his eyes and the way they glowed like starlight when looking at you… well. That was between you and the four walls of your bedroom.

“Darling,” your mother called your attention.

Right.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, and ripped your eyes away from his black suit. “I’m sorry—I’m trying to remember all the good movies he wrote, but I’m coming up empty,” you joke.

The circle around you laughs, and your mother rolled her eyes fondly. “I don’t know why I ask an Art graduate and expert her opinion. Honestly—it’s impossible to please you.”

“You know what they say about apples and trees,” you sing song.

With a kiss to your temple, your mother laughed some more, and then launched on back on her opinionated rant of the director you had barely heard the name, and that’s when you first saw—

the first slip.

Bucky wasn’t looking at your face.

Instead, his eyes were glued to your exposed thigh. The slit of the dress was high, very high, and according to him on the store, one of the main reasons why he loved the design on you so much.

His love for your whole body had been noted, written, painted, and marked by him. With his lips, his fingers on piano keys, his hands tracing all over your naked body while he sat almost fully clothed inside his art studio.

Of course it would be the leg.

Feeling boldened by his eyes on you, the leg does it on its own—a slight and gentle tilt upwards, and his eyes snap in your direction.

His gaze holds yours for just one second, and you can feel the heat taking over you.

That’s when the game starts.

Forbidden, as much as it can be, but a dance that you two have grown great at: the subtle art of threading silk-thin lines connecting you two until an entire conversation existed without a word being said. Looks that went on all night, revoking each other’s attentions from conversations all the other way from across a room, until the first one has lost all focus, all notion of where the conversation went, lost.

He did it better than you.

Bucky could keep his composure for longer, which is why you had brought in the big guns.

You wanted to see him lost in desire, if only for once.

Wanted to see him blushing, in the same way you were left many times just by the sheer presence of him standing behind you.

Only when you see him swallowing thickly the bourbon in his hands is that you note that the dress is working.

Not once before was Bucky so… adamant, about looking at you.

But there he is—with his eyes fixed on you from across the pool.

Staring at you from inside the kitchen while you speak with friends outside.

Finding a way to always be in your line of sight, somehow—or better yet, a way for you to be in his.

It takes a little over an hour before he disappears, and ten minutes more after that for you to finish your way in the conversation you are to go and look for him.

With the party in full swing, it’s easy for you to lose other people, but with the size of your goddamn house, you’re roaming aimlessly for a while.

He must sense it, because a message arrives.

Him 🖤 Your favorite hiding spot, missy…

Laundry room.

You try to keep composure as you walk there, but it’s hard.

It’s been a while, and you’re still wondering, day after day, how is it that Bucky has this type of control over you. Whether it’s normal to be this attracted to another person; a pull that seems to have its own magnetic field. Its own North.

Between you and Bucky there is gravity—unique, intense, and solid. It has its own life. It pulls and calls to you. Just like always, you find him almost as if on instinct; this would be the next place you were going to after checking the cellar.

When you open the door, he’s standing right there.

Hands in his blazer pocket. The bourbon glass empty, placed right next to him.

Bucky looks up when you open the door, and smile.

Storms could start breaking the skies at this moment, and you would hear nothing. The room is filled in one second; it goes from empty to a box of pure electricity in the span of a second, and both of you are to blame.

What seconds ago smelled like fabric softener of the best kind — something aprhodisiac, sweet, and yet comforting — starts smelling like lust.

Bucky’s eyes finish drinking you in, and then chuckles. “What?” His voice is low, as always. “I don’t bite, duchess.” A lie.

His right hand exists the pocket, and his fingers make a ‘come hither’ motion.

North, meet South. Like gravity happens when an object is dropping mid-air, his fingers create the invisible thread, and your body waltzes inside. The door is closed with the heel of your shoe, and the sound of the door clicking is comforting.

In a few steps, you’re standing right in front of him, and the first thing you do is breathe.

A deep, steadying breath. His eyes are on the cleavage of your dress when his arms wrap around your waist. “God, this was the best thing I’ve ever purchased,” he whispers, pulling you closer to him.

Your hands come up to his chest, soothing the silky smooth fabric. “Was it?”

“A hundred per cent.”

That’s a bold statement. You giggle, rising your body slowly to get your face closer to his. “You’re a multi-millionaire investor who owns property from California, to Tokyo, to Dubai… and this is your peak?” The smell of his aftershave is intoxicating. How the fuck can that be? One deep inhale and you’re no longer here; you’re in Bucky Land, where everything about his existence is amplified and everything else is background noise.

His hands are spread wide on your lower back, massaging in a gracious touch wherever they go. “Affirmative.” Sometimes, Bucky’s old military comes out to play. Without a fail, you shiver every time. “Look at this,” he whispers back, hand continuing on its infinite mission.

“My hands have a mission, Duchess.”

“Do they?”

“They do.”

“And what would that be, hm?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Hmmm… not really.”

“This… right here.”

“Touching me?”

“Precisely.”

“Oh…”

“Touching all of you. For as long as you let me. In every possible way that can make you smile. In every way that can bring you pleasure.”

Pointing out that looking at yourself right now is the last thing you want would be rude, so instead, you nuzzle against his neck, pleased with the attention you’re finally receiving. His hands caress your ass without groping, touch on the side of your waist, and he seems to be as lost on your body as you are on his cologne.

“I thought we had a deal,” Bucky’s tone was so even.

You, on the other hand, could already feel the effects of his presence. “What deal?”

His next hum preceded the condescending tone of his, “Playing the act of dumb kitty, are you?”

You giggled. “I didn’t do anything to break our deal.” No more sex at your parents’ house, Duchess. This… this is the last time. Deal? “I behaved. All night long.”

“I’d spank you if I didn’t know how loud you get.”

That alone pulled out a whimper. Made your inner thighs clench together.

“See?” Bucky chuckled, sounding already so evil. “You’re already running hotter than a Californian summer afternoon. How can you have been behaving?”

“I didn’t—” his hand on your dress slides to the exposed thigh, and when they make contact with the skin, your breath hitches. “I didn’t do anything,” you insist, albeit a little more breathless.

Against your will, your body’s already pushing closer to his.

Bucky plays along. He caresses your inner thigh, and his eyes close when he feels your breathing spiking. When he asks you next, his voice is an octave lower. “This dress isn’t you doing something?” The question is rhetorical. When his fingers are tracing lines that lead to your inner thigh, anything is rhetorical because all you can think about is what you feel—him. He pushes on, “‘Cause I could swear it was you doing something, very clearly,” and then he grips. His whole hand squeezes around your thigh, making you clench once more.

If there was a game — there was —, then Bucky wins. (He always did.) If there was a game, this is the point where you forget if there are rules or not, because his hand that was on your lower back climbs through your back until it lands on your nape, and the firm grip it puts in there grounds you to Earth again. You’re thankful for him, even if your mouth feels like cotton candy. “You bought it for me,” is your weak excuse.

His laugh in your ear means he buys it, to some degree. “I did.” Finally, finally, he seems to get enough of looking. Bucky’s head dips lower until his lips are hovering over yours. “But you also remember what I did that night.”

Another whimper, and much louder this time.

