#shirtless robert saved me
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Robert From Next Door | Robert "Bob" Floyd
Summary: You've lucked out with the perfect neighbor, a kind and overly helpful WSO. He puts up Christmas lights, lends his lawn mower, and grabs your morning paper. But what happens when he's out of peppermint tea one night?
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings & Notes: Robert "Bob" Floyd x gn!reader, extremely fluffy, food mentions, heavy making out, shirtless Bob, only referred to as Robert for the series, unrealistic expectations of next door neighbors, 18+ as always. This idea hit me like a bus while walking the dog (where I almost was hit by a bus) and has been fully unable to leave my brain since then. Cozy, sweet, overly helpful Neighbor!Bob is literally all I want for Christmas. And he's my holiday present to all of you!
robert from next door | if only the neighbors knew
“I have a ladder you can borrow.” You look up from the box of Christmas lights you’re detangling in the garage to see your neighbor standing in the opening to the street. Coffee mug in hand as he watches you loop out another knot. He’d noticed your garage open that morning, too early for a Saturday, and came to investigate or possibly offer assistance. If there is one thing Robert Floyd does best, it’s help his neighbors.
You had moved into the tidy bungalow just under a year ago, placing a potted fern on the doorstep and painting over the dated beige walls. It was finally starting to feel like a home. Now with the holidays approaching (as reminded by the entirely too jolly Santas everywhere in town) you were excited to start new traditions in your humble home. And it started with putting twinkling lights on the house, lights currently tangled in the cardboard box you haphazardly threw them in twelve months ago.
Threading out another knot, you give him a playful smile. “How do you know I don’t have a ladder?”
“Lucky guess?” He’s not going to admit he’s scanned and memorized nearly every inch of your garage.
The day after the moving truck came and went, you were thrilled when your first new neighbor rang your doorbell. While you had expected some middle aged woman with a plate of brownies and a plea for babysitting, you were pleasantly surprised at the man in a flight suit (Lt. Robert Floyd according to the stitching) with the striking blue eyes who stood there instead. He didn’t have brownies, but he happily gave you the lowdown on the neighborhood as you sat amongst moving boxes drinking lemonade out of paper cups.
As the months passed, an easy friendship had developed amongst neighbors. In the morning before making his way to base, Robert would scoop up your morning paper and walk it up the seven steps to your porch. The paper boy always threw it short. And despite numerous pleas to leave it be - you didn’t mind the short walk - every morning when you went for the paper, there it sat neatly on your mat along with any misdelivered mail.
And when he wasn’t saving kittens from trees in his free time, Robert was a shining example of a great neighbor. Driving his truck for a trip to get plants at the nursery, lending his mower when yours broke in the heat of July, cleaning your gutters when the leaves fell…you shouldn’t be surprised he’s now offering up his ladder so you can enjoy your Christmas lights. Looking down at the tangled mess, you hadn’t even thought about how you were going to get them actually on the house. Nails? Did you even own nails?
Not even an hour later you’re standing on the sidewalk facing your home with a hot cup of coffee in your chilly hands. Propped up on a ladder with detangled lights in one hand - and a tool belt around his waist like your personal Mr. Fix It - Robert hums to himself as he hammers nails into the trim before wrapping the first strand of lights in place.
You had accepted his ladder graciously, but mentioned you needed to hit the hardware store first for nails. With a nod of his head he left your garage and you continued on the lights. It was a tedious project, but rewarding once the final strand lay flat against the concrete floor. You were digging around in boxes for tools when your neighbor reappeared. He had a ladder and his tool belt, a full box of nails clutched in his large hand. Cheeks warm, you assured him you would buy your own. He let out a playful pfft.
“Nonsense. It’s Saturday, the hardware store will be packed. Consider them an early Christmas gift.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “Let me at least trade you for them? A cup of coffee?”
“Do you still have those Kona beans?” His ocean blue eyes are hopeful.
Your smile widened as you nodded. The overpriced beans you had expensively shipped every month were a favourite of the weapons systems officer. Last month you had hosted the homeowners association meeting (for the first and hopefully only time) and Robert had raved about the coffee you served. He was used to the basic stuff they made on base, his own home brewing not much better. Your coffee was the best.
When you came back to the garage after whipping up a carafe - hot mug in hand - you shouldn’t have been surprised to see your neighbor already up the ladder, deep into the project.
You holler up to him. “Robert, get down! You don’t need to do that!”
But he waves you off, insisting that he had already started and might as well finish the job. He would just drink your delicious coffee once he was done. And so you were relegated to the sidewalk to make sure everything looked straight from the street.
From this distance you could admire him innocently. The military-issue wire frames that catch the morning sun. Broad shoulders under the neat canvas barn coat he recently replaced when the corduroy collar ripped. His strong hands shielded from the chilled wind under his workman’s gloves. Because someone like Robert Floyd follows safety precautions and owns workman’s gloves.
At this angle you can see the slight smile on his lips as he strings lights along your porch. For the next hour you watch him put up lights, him occasionally turning back and asking you how they look.
“Are you sure they’re straight?” You promise him they are, but he meticulously checks his work anyway. He wants your house to look perfect.