“Put on the dress, Duchess. Only the dress. I’m gonna fuck you with it still on, just like you wanted me to do at that store, right on that balcony. For the entire city to hear. And they’ll hear you, right? They’ll hear how fucking good Daddy makes you feel.”

“I guess you do remember,” Bucky smiles.

“It wasn’t that long ago.”

His hand in your thigh pinches you skin, making you whine, and his smile turns wicked. Turns into a Chesire cat grin. “She’s so smart tonight.” Bucky leans until only a breath separates you two. “Smart mouth.” His hand dips lower, higher, and your legs spread apart almost as if on command. “Smartypants…” they go searching.

They find the panties, but Bucky knows his way around them with eyes closed and hands tied behind his back at this point.

When he pushes them to the side, you all but melt against his weight.

It’s a testament to how much you two have done this, to all the positions and situations that he’s placed you in that your body knows that he’ll catch you without even asking. Your eyes close when his fingers make a slow path between your folds.

They find what they always do—a river, a waterfall, the sticky sweet fact that he’s been affecting you all night long.

He groans, and at last closes the space between your lips.

It’s in his mouth you muffle the obscene sounds you want to let out. Bucky’s middle and ring finger are spreading the lips of your pussy apart to spread your slick on your clit, and his kiss has the languid and expert patience of someone who knows the precise way to melt you with his mouth. He pushes and pull until you two are in the same rhythm, and then sucks on them until your mouth opens up for him.

Your arms cling around his neck.

Kissing Bucky while he makes slow work of your clitoris is the best kind of torture. He’s patient, his hands have enough skilled dexterity for him to make a pool of wetness between your legs before slowly pushing his fingers in while the other massages the neck that holds you pinned to him, and if it weren’t for his weight pressed on one of the washing machines behind him, you’d be on the ground.

So slow. He moves like a jaguar that has spot its prey and is only making its way to it—eyes fixed, fingers buried in deep, mouth swallowing down all the noises. When air is needed and both of you pull back for it, Bucky’s pink lips are connected to yours by a string of saliva, and he’s massaging the spot he’s already found inside of you.

Each groan next becomes a silent scream.

He seems to hear them either way. “God, duchess…”

“Buck—”

“Shhhh.”

Bastard. “Too good—Buck—fuck—”

“I know, I know. Shhhh.” He laughs again, pushing his fingers deeper this time. “I know just how you like it, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Good. But you gotta remember… there are still people outside.” Your whine means that reminder is the last fucking thing you need. “Don’t worry… Nobody will know if you’re quiet.”

Does that mean he’ll let you cum? God, you hope yes. Bucky’s pressing your spot repeatedly, and your legs already feel weaker. You never have any clue how his hands never hurt from doing this, but Bucky will sometimes make you cum two times just like this before fucking you at last, and if you had never seen him work out, you’d be scared for his wrists.

Being quiet is a task.

But the edge is so close, and everything feels so good, that you ignore everything.

“Fuck,” you can feel a single drop of sweat forming underneath his palm at the back of your neck. The air around you two is hotter as well, and you can feel the snap of your orgasm approaching with each deep thrust of his fingers. “Daddy…”

As if you had said the magical word, Bucky does the last thing you’d expect.

He pulls his hand out, leaving you feeling empty and burning.

Your gasp of shock makes your eyes snap open, and there he is, sucking his slicked fingers into his mouth, and closing his eyes in pleasure.

What the—”Bucky.”

“That’s for wearing this without giving me any warning.” The statement comes out sharp, but not unkind. Fuck. Punishments are so rare that you almost forgot they’re a thing, and your next whine sounds like a choked sob. “Don’t gimme those sad eyes.” Bucky leans closer to your face. “Do you know what you did to me?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“I almost got hard, right there in the middle of the party. You put highlighter on your collarbones, Duchess. You’re wearing my favorite perfume on you, and god…” he holds you by your arms to pull you back so he can look at you again, from head to toe.

You imagine what a sight you must be.

The things he’s seeing right now.

Your hair must be frizzly—static, and everywhere. Your cheeks are on fire, for certain. As red as your chest, and as warm as the inside of your legs.

Bucky’s eyes are almost all black, no blue.

“Do you know what I left to do?” he asks.

You shake your head, trying both to answer you and clear your mind to ask him for something, for please, some mercy. For him to do anything; take whatever he needs, but just give you one bit of release, when he puts his hands in his pocket again and—

a condom.

Bucky left the party to go to his car, and retrieve a condom.

Your eyes widen, and he laughs at you.

“Yeah.” He sounds as in disbelief as he looks. “Even though this is the last thing you deserve—fuck, I should edge you ten more times before doing this, but you win. Okay? Tonight, you fuckin’ win.” Bucky rips the packet open with his teeth, and that’s when you look down.

When you notice that all this time when you leaned against his torso and rubbed yourself back on his hand, shamelessly searching for your own pleasure, Bucky had been rock hard. The tent in his pants made you almost lose every inch of composure you had—you almost drop to your knees right there and then, but you know he has other plans.

Instead, you turn around, and lean forward against the nearest surface.

You hear him curse in the back. Hear him take off his blazer, and with a side glance, see him place it next to the glass. You observe him roll up his sleeves, and for a second, your gazes meet. Bucky smiles at you, and you try your best not to wiggle your ass. When you hear the sound of his zipper, and the sound of Bucky putting on the rubber before his broad frame is clouding behind you again, you sigh, content.

It’s a hasty dream after that.

An usual song for you. The way Bucky slicks himself up with you is your bourbon, and your pussy all but sucks him in. He bottoms out with a soft grunt, and his levarage is gained by taking hold of all of your hair in one hand.

He leans in closer until his face is on the crook of your neck, and it’s with lips pressed on your earlobe that he asks, “Slow or fast, Duchess?”

You’re so close. “Fast. And deep.” You’re already half gone. “Please.”

He never fails at delivering.

This time, Bucky doesn’t stop.

When he starts, it takes only a minute for Bucky to gain momentum. He takes his time at first, angling his hips in a slightly different position at each thrusts until he finds the one that makes you clasp your hands around his with nails and all—that’s when he puts a hand over your mouth, pulls you like that until you’re half-facing him, and starts a fast, deep, and brutal pace.

He fucks you until you’re both closing your eyes at the feeling, drunk in lust and the nasty, wet sounds filling the room. Bucky snaps his hips until your eyes are rolling at the back of your head; the rhythm is everything you needed, craved for all night long.

It was your goal when you put on the dress.

The dream you had when you first saw it on a window in an unknown street.

Bucky fucks you until you’re shaking, spasming and cumming all over his dick. That’s when he finally grunts and lets it go; when he buries his face in your neck and whispers your name, his hips finally slowing down inside of you.

It takes a while before either one of you is back to reality.

He speaks up first.

“I should buy you more stuff.”

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roguefankc · 5 months

Text

It's Flu Season! And because Maverick would be the biggest baby if he got sick...

(Penny, Wolfman, Slider, Merlin, and Hollywood run though the front door of Iceman and Maverick house, with Iceman tiredly sitting on the couch in the living room)

Wolfman: Ice?! what's wrong?! We all got your message that you needed help!