The wind has tinged both your cheeks a deep pink and the cold is starting to seep through boots. Robert has nailed the last of your lights to the trim and deemed them faultless. He comes down the ladder and walks to stand beside you to admire his handiwork. Hands on hips - with that damn tool belt still astride his waist - he turns to you beaming at a job well done. It’s impossible not to beam back, thinking how long it would have taken you to do even a job half as good.
“Thank you for putting up the lights. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” He isn’t sure whether your cheeks are red from the cold or something else. “I’m so lucky to have you as a neighbor.”
His smile is permanently stuck at your compliment. He opens his mouth to make a joking comment about the coffee you owe him - anything for more time together - when he feels the telltale buzz in his pocket. Pulling it reluctantly out after shedding a glove, he sees it’s Phoenix and is only semi-annoyed. They have lunch plans, which he’s running late for. And while he’s sure his front seater would approve of him blowing her off for the neighbor he can’t stop talking about, he’s a better friend than that.
Turning back to you, where you’re enjoying your freshly strung twinkling lights, Robert rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I have to head out…lunch plans. Rain check on that coffee?”
Nodding through your disappointment, you help him gather up his ladder and assure him that coffee is his whenever he wants.
The following morning you pad toward your front door, eyes bleary from a deep sleep. The house was cold and you pull your robe tighter around you. Through the glass panel in the door you can see your paper on the mat, as always, ready for you to consume over coffee and toast. As you open the oak door and scurry to shut it with the paper secured, something - or rather someone - catches your eye.
Robert stands in the doorway of his own bungalow, calmly watching the neighborhood. The thick fair isle sweater covering his wide shoulders looks incredibly cozy, and he nurses a mug between both hands. He exists in that moment without worry, and you’re envious.
His placid expression is broken when he feels your eyes, turning his head to see you, bedhead and newspaper clutched in your fist. His lips turn in a warm smile and he raises one hand in a slow, friendly wave. Your heart flutters, utterly taken away with how surely he carries himself, how sweetly he treats others. An emotion quickly squashed when you realize you are still standing in a bathrobe and knobby socks, flying back inside and shutting the door with heated cheeks.
As you go about working on your Sunday chores, you keep picturing Robert’s face, that small happy smile you can’t get out of your head.
Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning in the sheets unable to find peace, you finally trudge down the hall into the living room, settling under blankets on the plush couch with a cup of chamomile. You’ve lost details of the plot of the movie you started, brain racing as your fingers fidget with the mug.
The faint trill of your phone on the coffee table breaks you from your thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Hi. It’s Bo-Robert…from next door?” You yawn a hello while checking the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. “I just wanted to check if everything was alright? Noticed your lights were on.”
A warm feeling spreads through your chest at his concern. Picturing him peering out his kitchen window with the striped cotton curtains, filling up his own kettle, distressed that your house lights were on so late. You’d like to think he wore tartan pajamas, neatly buttoned. Those would suit him.
You settle back into the cushions as you reply. “Everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep.”
His thoughtful nod can practically be heard through the phone.
“Better question is, what are you doing up so late?”
The whistle and clink of boiling water and china crash over the line. A sigh pulled from his lips before responding. “I was going to make myself a cup of tea while I finished some reports, but appears that I am out.”
You glance down at your own mug of tea. It’s late, but not that late.
“What kind of tea do you like?” He muses on about his lack of preference - an equal opportunity tea lover - before admitting he was looking forward to a cup of peppermint. You make your way to the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you both open your cupboards. Your voice feels small as you offer, “I think I might have some.”
A silence lingers on the line. An unspoken late night implication that neither of you knows what to make of it. Your fingers flip through boxes of tea that take up too much cupboard space. Pomegranate, green, oolong. You don’t even drink tea that often. But right as you think you have too many white teas, you see the striped box of peppermint tea, one lone bag waiting for its turn.
You empty the box and walk to the window in your kitchen, where you can see the faint light on through his curtains. You clear your throat. “Look out your kitchen window.”
To your disappointment, Robert does not wear tartan pajamas to sleep. Although you are delighted to see his shirtless chest, defined from years of Navy training. He waves at you through your respective kitchen windows, holding up his mug of hot water. You lift up the tea bag, and his face splits into a toothy smile.
Before you can offer to bring it to him, he’s already turning toward his front door, speaking into the phone, “I’ll be over, just a minute. Need to find my coat.”
By the time there’s a soft knock on the door, you’ve turned on the kettle and gotten a fresh mug for him. You open the door, greeted by the tip of his nose and ears a merry red, the cold kissing his features. He’s been outside all of a minute. You usher your neighbor in, watching him observe how you’ve put up garlands and festive knickknacks in the entry since his last visit.
He slips off his boots, bare feet settling on the cold hardwood, and fingers the collar of his canvas barn coat. In his rush to come over he’d thrown his coat on forgetting his bare chest. It feels obnoxious to be half naked in your home, so he keeps his coat on and follows you to the kitchen.
“Peppermint still good?” You tease, the packet of tea leaves in your hand. He nods, slightly distracted by how cozy you look in your soft loungewear and the robe from this morning. Dunking the bag into the hot water, you search for a topic to pass the steeping time. But when you turn to talk to him, words catch in your throat because he’s right there.
Eyes so blue the sky is jealous. Shy smile so friendly it warms the room. Your thoughts dirtily flit to the tool belt around his waist on the ladder, fingers adeptly wielding a hammer. Fingers that brush yours in the proximity. He’s so close and your brain blanks as bodies simultaneously take action.
Your mouths find each other effortlessly, bodies pressing together as if they know the moves the two of you were just figuring out. The low-lying tension building for the past year breaking the surface as the dark of the house gives you both the bravery needed. His hands are cold as they find your waist, your hands too warm on his chilled jaw.
His mouth is all soft lips and hard pressure, the faint hint of toothpaste in his taste. It’s exactly as you imagined, but better.
Lips become more desperate the longer you connect, your back suddenly against the counter as he presses into you. This moment has been building since he’d watched you first walk up the front steps with that too big moving box. A hand slips into his sun-bleached locks he always has so perfectly combed. He moans into your mouth, a sinful noise in the quiet kitchen.
Before sense can interrupt, you’re reaching for the zipper of his coat, revealing every inch of his toned pale chest as the zipper slowly comes down. You slide a hand over the skin, a low gasp slipping out at the strong muscle. You’ve been attracted to his mind for so long, it feels unfair his body should be attractive too.
He shrugs out of the barn coat and follows you to the lowly lit living room, where the couch is softer on your back than the counter edge. Sitting side by side, knees knocking, he’s more hesitant to touch you in this context. Despite his body screaming to explore every inch of his pretty neighbor’s mind and body, he knows he’s basically barged into your home and immediately stuck his tongue in your sweet mouth. You get to set the pace.
“This okay?” His hand encompasses your knee, thumb rubbing smoothly through the fabric. You nod, tilting your head toward him to continue kissing. He’s warmed up now, your home and body bringing him to temperature. Robert smiles into your kiss. You can’t get enough of him, wanting to consume him fully. He’s delicate with you in the most delicious of ways; gentle kisses pressed to your soft lips before sliding his tongue across to politely ask for access.
Your mouth can’t open fast enough.
You place you hand on his hip, enjoying the warm skin and lean muscle beneath your fingertips. Groaning lightly into your mouth, he blindly reaches for your hips to bring you into his lap. His tongue takes its time to taste you, learn every intricacy of your flavor. Administration so thorough your eyes roll back in your head. The sounds escaping you music in the darkened room.
Fingers dance across skin, finding purchase on thighs, shoulders, chests. You can’t get close enough to him, resting one hand on the back of his neck as your swollen lips press harder to his. Robert loves the way your thighs straddle him as he leans against the couch cushions, his warm, large hands along your back bringing you closer to him. Your sharp inhale as one hand toys with the waistband of your lounge pants.
When his lips trail down your neck, praising the delicate skin, you can’t hold back your declaration any longer. “I…I’ve wanted this for a while.”
His lips pause, brow furrowed. “This?”
“You.”
That gratified smile will forever be imprinted along your neck. “I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in.”
The whimpers that rip through you when he nips the thin skin behind your ear have him grabbing your chin and swallowing your sounds. Reveling in the shared passion you’ve both had simmering beneath the surface. Can’t help his hips rutting up into yours, glorious friction he’s been craving satisfied. You giggle through a moan against his lips.
“So, we could have been doing this all year long? What a shame, lieutenant.”
You ground down in his lap, running your own tongue along his lips and savoring his taste. Thoughts of what he tastes like after his peppermint tea have you wrapping your arms tighter around his bare shoulders. Behind his head, outside the window, the faint glow of the Christmas lights he strung up shines in the winter night. How did you find this perfect man, and how is he your neighbor?
You express your gratitude for him with your mouth along his jaw, licking along the skin while he deliciously whimpers in your ear.You can only take so much before you’re sealing your lips over his again, inhaling his every breath.
As lips finally reach exhaustion - brains well past tired as the clock strikes a new hour - Robert and you pull apart with content smiles. Already cold without his warmth, you immediately lean back into him. He’s practically a furnace now under your ministrations. Unspoken words pass between as you invite him to sleep on your couch with you. A throw blanket produced from the nearby chair as the two of you tangle your limbs. There’s something comforting in the way he rests your head upon his arm, your knee upon his thigh. Again, it’s like your bodies know the actions like they’ve been waiting for you to finally figure them out.
You’ve just settled your head upon his warm chest when a thought strikes you, prompting you to lean up to look at those sleepy cerulean eyes. The small curious smile he gives you melting your heart.
“Did you still want your tea?”
He shakes his head with a chuckle, using the last of his energy to tuck the blanket tighter around your body. “It’s okay. I got what I really wanted.”
Your heart feels two sizes too big as he presses a kiss to your temple before sleep takes you both.
When the winter sunrise streams through your curtains the next morning, you refuse to get up. Perfectly warm wrapped up in the thin throw and your neighbor’s arms, you are purely too content. When Robert blinks open his eyes and gazes at your face, he sees the same placid smile he wore the morning before. The same one he’s had since you moved in next door.
Despite both being all too happy to remain entangled on the couch, sharing small kisses on any skin within reach, the responsibilities of Monday morning dawn and you must get up. Reluctantly you release him, watching him fold the throw neatly upon the sofa arm before helping you stand. Warmth blossoms down your spine the more you’re in Robert’s presence, the little things he does meaning so much to you. Especially as he strides through your home shirtless, musing about the whereabouts of his coat on the kitchen floor.