Iceman: It's awful! The whole house is sick! First Hangman came down with the flu, then Phoenix, then Rooster, then Payback, and then all the rest of the Dagger Squad! I was running a sick ward all weekend!

Merlin:...wait, why isn't Maverick helping you?

Iceman (flatly): Because then came Monday...

(Maverick comes out in his bathrobe, hair tousled, pale, clammy, and half-asleep and in his hands a bottle of pills)

Maverick (whining): Ice, honey? Can you open the aspirin for me?

---

(The whole 80s Top Gun team and Penny stay to help Iceman run the house and take care of Maverick and the Dagger Squad)

(Maverick is in bed, weakly ringing a bell)

Maverick (ringing the bell): Slider...

Slider (in the next room helping Coyote): Give me a minute.

Maverick (ringing the bell): Slider...

Slider (in the next room): I said I'm coming!

Maverick (ringing the bell): Slider...

(Slider rushes into Maverick's bedroom in a panic): What?! What?! What?!

Maverick (weakly): My pillow needs poofing.

Slider (eye twitching):...Mitchell, I don't think you want to put a pillow in my hands right now.

---

(Maverick is in bed, whining and gasping for breath)

Maverick (weakly): I'm dying, Hollywood. I'm giving up the ghost. Every cell in my being is crying out in anguish. It was a good life while it lasted, but this is it. Hello, Grim Reaper.

Hollywood (with a bottle of cough syrup and a spoon in his hands): Cut the bullshit. The medicine doesn't taste that bad.

Maverick (weakly):...Goose? Dad? Carol? Is that you?

---

(Maverick is in his bathrobe, still sick, and in Iceman's home office while Iceman is frantically typing away on his keyboard)

Maverick: Ice, sweetie? Can you heat up some chicken soup for me?

Iceman (stressed): Mav, sorry but I'm really busy right now! I need to approve this contract in twenty minutes! Can't you just fend for yourself?

Maverick (whining): But I'm sick, honey...

Iceman: Mav, for fuck's sake, we're not talking brain surgery! All you have to do is open a stupid can and dump it in a pot!

(Maverick disappears into the kitchen and then come back a minute later. In his hands is a pot, and in the pot is a can of chicken soup. The can is open but the contents of the soup are still inside the can)

Maverick: Now what?

Iceman:...now, we talk brain surgery.

---

(Maverick stumbles in the kitchen where Penny, Wolfman, and Merlin are making soup and orange juice for all the Dagger Squad)

Maverick: Is it time for my aspirin yet?

Wolfman: No, Mitchell.

Maverick: But my throat hurts...

Merlin: Maverick, go back to bed. It hasn't been four hours yet.

Maverick: But my head hurts! My joints hurt! My eyes hurt! My body hurts! (in a baby voice) My itty bitty widdle pinkies hurt!

(Penny sighs and opens the aspirin bottle)

Maverick (smirks): I knew I'd win with that one.

Penny: These aren't for you.

(Penny gives two pills to herself, Merlin, and Wolfman and they all gulp them down immediately)

---

(BONUS)

(Cyclone is back at headquarters in his office, feet on his desk with a small glass of bourbon)

Cyclone (smiling): What a peaceful, quiet day.

#incorrect top gun quotes #incorrect top gun maverick quotes #tom iceman kazansky #top gun maverick #incorrect top gun #Leonard Wolfman Wolfe #Ron Slider Kerner #Sam Merlin Wells #Rick Hollywood Neven #Penny Benjamin #source: foxtrot #pete maverick mitchell #maverick would be the biggest baby #phoenix is threating to kick hangman's ass for infecting her #beau cyclone simpson #top gun 1986 #icemav

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 3 months

Text

02/19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast & Crew; Rhys Darby; Con O'Neil; Kristian Nairn; Samba Schutte; Wee John Wondays; LubeAsACrew; Stats/Trends; Fan Spotlight; Engagement Prompts; LoveNotes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Hey All, today's been an off day for me, so please let me know if I've missed something. Hope you all had fun!

= Cast & Crew Sightings =

== Rhys Darby ==

Well, our goofball of a captain is back with more Red Dead Redemption II, check out Part 2 below:

youtube

Rhys also did comedy at Bourbon Room Hollywood last week, and = tmiddendorfphoto on IG captured quite a lot of photos of his set. Feel free to visit them:

== Con O ' Neill ==

Whoops! I had this prepped for yesterday then completely forgot, sorry Con! Con was out seeing BettyRules in NYC!

== Wee John Wonday ==

Kristian had Samba on WJW Today! Lots of cool stuff they chatted above! If you're unable to watch right now, there's a small breakdown of various high points below:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

instagram

Highlights/Things We Learned:

Samba baby's name is Ocean

Samba was kind enough to stand in for WJW when someone else had to drop off for work.

Samba loves giving Kristian middle names: Kristian Victoria Nairn / Kristian Alexander Nairn / Kristian Valaria Nairn, Kristian Venereal Disease Nairn / Kristian Damien Nairn / Kristian Nicholas Nairn / Kristian Tabitha Nairn

There were live doves that would shit on you on set, and they shat on Samson

Kristian was a professional Chef

Samba wants to do Cryptic Factor w/Rhys

Samba is big into ufo's and cryptids

Kristian is also into paranormal stuff

Kristian - In New Zealand saw weird things on the lawn of his rental place (weird creatures focused on the balcony of his room)

David Fane - ate all the cheese in Calypso's Birthday

They really appreciate all the fans trying to save OFMD and would LOVE to get a season 3, even if only for 2 hours.

Samba would like ot do a bts/blooper combo but has to get permission first

For the wrap party, the cast members got each other gifts:

Samson got everyone crocs

EDIT: David Fane gave them Samoan necklaces (ty @denizbevan)!

Kristian said his "Gifts got stolen"

Samba gave them pictures / BTS videos

Q: Who was most elusive in regards to BTS?

Joel - also Ewan

Q: Favorite Soup?

Sambas favorite Soup - Chicken Noodle (chicken soup)

Kristian's favorite Soup - Cream of Tomato

Q: Did anything change with Roach in S2?

Yes, he became softer / trusting

Q: Lots of great energy and hanging out between crew members and family, (not something often seen) what do you think led to that?

Casting director Alison Jones - awesome at casting

Energy on set was positive and acceptance from the get go that helped

Sailing training, stunt training, sword fighting together helped bonding

Everyone on the cast was odd, and people moved out together so lots of small found family situations

Long hours together

Note: Stede's story time everyone is actually asleep, cause they've been up for like 18 hrs

Q: What's your favourite dessert, that you could live off forever?

Roach - Chocolate Mousse, really fluffy and airy

Kristian - Black Forest Cake

Q: What was best part of working in New Zealand?

8 hr days instead of 18 hrs days

Nature was gorgeous

Maori Elders did a land blessing

Q: Roach played a lot of roles, what do you think was his main role?

Cook, Doctor, therapist in that order.

Q: Would Aamba release a cookbook?

If enough interest, Yes - OFMD Cast Favorite Cookbook

And Mac and cheese recipe

Cakes and desserts

Q: What's it like being a new dad?