Your eyes flit to the cold mug of abandoned peppermint tea as you offer him coffee. But he’s intent on getting home for his flight suit, the drive to base longer than he’d like. Of course, he would ideally spend the morning drinking your expensive delicious coffee and listen to you go on about the neighbors down the street with the atrocious holiday decorations. If you’d let him, he would spend every morning like that for the rest of time. But his admiral would put him in drills all week if he was any later.
You walk him to the door, robe pulled tight across your chest to keep out the cold. He’s pulled on his boots for the short walk and wraps his arms around you in an intimate embrace, disappointed this perfect night must come to an end. You bury your nose in his jacket-covered chest to enjoy the last of his herbal and citrus scent, hands reluctantly slipping from his middle. He turns to leave and both your hearts pang.
When Robert reaches the end of your path, he bends down and picks up the paper, thrown too short as always. He turns around and retraces his steps, walking back up the steps and straight up to where you reside in the doorway still. Fingers brush as he hands you the newspaper, saving you the walk as he always does. Only this morning he tips his head to press a kiss to your lips.
You’re already adding peppermint tea to your shopping list as you walk back into the house. Just for him.
see what antics happen at the next HOA meeting
taglist: @callsign-mongoose
#robert bob floyd#robert bob floyd fic#bob floyd fic#bob floyd#bob floyd fan fiction#robert bob floyd fan fiction#top gun maverick fan fiction#robert bob floyd x you#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x reader#x reader#bob floyd fluff#robert bob floyd fluff#gn!reader#neighbor!bob
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Magnus Archives dudes ranked by how much I, an aroace lesbian, would want to fuck them
Jonathan Sims - 7/10
Fairly middle of the road academic, would be the worst to make breakfast for the day after, but gets point for being a mess.
Martin Blackwood - 1/10
It's good for others but the teddybear vibes dont do it for me, i'm sorry
Tim Stoker - 9/10
He seems fun and I think he'd understand that this is no strings attached, we'd have a good time.
Elias Bouchard - 6/10
Evil old men are fuckable, but loses points for being the worst.
Gerard Keay - 3/10
I wouldn't fuck Gerard, I'd make him good food and let him stay at my place for as long as he needs.
Jurgen Leitner - 5/10
Look. He gets a worse rap than he deserves. That said he loses points for probably talking too much during sex.
Michael Crew - 7/10
I like his powers and he seems like a fun guy to fuck, plus scars are hot but seeing them also involves seeing a semi-buff dude shirtless which is like my biggest turnoff.
Michael Distortion - 6/10
I am a monsterfucker but i don't like his voice.
Peter Lukas - 3/10
Bear DILF is a great vibe but i feel like he'd wanna do it in Lonely and i'm cold at the moment so that sounds awful.
Oliver Banks - 3/10
He'd be an 10 if he hadn't said anything to trigger my thanatophobia halfway through. He'd make good breakfast after though.
Adelard Decker - 7/10
Saved more people than Gertrude, I'd fuck him just for that.
Eric Delano - 9/10
DILF
Michael Shelley (pre-Distortion) - 3/10
Another one that just doesn't do it for me, but he's cute enough.
Mikaele Salesa - 10/10
He has sugar daddy vibes, I'd fuck him for a new ps5 and he'd pay my bills.
Breekon & Hope - 10/10
Worse ways to spend a weekend than being spitroasted by buff delivery men with sexy voices.
John Amherst - 1/10
He has every std
Maxwell Rayner - 2/10
I mean, he's hot enough but next to Manuela everyone is a 1. This is the one time i let my lesbianism influence my judgement
Jordan Kennedy - 6/10
The ants are a turnoff but I respect a working man
Jared Hopworth - 10/10
I DO NOT NEED TO JUSTIFY THIS ONE
Tom Haan - 4/10
Cannibalism is hotter when women do it, I lied about not letting my lesbianism decide.
Robert Montauk - 8/10
Dilf AND serial killer? My panties are already wet
Trevor Herbert - 4/10
Points for being the same as Robert but he was mean to Daisy so fuck him in a non sexy way
Simon Fairchild - 4/10
His optimism just gets to the point of annoying, dude shut up about what a lovely day it is while im sucking you off!
Edwin Burroughs - 7/10
I wouldn't need possession to corrupt him
Raymond Fielding - 5/10
Middle of the road, I wouldn't say no but i wouldn't initiate.
Robert Smirke - 10/10
This is 100% because i study architecture and fucking Robert Smirke would give bragging rights forever.
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Christmas in the Scot's Arms
If the action doesn't take place in a slightly misspelt Ivanhoe theme pub called The Scot's Arms I'm going to not be surprised but also a little sad all the same.
I like that he's in an indecipherable tartan, or else entirely in black, because it gets around my tartan pedantry. Also, the room looks really warm, so being shirtless isn't the threat it could be. Whilst it looks like the Highlanders have finally discovered the virtues of remaining inside whilst shirtless, which is good, it also provides the marvellous mental image of him insisting on being shirtless as long as there's a roof overhead. Bath Assembly Rooms? Shirtless. Hanging out at your mate's house? Shirtless. Audience with the Prince Regent? Shirtless, but possibly with a waistcoat on with the last button undone. Because fashion.
London, 1815
Laird Liam MacLeod is not lacking for lasses that wish to marry him. As chief of one of the few remaining stable and wealthy clans in the Highlands, the scheming misses are more than plentiful—too plentiful, in fact, for a man who desires to marry for love. Given the opportunity to escape to London for the holidays, Liam takes it with a half-hearted expectation that perhaps English ladies will be different. But the calculating debutantes of the ton and their marriage-minded mamas leave him with little hope, until a chance encounter brings him face-to-face with a beautiful, witty lady who knows nothing about him.
Miss Cecelia Cartwright has an unfairly tattered reputation and the distasteful yet pressing need for a marriage of convenience. She’d frankly rather eat dirt, but when one’s family is on the verge of poverty, pride must fall by the wayside. But the day a handsome, honorable Scot comes to her aid, he awakens longings in Cecelia that she knows she cannot pursue.
Torn between her heart and her duty, Cecelia finds herself dancing at the very edge of impropriety that once before destroyed her good name. When her old suitor returns to Town, she must choose between the laird she loves and the duke who could save her family. Just when she thinks she knows what she ought to do, Liam reveals a secret that may well prove charming Scots are the most dangerous rogues of them all.
It might just be because I'm in a good mood and listening to Kate Rusby singing Christmas songs, but even though Liam MacLeod is naïve enough to hope that English mamas don't want to marry their daughters off to wealthy clan chieftains, it's not so unlikely that it makes me exasperated - it really wasn't until Queen Victoria started to like Scotland that the whole Jacobite rebellion and the more-or-less illegal to be a Highlander thing went away, so it might very well not be unreasonable to assume that no one with ambition would want to get him hitched up to a relative. I have the image of Mrs Bennett going "It's a pity he's a Scotsman, but it can't be helped. Lizzie, go and tell him that you're single!"
The whole thing is made super by the line "she must choose between the laird she loves and the duke who could save her family".
I hope the secret is that he's descended from the Auld Pretender and thus the rightful king of Great Britain. Not only because it would be unexpected, but also because it would mean a Scottish king who wasn't Robert.
#Christmas in the Scot's Arms#Julie Johnstone#Christmas in Romance Scotland#A Christmas Miracle!#Yes! Another one!#“I'm actually James IV/IX”#Shirtless AT ALL TIMES#Unless it's cold and outside
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I think that I got into fantasy just at the right time. I think I was in 5th or 6th grade when I first got into it. It was basically after I saw a news segment on 퇴마록 and I wanted to read it but it was already like 12 or some books in and it was supposed to be for adults only so I couldn’t access it.
But then all the comic book rent places began to carry fantasy books too. And my first book was 가즈나이트
This was the beginning of I believe the 2nd generation of Korean fantasy. I mean technically it’s still considered 1st gen but it did start publishing after 퇴마록 and others got popular which were mostly written by older (40-50s) fiction writers who read like Ursula le Guin and Robert Jordan. This one particularly was written by a teenager when the first one was published, showing that younger audience and writers were craving for fictions beyond whatever we had to read in school. I mean most of fiction you could buy at a bookstore at the time was mostly translated literature like Wrath of Grape, Les Miserable or shit like that. So no wonder kids were into extravagant Dungeons & Dragons/Lord of the Rings world full of magic, swordfight, and dragons. Also I was getting tired of reading Dragon Ball and other shonen comics if I wanted something fantastical.
But yeah 가즈나이트 wasn’t the first D&D like fantasy setting book, aforementioned 퇴마록 being more of contemporary urban fantasy as in Neverwhere not “urban” like Black fiction but it was the first one I picked. I think the first really popular dragon and magic fantasy book was called 카르세아린 which was also written by a younger author about a young dragon named Kars-aerin disguising himself as a human and getting entangled in human political conflicts. There was 3rd gen fantasy book called 아린 이야기, which was basically fanfic/plagiarism of 카르세아린. I happened to read 아린 이야기 before reading 카르세아린 which was interesting (the original is way better btw).