Amazing , no time to catch breath, feeling a lot of protectiveness and excitement and energy to step up and take care of the kiddo So fulfilling, Sambas a great dad.

Original Script / Deleted Scene Stuff:

In original script: Roach was going to end up with the crew of revenge, but then changed the script cause Samba would look like a kid who stole his dads jacket, so Frenchie was cap

Originally Zheng called the crew "beta" instead of "tender" but they changed it.

Innkeeper deleted scenes:

Everyone's eating soup on deck, roach was supposed to be serving people soup, and Fang says "Ah, Leroy, I'm so glad you're alive?" and Lucius goes "I'm sorry do you think my name is Leroy?"

Oluwande was crying, Jim asks if he was, he says no he gets that thing when he's around grass, and Jim says "A yeah lots of grass around here"

Other deleted scene:

Kristian saying "its sizest" doing big guy stuff

And roach says he's stuck doing tall skinnhy guy stuff

Pete asks if he's stuck doing bald guy stuff

More Deleted scenes:

Ewan zip lines over first and yells: "I was born to fly"

Roach zip line screams quietly cause they tell him to be quiet, and then he lands and says, "why its so sticky I wanna go back", and he tries to get back on the rope but Frenchie flys in and knocks him over.

Another Delete scene:

Wee John was going to dress up as cupid, would have encouraged Stede and Ed, who would have danced to "At Last" and then when and boned.

== Samba BTS ==

In honor of Wee John Wonday's, Samba added some more BTS starring Kristian, and shared the video he talked about in WJW regarding Kristian's birthday.

== Lube As A Crew ==

Astroglide sent @Seven_Sugars a carepackage for a lovely review!

== Stats Stats Stats / Trends ==

Thank you @meowzawowza_ as usual for the awesome insight!

Trends! Thank you @merryfinches and @debphotog for catching these!

== Fan Spotlight ==

For those of you not on twitter, you may not have seen @wndrngnomad's collage's she's been doing each day for the cast members! They go back quite a while so I'll add them all to the repo, but they kind enough to give me permission to share them with the everyone outside of twitter!

== Engagement Prompts ==

Over on Instagram @saveofmdcrewmates have some engagement prompts for tomorrow: #CrossoverCruesday. Time to switch it up! What is your fantasy crossover beween another show and OFMD? Crossover AU anyone?

== Articles ==

Special thanks to @heide79728 on Twitter for sharing all these international headlines!

HBO MAX "praised the loyal audience that engaged with the series and contributed to building an interactive community around it." - Article in Arabic

"14 Recommended Series-fans are already deeply engaged in a massive campaign to encourage another network to buy the rights and produce another season to give the story the ending it deserves" - Article in Hebrew

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies.

Have you had any water lately? Did you get to go outside and take a walk? Please remember that you need breaks sometimes, even if they're only a few minutes here or there.

You deserve rest-- and when things get rough, your brain needs a couple minutes to reset. Remember to take care of yourself and practice some self-care.

Self care means fun too!

Do something you enjoy that makes you smile. I'm not a fan of sticker/sticky things-- but I know a lot of people who love googly-eyes so I figured this was appropriate.

Anyway, gnight/gday crew, have a lovely one.

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

I think I've done this Darby one on these recaps before, but I needed to have a theme tonight, and the them is well, I think you know. Yes that is Taika in the stash, from "Boy".

#Instagram #ofmd daily recap #ofmd daily recaps #daily ofmd recap #daily ofmd recaps #our flag means death #adopt our crew #save ofmd #ofmd #taika waititi #samba schutte #con o'neill #david fane #joel fry #ewen bremner #rhys darby #ofmd bts

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evanpetersbr · 8 months

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NEW! 🚨 Evan Peters was seen alongside actor Jeff Ward (One Piece) leaving the “Bourbon Room” in Hollywood (CA), 09/19. 📸

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nobrashfestivity · 2 years

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TO PACK AND WEAR: 2 skirts 2 jerseys or leotards 1 pullover sweater 2 pair shoes stockings bra nightgown, robe, slippers cigarettes bourbon bag with: shampoo toothbrush and paste Basis soap, razor deodorant aspirin prescriptions Tampax face cream powder baby oil

TO CARRY: mohair throw typewriter 2 legal pads and pens files house key

“This is a list which was taped inside my closet door in Hollywood during those years when I was reporting more or less steadily. The list enabled me to pack, without thinking, for any piece I was likely to do. Notice the deliberate anonymity of costume: in a skirt, a leotard, and stockings, I could pass on either side of the culture. Notice the mohair throw for trunk-line flights (i.e. no blankets) and for the motel room in which the air conditioning could not be turned off. Notice the bourbon for the same motel room. Notice the typewriter for the airport, coming home: the idea was to turn in the Hertz car, check in, find an empty bench, and start typing the day’s notes.”

—Joan Didion, “The White Album”

Photo- Julian Wasser – Joan Didion, Stingray, Side (1968)

#joan didion #julian wasser

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jasonrae117 · 4 months

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Just Another Hollywood Scene

Just in time for the new year! Please enjoy the next installment!

Also on Ao3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49727071/chapters/133334152

Chapter 3: New News

Damian was heading to Dick’s house to have what he called a celebration, but what seemed to really be a ‘I hope the media takes the news well’ support group. Most of the people that worked in the offices were going to be there so Damian really had no choice but to come.

The costume consult went pretty much as expected and like many of his other ones he’s done in the past. The superhero costume itself was slightly uncomfortable yet manageable and defined his physique. His only complaint was that it was the colors of a traffic light, a little more red and black heavy but yellow and green definitely made their appearances. The costumer, Rita Parr, who had a 1950s vibe told him it’s to reflect his background of being from a circus. Damian snorted, the fact that Dick used his own backstory to fuel this character was still very funny to him, especially when others don’t know it and think it's so absurdly original.

The craziest thing about this movie was that Dick was not only directing it, but he is the primary writer too. He didn’t want to come across as too bold and open his sure to be box office smash to criticism because an actor turned director could also write a script well. So he put it under a pseudonym. Damian was quite surprised when he found out, the script was well written, the characters all seemed grounded, and it was more than just an action movie. Dick had found a way to work a compelling romance amongst his characters too. That is why Damian would have begged his brother to be in the movie, of course he didn’t have to, Dick was all too eager to have Damian be a part of it, but Damian would have begged if it came to that.

When Damian’s town car pulled up to Dick’s small mansion, he could already see the cars of about seven others, and by some of the specific vehicles he knew that the majority of the production team leaders were here. And sure enough when Alfred, his family’s butler that Bruce requested help host Dick’s gathering, opened the door, he could already hear some of their voices.

“Welcome Master Damian. Wonderful that you could make it this evening.” The gentle older man stepped to the side, gesturing for Damian to enter.

“Good evening Alfred. I’m afraid I wasn’t allowed to RSVP no to this event.’

“Well, nevertheless, I have brought your favorite bourbon to help you settle in better. Master Grayson is in the theatre room with some of the others. He requested I direct you there upon your arrival.” Alfred walked along beside him.