Anyway back to 가즈나이트. It was basically a story about wandering swordman named 리오 스나이퍼 (Leo Sniper) who is unassuming but actually an expert fighter who saves people. Very much Kenshin from Rurouni Kenshin. And I think at the end of first or second book it turns out he’s actually a swordman chosen by a god, called God’s Knight hence the title 가즈나이트, who defends humanity with his supernatural power granted by his god. And the story evolves much like Dragon Ball in a sense that 리오 goes around bumping into conflicts and he tries his best to help people. There is always a boss monster like villain he has to defeat to solve the conflict and the stakes get higher every time and his enemies get stronger too. So naturally he needs to continue to come up with new hidden talent to fight back stronger enemy, like Dragon Ball. A few books in, I think the author realized that he had to add more characters, like Dragon Ball Z, if 리오 were to defeat some of these villains as well as the author got better at writing in general so he actually started to do some world building. This is when he retconed this shit and started to add more gods’ knights. Like surprise there are more of them. And I think this was what kept me continuing to read the series. He first introduced 지크 스나이퍼 (Zeek Sniper) who is 리오’s real life brother. And this is also when he started doing Power Rangers color coding tham. I mean 리오’s thing was that he had long red hair (Kenshin much lol) and wore blue cape and used a long sword oh and his power was neutral (we were really into 무. It means nothingness or like a void. It could be anything or everything. if light is alpha 무 is omega cuz dark is sure as hell not omega). 지크 had short blonde hair, used a short knife he was the comic relief and rock n roll guy and his power was wind. Then there was 바이론 필브라이드 (Byron Philbride or Pfilbreit. Im sorry but we didnt understand that English sounding names all came from different countries actually). He was the big scary guy who was always angry and a god damned beast. Like being always shirtless kinda stuff but also you know a daddy. He had sickly white hair and purple skin (it got explained later) and used a falchion and his power was dark. Then there was 휀 라디언트 (Fhwen or Fin or Phen Radiant) who was also a daddy but he was the daddy. Total Tsundere man like the butler from Black Butler. I actually don’t remember what he looked like but I’m sure you can tell from the name his power was light/radiant. He showed up later in the series as the leader of the gods’ knights and sort of like the adjudicator of what the knights’ duties were and being just below the gods when it comes hierarchy of gods and gods knights. Then there were these two gays guys who always showed up together named 사바신 커텔 (Thabasin or Sabasin K’tell) and 레디 키드 (Ready Kid, i forgot this was his name…my smol bean gay boy got the shit end of the stick) who had power of earth and water respectively. 사바신 was the bear himbo of the group more himbo than 지크, much like Kronk from Emperor’s New Groove, and 레디 was the twink cute guy of the group. I was honestly super into 레디 cuz he only showed up like a few times and we don’t know much about him but he just seemed like a cool guy. All I remember is that he was drawn with short green hair and he was depicted as femboy just fun carefree guy who liked art or some shit.
(This post was not made to reveal how much I’m into twinks and femboys nor that it was so obvious I was not straight)
Then I think there’s one more guy but I honestly have no memory whatsoever of this dude so uhh whelp.
But yeah it was really fun increasing stakes power upping protagonist shonen fantasy and I really liked it when I read it. There was not that big of a fandom culture around it tho because i think it was obvious even then that it was written by a child. Like there was this another 2nd gen fantasy fiction, actually a supernatural urban fantasy fiction (vampires and werewolves) called 월야환담 채월야 and that one had dedicated fandom base like to the point when I went a comic con there were artists selling fanfics and fanarts of it which I bought a few of. I still own a fanart of one of the characters. I think it’s the werebear guy. … I just realized that I of course bought a fanart of literal “bear.” I mean his human form was just tall lanky long haired hot guy so whatever. It kinda started out as Hellsing but was more like Blade.
Anyway yeah I just like reminiscing about some of the 2nd and 3rd gen books and how much they formed my view of fantasy fiction. And also after 3rd gen there was a huge gap in fantasy/science/military/alt-history fiction genre because high speed internet became a thing and nobody went to forums anymore. So many of the fantasy fictions in Korea were written and published for free on forums going even back before world wide web days then The Internet became a thing and webtoons and social media (cyworld and stuff) took over much of people’s attentions. Then Boys over Flowers hit the jackpot and catapulted young adult books written and read by girls became the main alternate literature industry. Nobody wanted to publish fantasy books written by boys or even high fantasy by veteran authors (i mean this was objectively a good thing because we wouldn’t have had webtoons industry if we were being dragged by more fantasy shonen bs). this was also the timeline when kdramas really started to find audience not just in Korea but also in Japan. So emotional love stories was the zeitgeist and that was right around the time I moved to the US and I was able to jump right into a lot of existing English fantasy fictions like Robin Hobb, Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, Forgotten Realms, A Song of Ice and Fire, and such. Like I didn’t have to thirst for fantasy fictions and I was able to just continue reading fantasy fictions
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The rock wake up time
#THE ROCK WAKE UP TIME HOW TO#
Sharon Osbourne runs errands in Beverly Hills days after husband Ozzy Osbourne declared they're moving back to U.K. 'It's a real pinch me moment': Ekin-Su Cülcülolu flaunts her figure in sizzling ensembles as she confirms she's signed Oh Polly deal Katy Perry slips into an olive green swimsuit and a matching sarong as she and shirtless fiancé Orlando Bloom enjoy a relaxing yacht day on the Amalfi Coast 'I've been going through hell': Chloe Ferry reveals botched 'fox eye' lift has 'ruined her life' and left her with 'permanent' scarsĬharlbi Dean's fiancé Luke Volker shares a tearful response to well-wishers after her shocking death at 32 after a 'sudden illness' Pure feel-good escapism! From George Clooney and Julia Roberts to hilarious dialogue and a stunning setting, here's why we're all going to LOVE hit new comedy Ticket to Paradise Seal, 59, swings by US Open where he cuddles up to daughter Leni, 18, whom he shares with ex-wife Heidi KlumĮddie Murphy slips into Axel Foley's signature Detroit Lions varsity jacket to shoot car scene with co-star Taylour Paige for Beverly Hills Cop: Axel Foley after he accused Gap of ripping off his designs Kanye West announces he will open Yeezy stores worldwide and says he 'saved' both Adidas and Gap. Popcorn at the ready! Cinema Day is coming THIS weekend, and here's where YOU can enjoy films from just £3īella and Gigi Hadid are a study in style contrasts as the model sisters head to the US Open in New York in fashionable outfits Kimberly Stewart, 42, shares rare photo with daughter Delilah, 10, whose father is Benicio Del Toro. Is America falling out of love with the 'Petulant Princess'? Even 'woke' magazine that interviewed Meghan Markle 'disapproved' of her 'marshmallowy' lifestyle