“Great, already jumping into work talk. I’ll take a double of that bourbon when you get the chance.” Damian shrugged off his coat and put it in the coat closet, politely denying Alfred’s assistance.

Approaching the theatre room, he could already hear the familiar voices of a good chunk of the production team:

Wally West ( Director's Assistant)

Barbara Gordon (Secretary/PA)

Zatanna Zatara (Producer)

Clark Kent (Cinematographer)

Garth Bernstein (Casting Director)

Victor Stone (Sound Designer)

Rex Mason (Production Designer)

Along with Jason Todd, Slade Wilson was also present. Slade Wilson was cast to play the villain and arch nemesis to Robin, Deathstroke. Damian wasn’t a huge fan of the older man, throughout his long tenure of acting he was known to be vindictive, manipulative, and only watch out for himself. He ran his own talent agency poaching other managers of their clients to fill his arsenal. It worked, however, his name and his wealth always convinced the young and naive actors and actresses to buck over to his team. So before him, he had an army of good talent that made him richer and made membership under his agency ridiculously pricey. As for the actors and actresses, Slade saved the best roles for himself and his favorites, so every audition season was cutthroat and everyone sucked up to Slade to gain his favor and potentially better roles. Damian was disgusted by it and was appalled that Dick would include him in his project, but Dick argued that the new movie needed a genius villain and Slade was the best to play the evil man.

He had to agree with his brother, while Slade was unquestionably a terrible man in real life, he elegantly portrayed one even better on the big screen. Once he aged out of the roguish antihero type leading man, he began getting typecast as the man pulling the strings or the mob boss. Slade loved it because people loved his bad guys and he won a multitude of awards for them. It killed Damian to say it, but he was a perfect choice for the role.

Damian took a deep breath and opened the double doors to the large projector screen with luxurious plush red velvet reclining chairs creating three rows facing the front. The various men and women standing or sitting around the room, each with a drink in their hand. They turned their heads to see who the newcomer was. Dick came bouncing toward him while the others raised their glass in acknowledgement, waved, or called out a greeting.

“Hey Dami! I’m so glad you could make it!” Dick embraced him, but really just hugged around Damian’s hanging arms.

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it, now get off.” Damian resisted.

“Well I’m still glad you listened to my threats.” Dick laughed and guided him inside. “We were just going through the final candidates audition tapes, I’ve decided we’re going to decide tonight as a team!”

“We’re casting everyone tonight?” He looked at the screen to find it paused on someone’s audition. An average height, lanky male with blonde hair and green eyes, no doubt someone auditioning for Changeling.

“No, not everyone, but the main team. Well those we haven’t cast yet! We already signed Kori as Starfire, and yesterday we finalized Connor Kent as Super Boy!” Dick practically cheered.

Damian rolled his eyes at the last casting announcement. “Clark’s brother? And I’m the one that gets called out for nepotism.” He crossed his arms.

Clark snorted, “You know I really thought you guys would have been the best of friends back then. Bruce was right though.” He chuckled again, few of the others joining in as well.

“He really does play cocky and arrogant well though, and you can’t play both roles!” Zatanna called out, making the rest burst into laughter.

“Ha ha. You all know he is a diva. Not everyone that fits the description of the character everyday of their real life should be the actual character. We’re actors because we can be things we’re not, not because we can portray ourselves on screen too, that's why we have reality TV trash.”

“Yeah that’s why we cast you as Robin, a leader, noble, maybe a little romantic, hero. You sure aren’t any of that in real life.” Garth hollered, Jason cackled with him. Damian’s eyes narrowed at the pair.

“Oh, but that’s why he’s an actor, because he can sure as hell act like a badass but isn’t one!” Jason added, their laughing continued. Damian dared a glance around the room, seeing Clark trying to hide his enjoyment, Rex’s smile and the way he nudged Zatanna as if they all agreed. Slade was sitting a glass of whiskey in one hand and a smirk on his face. Once his eyes landed on Barbara and Dick who also got caught giggling, he felt his anger start to rise.

“Your own words are biting you in the ass, Wayne.” Barbara snorted, emphasizing the use of his last name and punctuating the snarky comment with a sip from her glass of wine.

“Laugh all you want, you know I’m right. Now can we please just get on with it so I can go home?” He snapped.

Dick, still chuckling, clapped him on the back. “Sure thing. We actually started a bit early and just voted on our Mark Beast A.K.A Changeling! His name in Garfield Logan-”

“The guy from Space Trek?” Damian scoffed.

“The very one! He has a great following and a pretty solid comedic timing. His fans adore him and he’s already got green eyes! The rest will be easy! Plus he is already trained in gymnastics and does parkour, so stunts should be a little easier and perhaps more practical!” Garth chimed in.

“See, watch!” Dick pressed play and the screen brightened to life, displaying Garfield’s audition, followed by some footage of him at a training facility doing parkour and gymnastic routines. In Damian’s opinion, he wasn’t a poor choice, but he was still skeptical.

The group resettled into their chairs and watched clip after clip of auditions, until they narrowed it down and finally selected someone for the remaining roles. After Garfield Logan, they agreed upon Jaime Reyes to play Dan Garret A.K.A Blue Beetle and Donna Troy to portray Wondergirl, or Cassie Sandsmark. Alfred had arranged some catering to come in and supply them with a delicious meal as they were already a few hours deep into deliberation.

It was finally time to face the choice Damian dreaded the most. Who will play the Sorceress? He hadn’t stopped thinking about how important it was that she get along with him and be a good actress herself. The role was the second largest in the movie and could cost them dearly if they choose incorrectly. That and the fact that the office didn’t stop discussing this one girl’s audition for two full days, luckily it died down after that but Damian didn’t want Jason’s new plaything to be involved at all and certainly didn’t want her too close to himself.

Garth, the casting director, had narrowed their choices down to three different women that had been the best of the bunch. The first audition wasn’t memorable, the girl had played it safe, and while it was still very well done, it was missing that certain something.

Damian recognized the second woman instantly, and all he could think of was how horribly wrong the choice would be. Terra Markov, or better known as Slade Wilson’s lapdog. She was his pet, and she also got any audition she could dream of. No doubt Garth was bribed or in some way coerced to give her a shot, because her look did not scream sorceress at all. To give credit where credit is due, she was a decent actress, she just had a temper and her questionable ties with Slade didn’t sit right with him. They still watched her performance and the crowd seemed rather pleased.

“I really like how she delivered that line!”

“Her blue eyes are so pretty!”

“Imagine if we just dyed her hair or used a wig, I think we have a winner!”

Damian looked to Slade who was sitting there with a smug grin on his face. “She is quite talented isn’t she.”

“She’s great, but we’ve got one more. So let’s not make any decisions quite yet.” Dick answered.

“What? You don’t think she is fit for the role?” Slade pushed back.

“No, no. She did very well, I’m just saying we have one left and we should watch it first. Terra is a strong actress, no question why you signed her under your agency.”

“Mr. Grayson, it’d be most efficient to just call it here, everyone approves of her.” A general nodding of heads and agreements filled the room following Slade’s words.

“True, or we can suck up watching five more goddamn minutes like the fucking director wants, and see all the possibilities. Or is it past your bedtime grandpa?” Jason barked.

“You listen here-” Slade was cut off.

Damian had marched over to Dick’s spot in the theatre and snatched the remote out of his hand, he walked back to his place towards the back of the room and away from everyone else and pressed play on the last audition tape.

The slam of the door and the energy that filled the screen silenced everyone. However, no one was more stunned than Damian, who had just realized that the very woman auditioning was the same from the lobby. It was made evident by the large brown coffee stain he caused on her blouse.

Damian watched the audition speechless. This couldn’t possibly be the one everyone was talking about. To his dismay, he had to admit that he was captivated. He knew that she had been late which explained the sudden start to the tape and lack of a slate, but despite what he caused, it seemed to fuel her annoyance of being disturbed by the alarm. She had added some lines and improvised her movements, Damian knew because he practically had the whole damn script memorized.

He almost laughed when she forced a poor assistant to become her scene partner, the shuffle of papers being thrown at the young man caused a few giggles from the small viewing audience. His eyes widened when she pulled her shirt off and he quickly berated himself for appreciating the fullness of her breasts and how prettily they were wrapped in her beige lace bra. While the woman on the screen addressed her apparel, Damian ‘respectfully’ averted his gaze and was curious to see what the others were thinking.

Barbara and Victor were smirking, seemingly appreciating the woman’s strong presence and how she kept going even though the brainless men were stuck on her wardrobe malfunction. Victor and Dick shared a look that confirmed that whatever they were thinking, that they were on the same page. Once the girl appeared back on screen wearing Jason’s signature jacket, the owner proudly grinned and nudged Garth in the chair beside him whose eyes seemed to be glued a little too much on her body. Rex and Clark were happily enjoying the audition and had even put down their food and snacks, fully entranced. What caught Damian’s eye the most was that Slade has shifted his posture, going from neatly relaxed with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, to leaning forward, fingers laced under his chin and elbows planted on his knees merely observing.

Damian’s focus shifted back to the screen, watching her move about so confidently before sitting in a lotus position and chanting lowly.

“Azerath, Metrion, Zinthos.”

Then Dick called cut and jumped in the scene beside her before the tape was stopped seconds later. A few seconds of silence and processing followed before everyone excitedly looked around and began discussing what they had just seen.

“It’s got to be her!”

“Her eyes are so unique!”

“She improvised all that? That’s incredible!”

But all Damian could think about was the war in his head. There was no denying that she was clearly the best, but he knew he already screwed up with her and was certain she hated his guts. He wasn’t sure if they would be able to work together.

“Okay, so that was the fantastic Raven Roth! She is a phenomenal actress whom you might have seen on Skulls as the forensic scientist.”

“I think it has to be her. Even her look is spot on, she is mysterious and cool.” Barbara said.

“I don’t know…didn’t it seem kind of amateurish to just storm in there. That would not fly on set!” Zatana chirped.

“She wouldn’t do that on set, some jerk spilled coffee on her which made her late! I completely sympathize for the poor girl, and to give us a performance this strong? Incredible! Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of auditions over the years.” Damian’s cheeks started to burn at Garth’s words, unknowingly calling him out.

“I for one agree with Mr. Bernstein, here.” The mumbles around the room silenced at Slade’s approval, he never sided with anyone that wasn’t his own talent.

“You do? But isn’t Terra your client?” Dick asked outright, sparing any tiptoeing around the subject.

“Yes, I am not blind and I know when to fold if my hand is not strong enough. Terra cannot out-perform this girl, at least in a role like this. This girl doesn’t seek attention, she demands it with her screen presence, it’s powerful, impactful. Terra’s performance was surface level, good, but inadequate. I’ll coach her about this later. But nevermind that. Miss Roth would be an excellent addition to the cast, as well as my agency. Does anyone know if she’s being represented?” Slade asked the room, Damian noticing a certain look in his eye that he couldn’t quite name.

“Alrighty then.” Dick looked around the room, everyone nodding in agreement to the unspoken question.

Damian felt a weight in his stomach. No way they all almost unanimously chose the vile woman from the coffee shop. Sure she had done well, but they couldn’t see past that? They’d soon find out her temper and Damian would enjoy watching them regret their decision. But still… he’d have to go to work everyday and look at her stupidly, definitely not in any way attractive, face and convince her to like him. It wasn’t fair. Maybe he should speak up? But to speak up would be to reveal himself as the ‘asshole’ and he couldn’t have that. They’d just side with Raven, and he wouldn’t even be able to explain himself. He had to get out of there, he couldn’t risk anyone realizing that he hadn’t given his usually very vocal opinion. Quietly, he snuck out the door just as Dick was finishing his statement.

“It looks like Raven Roth is our Sorceress!”

He could hear the applause from the hallway but he didn’t look back, he proceeded to the kitchen to grab some water and hide. Feeling the cold water slide down his throat, cooling the anger and frustration within him slightly, Damian took a very needed deep breath. Just then, the last person he wanted to see found him.

“Damian, why’d you leave? We just broke out the champagne to celebrate the completed casting!” Dick held his flute of champagne out, swirling the contents as if to entice him.

“I don’t care for champagne.”

“Suit yourself.” he shrugged and took a large sip. After pulling the glace down from his lips, he leaned his hip against the kitchen island and stared directly into Damian’s eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t speak up in there.”

“I had nothing to say.” Damian tried to sound nonchalant.

“If there’s one thing I know about you Damian, it’s that you always have something to say, especially when it directly affects you.”

Dick was good, he always knew when something was up, and usually Damian reluctantly found it endearing but right now it was definitely not the time. “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. You all seemed very pleased with her so there is no point in voicing my opinion for it to be met with criticism.” He shrugged.

“Criticism huh? So you didn’t like her?”

Damian opened his mouth to protest but once again, Dick had caught him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he figured he might as well get the interrogation over with. “I had the displeasure of meeting Miss Roth sometime before her audition. She was inconsiderate and rude and I don’t think we need that kind of behavior on set. Oh and she’s Todd’s new plaything which also poses a problem.”

“Oh, I had no idea. She certainly seemed nice and courteous enough when we talked to her. But I suppose she could be putting on an act for her benefit and given that she wouldn’t know that you were already cast she'd have no reason to give you better treatment. I was also under the impression that Jason and Raven had never met prior to her audition.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “I will take this into consideration as we onboard her. I don’t want to react harshly without further investigation. As it stands, she will continue to be our Sorceress with Terra Markov as a potential backup if Raven falls through.”

Damian crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “I don’t think this will end well for me…I mean us.”

“Everything will be fine. I’ll look into it and adjust whatever needs adjusting. I’ll tell Jay to back off and we’ll make sure she’s not a diva. I appreciate you telling me and not brooding to yourself about this like Bruce.

“Yeah, whatever.” He relaxed slightly, dropping his arms in surrender. “I’m going to go back to my place.”

“You don’t want to stay for the rest of the party? We were gonna watch some of the segments announcing your casting!”

Just then the sound of shattering glass echoed in from the entryway. Dick winced and looked back to Damian who barely reacted..