#THE ROCK WAKE UP TIME HOW TO#
It's NOT Harry's House! Styles denies he's splashed out £8million on home as homeowner continues push to sell Grand Designs' propertyĬost of living on your mind? Here's how to take control of your money and make it work for youīritney Spears' ex-husband Kevin Federline says he was 'mortified for her' but didn't help her in conservatorship battle because he had to 'worry' about their sons Kim Kardashian slips her curves into a long-sleeve black dress despite soaring LA temperatures as she stops by a gas stationĭiana 'wouldn't have been a fan' of Meghan 'like she may think' reveals the Princess of Wales's former friend Tina Brown on the 25th anniversary of the royal icon's death Moving on! Leonardo Dicaprio's ex Camila Morrone, 25, checks out apartment in LA as she is seen for the first time since break up after five years of dating Kate Moss admits her daughter Lila scolded her for THAT Vivienne Westwood skirt and reveals teen 'couldn't even go to the toilet' in her Met Gala gown
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Trained for Sin (Rick Flag x PlatonicChild!Reader)
@h-hxgirl @artemis-cr0ck @yelenas-lova
Requested by @phoenixofthevalley : Could you do a fic with a child reader or oc where they're new on the team and after the new team "saves" Rick from the freedom fighters, the child and Rick bond and Rick is pissed off that Waller put a literal child on the team and Is very protective of them. Maybe the child has sharp claws and kind of acts like an animal
Author's Note: I hate peacemaker too, if I could I would kill him. Also for this I'm gonna kind of base it off of Ratcatcher 2 and Bloodsport's relationship and maybe up the age of the child to an late tween (14ish). Also sorry this is late but I hope you enjoy!!!!
Warnings: Language, Violence, Blood, Guts, CHARACTER DEATH, murder, TW absent father, Gore
The soft sand filled in your shoes as you walked on the beach next to your team. You mindlessly wrapped your fingers in your hair as you tried to wring out the water before Waller’s voice echoed through your ear.
“Task Force X, you have a new objective. You are to rescue Colonel Rick Flag. I’ve sent his cords. You are to execute his captors with extreme prejudice.” You looked at your team in confusion but most of them didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Yes, you may be a criminal, but you still have a conscience.
“Alright, we’ll camp here for tonight. In the morning we will get Colonel Flag and then continue our objective,” Bloodsport, or Robert DuBois spoke firmly as you curled into a ball waiting for sleep to take you.
-
You watched in disgust as Bloodsport and Peacemaker walked through the camp, making a game of who could kill the most. You never liked killing, using it only as a last resort when you needed to, but something about the way both of them were making a competition out of it sickened you to your stomach. Your ears perked up as a branch behind you snapped, alerting you of a potential assailant. Turning around, you lodged your claws into the man’s neck, him freezing in place as the blood began spurting out from where your claws had pierced him.
“So that’s what you do,” a soft accent noted as you looked over to Cleo who held Sebastian on her shoulder.
“No, it’s one of the things I can do. My ears make it easy for me to hear and move out of the way before something comes at me. These claws are just for an extra layer of protection.” She nodded in response as you continued to stalk toward the tent. Stopping in front of it, you could hear laughing coming from inside before DuBois ripped open the curtain revealing a lady and a shirtless man, who you were assuming is Colonel Flag.
“DuBois?”
“Flag.”
“The hell are you doing here?” He asked, eyes scanning over the group before landing on your smaller frame, his eyes doing a double take, “is that a child?”
“We’re here to save you. And this is Lion, they’re on our team,” DuBois replied before looking at the table, “is that tea?”
You sat outside of the tent as Rick and Sol Soria looked around, Rick apologizing profusely for the loss that Soria just had. Breaking away from the conversation, Rick made his way toward you before taking a seat next to you.
“How old are you, kid?” He asked with concern and disgust that Waller would even consider putting a kid on the Suicide Squad.
“14, sir. My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you introduced as you stuck out a hand that had indents from where your claws were retracted. Shaking it lightly, Rick looked at you, most specifically your ears.
“What do you do?” Giving him a dry laugh, your claws extended from your hands as they shone in the light.
“Well, I can climb up really high and have enhanced hearing. I can fit into smaller places and these are to kill someone if needed,” you replied with hesitancy as he gave a slight nod, understanding where you’re coming from.
“So how did you end up in Waller’s grasp?”
“My dad gave me up to Ms. Waller,” Rick’s eyes widened at the thought of a father giving up their child, “I killed someone two years ago. But they deserved it. They were beating on some cats and it just set me off I guess. Like an urge. Ever since then I’ve been in that prison.”
“That’s horrible, kid. I’m sorry you went through that,” he replied with sorrow as you shrugged your shoulders and leaned back, letting the sun hit your face.
“It’s whatever. I don’t really miss my dad. He was never really around emotionally after my mom passed away and his trauma from his job made everything harder.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a special ops officer, I think. He went to West Point and then Afghanistan to do whatever. Never was the same coming home, according to my mom at least,” you commented as he stared at you, his dad sounding too much like a friend of his he had when he was in the Green Berets.
“What’s his name?”
“You sure do ask a lot of questions Colonel Flag.”
“Rick is fine. What’s his name?”