“Absolutely not. I can watch them on my own time”

“Fair enough, thanks for coming anyway! I’ll see you soon!”

“I still had no choice.” Damian called over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen and toward the entrance. He bid Alfred farewell and departed back to his condo.

Finally settled into the peace and quiet his own space brought him, he started searching for the articles about himself. Most of the articles had received and reported the news positively, stating that the casting choice was a no-brainer and how excited they were to see the cast built around him. A few wireless welcoming but they came from more unpopular sites, and some outlets hadn’t reported anything yet. But the information was still new so it will keep trickling down through the circuit until everyone has given their mostly unsolicited insight.

The one thing that still popped up everytime his name hit the headlines though started popping up right in front of his eyes. It never failed to make him feel less than and unworthy.

Nepotism

#raven #teen titans #raven roth #robrae #damian wayne #damirae #jayrae #dc fanfic #demonbirds #fanfic #just another hollywood scene

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frenchnewwaves · 19 days

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Joan Didion's Packing List:

TO CARRY: mohair throw typewriter 2 legal pads and pens files house key

—Joan Didion, “The White Album” (1979)

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rhysdarbinizedarby · 3 months

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Rhys Darby's new instagram post (also story) on his upcoming show at Bourbon Room Hollywood next week, captioned,

"Let's go. Next Friday!"

Source: Rhys Darby's instagram

#rhys darby #instagram #bourbon room hollywood

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datshitrandom · 1 year

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Darren Criss | Jumperwall 90's - 00's Concert | February 11th, 2023 | via Brooke Berry's IG Story

#Darren Criss #Jumperwall 2023 #Bourbon Room Hollywood #tank top #arms💪#y2k #love you #lo #ve #you #stealing na-page's tags #please do not repost

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d-criss-news · 1 year

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Via Bourbon Room Hollywood's Instagram Story (February 11th, 2023)

#darren criss #bourbon room hollywood #joey mcintyre #ricky rollins #abe burns #ben sheehan #jumperwall #we are jumperwall #instagram #video #feb 2023

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omniblades-and-stars · 3 months

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WIP Whenever I Don't Care You're Not My Real Dad

I got tagged by @korblez for this. So I'm gonna post something that is 100% absolutely his fault. I haven't written a ton this week, so this is what I have to offer today.

I'm brain dead for real after the week I've had work. So you, if you're reading this, I have tagged you. Yes, you! Go forth, share with us.

Without further ado snippet of the thing I'm working on (sorry, not sorry):

BLOOD & GRENADINE

The pair walked casually to a small table set in a corner. It gave them a good view of the entire ballroom. And the view of the ballroom?

It was like someone watched far too many ancient vids about old Hollywood parties, with the old art deco style with the dark walls and solid line accents to break it up, but instead of stylish gold, they embedded weak cyan lights into the wall. The effect was like looking at old computer chips except it gave you a migraine if you stared at it too long. The lights cast strange shadows.

Across the room on the far side were rows of floor to ceiling windows and glass doors that led to high balconies with large ferns planted in cement planters cast with thick, angled lines to further ape a time long since passed. Those Zaeed couldn't find any faults with. Maybe a drink or two in, he might have been willing to even say that he liked them. Three or four and maybe he'd put on a trilby and start talking like an old school mobster for shits and giggles, schee?

“Too many goddamn windows,” Zaeed muttered.

“We'd be sitting ducks if there was a sniper out there,” said Garrus at the same time.

Negative one.

They sat across from each other and Massani wasted no time in perusing the drink menu. Fancy wines, over-priced liquor, cocktails that cost enough to feed a family for one night. Ah well, when in Rome and all that. He was going to get a drink. Just add it to the tab for Red to reimburse him for.

“Are you really going to drink tonight?”

Zaeed raised his eyes only scooch off of the menu to respond with a wink, “You want people to believe this is a dinner date, or what?” Usually, he just drank his liquor straight, whiskey, bourbon, vodka - shit, it didn't really matter. That burn as it went down was what reminded him that he was still breathing. Taste didn't really matter when you were often scraping the bottom of the galaxy's barrel running hither and yon chasing down assholes for credits. Didn't mean he was a man without taste, he just knew how to turn it off, measure his expectations. “'Sides, one drink isn't gonna do anything to me except cost me enough credits to buy a new scope for the old Mattock.”

Garrus' mandibles fluttered briefly as he considered the wisdom of Zaeed's defense. Or more accurately, considering just how often he'd seen him with a tumbler of some brown liquor or another during the years that they'd been working together now. Given the truly unbelievable number of bottles left over as evidence of Shepard and Zaeed's contest (the number of which could have killed a krogan), it was within the scope of belief that drinking one cocktail wouldn't make a dent in the man's sobriety.

Having decided that Zaeed was correct, Garrus picked up the menu to peruse it himself. The offerings of dextro safe wines and liquors were unsurprisingly small, and included dual-chirality options that were just right out. Those were never good. He'd be better off chugging a bottle of rubbing alcohol based on taste alone.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I'll be your server tonight,” a chipper young woman with curly hair interrupted their ponderance of booze and its variations with a broad smile on rosy cheeks. “Dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes. May I get you something to drink while you wait?” She was a pretty girl, with masses of curly brown hair that were barely wrangled into a braid, and doeish, brown eyes that looked far too happy to be living on Earth post-near-apocalypse.

Zaeed heard a rumble in Garrus' chest, that same one that always came before he made a bad joke. And coupled with the daring glint in those baby blues of his, Zaeed knew that it was on. “Hm, I don't know. Darling, what looks good to you?”

Even.

“For you, love, the Brandy Alexandrus. You have quite a sweet tooth,” Zaeed practically purred without looking up from his menu. Blue was going to have to try a lot harder than that if he wanted the merc to crack. He sat through Shepard's god awful speech before hitting the Collector base without so much as cracking a grin. Besides, he'd definitely been to dinner with a helluva lot worse than the likes of the smug turian across from him. At least he was reasonably certain that Vakarian wouldn't try to kill him by the end of the night.

#daisy screaming into the void

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theycallme-thejackal · 1 year

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One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

128. All Too Well

She remembers everything.

She wishes she didn’t. She wishes she could forget him, but that period of her life is ingrained in her mind, on her heart, and she finds herself having flashbacks more often than she cares to.

Tonight it’s as she stands in the kitchen, wiping her hands after cleaning up dinner, and she can picture him. She can feel the way his hands felt as he tugged her close and guided her steps, dancing in the kitchen to no music. She remembers how happy she was, how safe she felt in his arms, and it brings tears to her eyes.

In the end, it was too real for him, and he got scared, running off to California, putting an entire country between them, and leaving her feeling like a crumpled up piece of paper containing a bad joke you’d rather not remember you wrote in the first place.

She sees him in the living room, sitting in a chair, talking to Papa, and when he spots her in the doorway, he smiles and gives her a wink before going back to his chat. She sees him in the bathroom, bopping her on the nose with one of her curlers, nuzzling against her cheek and getting her face cream all over his nose.

In her bedroom, she opens her drawer, reaching toward the back and tugging out a familiar black silk tie. The smell of him has long since faded, but she keeps it here, in her drawer. It’s a little irrational maybe, but every time she considers throwing it out, she worries. She worries that throwing it out means throwing him away. Throwing everything that they had away.

And she’s not ready. It’s been six months, and she still can’t bear to move on.

They were only together - really together - for a short time, but she knows that she’s lost the greatest love she’s ever known. What he made her feel is unmatched by anyone she’s been with before or since then.

She wakes in the morning of her thirtieth birthday with his tie still in her hand, and she blinks awake slowly, the sun peeking through her window, and her heart clenches.

Thirty. And alone.

She’s always loved her birthday, but today is something of a blur, and once the kids are asleep, she feels a profound sadness wash over her.

And then a knock at the door.

She’s got a glass of bourbon in her hand (she tends to opt for bourbon on the nights when she particularly misses Lenny), and she downs it, steeling herself for what is undoubtedly going to be Joel and a fight on the other side of the door.

She takes a deep breath, opens the door, and...

It’s not Joel.

Instead, there stands Lenny Bruce, in his trademark suit, holding a small bakery box. His head is slightly dipped, and he looks at her a little shyly. “Happy birthday,” he says quietly.

“What are you doing here?” She asks when she finds her words.

He half-smiles. “There’s this bakery in West Hollywood that makes the best cupcakes I’ve ever had, but they sadly don’t deliver.”

She looks at him for a long moment before opening the door a little wider and inviting him inside. It’s probably a disastrous idea, letting him in when she’s already been maimed by their relationship before, but she can’t help herself. Wanting him, loving him, is as involuntary as blinking or cracking a joke.

He stands in her foyer for the first time in months, and as much as she just wants to fall into his arms right now, she feels more like a soldier bracing himself for battle, and he looks like he’s ready for a barrage.

It’s strange to see him feeling awkward when at one time this place was practically his home, but he shifts on his feet, looking up at her from under his lashes, and there is such a profound sensation of guilt radiating from him.

Good. He should feel guilty.

“When did you get back?” She asks as she closes the door.

He looks at his watch. “About an hour ago,” he answers. “I dropped my bag off at Jo-Jo’s and came straight here.”

She nods slowly. “How is he?”

“Away for the summer. I’ve got a spare key.” He lifts the box of cupcakes a little awkwardly. “Want a cupcake?” He asks. “Or I could just leave them and - ”

“No,” she breathes softly. “No, I...it’s my birthday. And even though I’m still so fucking angry with you, I...can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend it with.”

He chuckles quietly. “That’s perhaps the most confusing thing I’ve ever heard, but I will take what I can get,” he says.

She leads him to the kitchen, pulling out plates and napkins before pouring them each a glass of bourbon. He raises a brow at her. She shrugs, setting his glass down in front of him. “Don’t make it a thing.”

He nods slowly and lifts his glass in toast. “To you,” he says.

She smiles softly. “I’ll drink to that.” They clink their glasses and sip, and then he opens the box.

The cupcakes inside are various colors and flavors, and she picks the one with a caramel frosting, taking a bite and biting back a moan. “Holy shit.”

He chews his bite of his chocolate cupcake. “I told you.”

“That’s almost as good as sex,” she comments before she can think about it, and he laughs.

“Almost,” he repeats with a smirk.

“Don’t flirt with me. I’m still mad at you.”

“Hey, you’re the one bringing up sex,” he bats back, cocking a brow at her.

She sighs and wipes her fingers on her napkin. “So...you’re here,” she comments, taking a sip of her bourbon.

He nods. “I am no mirage.”

She tilts her head at him, considering him, and she notices he looks...really good. His cheeks aren’t so sunken. His eyes a little brighter - still dark and smoldering, but there’s more life behind them. “You look good,” she says.

“Don’t flirt with me. You’re still mad at me.”

“Lenny,” she drawls with an eye roll, and he lifts his hands in surrender. “I meant you look healthy.”

He nods. “I...” He takes a deep breath, and it’s stunning to her to see the great Lenny Bruce struggling for words. “I didn’t want to leave you,” he says. “I need you to know that it was the hardest thing I have ever done.”

Midge swallows thickly. “Then why did you do it?” She whispers.

“Because I couldn’t be the man you deserve,” he answers honestly. “Not when I was...”

“High?” She finishes after a long moment.

He nods. “I needed to get clean. And I needed to do it for myself. If I was there for you...” She tilts her head, trying to understand where he’s going with this. “Then my sobriety always would have been contingent on us, and when you inevitably realized I wasn’t worth it - ”

“What makes you think that would ever happen?” She asks, furrowing her brow.

He scoffs a mirthless laugh. “You’re Miriam Weissman. Upper West Side goddess. One day you were going to tire of slumming it with an addict with mountains of debt.”

“Wow,” she breathes, shaking her head and trying to fight tears. “You really think I’m that shallow?”

“No. But I think you deserve better than someone who’s spending more money on drugs than food. Who can be there for you in a way I really couldn’t.”

She blinks at him and then sips her drink. “Lenny, do you have any idea how much I loved you?” She asks quietly. “How much it fucking hurt when you bailed on me? I - ” She feels herself getting louder and remembers her children down the hall. “I got left high and dry by my husband of five years, and that didn’t hurt nearly as much as watching you walk out on me.”

He nods, and she sees his eyes red-rimmed and watery. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I was so...lost, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m...I’m very sorry, Midge.”

She blinks back tears and looks down at her plate, picking a bit of cupcake. “Why are you here?” She asks. “Why now?”

“Because even though I left, even though I did it for myself...I thought of you the whole time I was in rehab. Watching you on Gordon Ford...it was the highlight of my weeks.”

She swallows her bite of cupcake and looks at him, but she can’t keep the eye contact, so she averts her gaze again. “Lenny...”

“I’m not expecting anything,” he promises. “After what I did, I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But I had to let you know how sorry I am for what I did. At the very least so you knew...it was never about not loving you. Because I did...I do.”

Her eyes shoot up to find his again, and she sees the wetness under his eyes where tears have started to fall. “I...I don’t know what to say,” she admits.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assures her. “Whatever you want from me, I will respect that. I owe you that much.”

She stares at him for a long moment. “I think...you should go,” she whispers, her throat constricting with the threat of tears.

He nods. “Then I’ll go,” he says, standing and straightening his jacket. “Happy birthday, Midge. I hope you get everything you wished for,” he says quietly.

She doesn’t watch him leave, but the second she hears the front door close, she’s up like a shot, sprinting after him. She loses her slippers in the hall, but she doesn’t care. She rushes barefoot to the door, and when she swings it open, he’s not there.

She goes to the stairwell, flinging the door open, and he’s just made it to the landing when he sees her. She rushes down the stairs and launches herself into his arms, surprising him, but he holds her tightly as she buries her face in his neck.

“Don’t go,” she whispers. “Don’t ever go.” A sob passes her lips, and he holds her tighter.

He nods. “Okay,” he whispers, and she feels tears on the collar of her dress.

“I swear, Lenny, if you ever leave me like that again, I’m sending Frank and Nicky after you and no one will ever find the body.”

He chuckles through his sob. “Never again.”

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #mltswift

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