“Poe,” you replied with curiosity in your eyes as Rick gaped his mouth at you before calling Bloodsport over.
“Did you know this is Poe’s kid?”
“Poe David?”
“Yeah, Poe David,” he laughed as DuBois looked down at you with interest.
“Fucking hell, didn’t know he could have a kid,” DuBois retorted as you looked between the two men.
“Do you know him?”
“Yeah, we worked with him for a little bit. He was a good soldier,” Rick voiced before noting the way you shrunk into yourself, “but doesn’t make him a good dad,” offering you a small smile, he patted you on the shoulder before leaving you alone in your own world.
----------
You looked through the small pile of clothes that Sol had provided for the gang, trying to see if there was anything you could wear.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A gravely southern voice asked as you looked up from the pile to see Rick wearing a yellow shirt and a pair of pants that was probably a size too small.
“I’m looking for clothes, you know, to help you guys.”
“Kid, you can’t. For one, you’re only twelve. They wouldn’t let you in. Secondly, I want you to stay with Sol. Just for now. I’ll come back and get you when this is over,” he stated as you stared at him dubiously.
“Waller will have my head. I have to go with you guys,” he shook his head with his hands on his hips.
“I don’t want you there. You’re a kid, it’s way too dangerous.”
“I’m going. I have nothing else to live for anyways,” you uttered, hoping off of the log and making your way over to the van, deciding to help Cleo out with an outfit.
----------
Rick was right. You had underestimated how dangerous this mission actually was. After all, this was your first mission and you clearly did not have a full understanding of what you were actually supposed to do. You were currently placing explosives on the walls with Peacemaker and Nanaue when you noticed that Peacemaker was stalking off, after Rick, Cleo and Gaius. Not giving it a thought, you continued placing the explosives on the walls before you moved up a level and repeating the process. When you got to the fourth level, your skin tingled, ears twitching and gut turning. Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. Looking ahead of you, you saw that the others were way ahead of you. If you slipped out now, you were sure they wouldn’t notice. Turning around, you ran down the stairs and followed the scent of Peacemaker, which took you to an underground lab. Looking around, you saw numerous people with starfish covering their faces behind bars. You plugged your nose tightly as you tiptoed through the lab, making sure that you couldn’t be heard. Rounding a corner, you saw Cleo holding Sebastian and you saw Rick and Peacemaker standing across from each other.
“They experimented on children!” Rick shouted as the building rumbled, dust floating around you before a bigger explosion threw you back, burying you in rubble. With your ears ringing, you tried to straighten out your vision while tugging on your legs. Looking down, you saw a big piece of concrete trapping your legs beneath it. As you took a deep breath, you placed your hands on the lip of the concrete and used all of the strength you could muster up to move it slightly, just enough for your small frame to get out from underneath it. Once you escaped the chunk of concrete, your ears picked up on some grunting coming from in front of a pile of rubble. Walking toward the pile, you took a quick sniff, the scent of blood, Peacemaker and Rick the most prominent in that area. Rick. Looking at the pile of rubble, you scouted a small little slot that led to the other side where the two men were.
“Fuck, I hate doing this,” you mumbled before shrinking yourself enough to crawl through the hole. As you neared the other side, you could see two pairs of feet shuffling around as the grunts and impact of metal against skin amplified in your ears. Crawling out of the other side, you grew back to your normal size and saw Rick being thrown against a grain machine, Christopher easily picking him up and doing it again. As quickly as you could, you unsheathed your claws and slid between Christopher’s legs, slicing through his achilles as he let out a groan of pain before falling to his knees. Running toward Rick, you noticed his eyes had a flash of terror as a hand shot out and grabbed one of your legs, pulling you down and dragging you back toward Peacemaker’s body. Getting up on top of you, Christopher held a metal grate against your throat, choking you.
“Get off of them!” Rick shouted before tackling Christopher off of you while you took a deep breath. After regaining your breath, you crawled back to your feet and jumped on Christopher’s back, claws right on his jugular veins.
“Get off of him or else I will rip your throat out,” you threatened as Christopher paused while Rick looked up at you and slightly shook his head, silently begging you not to do what you were about to do.
“Kid, you can’t do shit,” Chrostopher mocked, arms quickly trying to throw you off, but not getting a good grip.
“I warned you,” you stated, digging your claws into his veins and puncturing through them to reach the Carotid arteries. He started choking as his hands went up around his throat, blood spurting out and onto Rick’s face, who quickly closed his eyes and turned his head to the side to avoid Peacemaker’s blood going into his mouth. With a final grasp, you withdrew your hands from around his throat as pieces of artery stuck to your claws, Christopher collapsing onto Rick and bleeding out. Getting off of Peacemaker’s back, you pushed him off of Rick before offering the Colonel a hand. Hoisting him up, he just looked at you in shock.
“You’re way stronger than you look,” he commented while trying to wipe the blood off of his face.
“It’s the genetic encoding. Gives me enhanced everything really,” you replied, picking off the pieces of arterial lining from your claws before eyeing a gun. Walking toward the weapon, you picked it up and cocked it, not bothering to look over to your commander as you made your way back to Peacemaker’s body and lodged two bullets in his head.
“For good measure,” you explained before handing the gun back to Rick, “we need to get out of here.” Walking away, you headed toward the stairs before a hand shot out and grabbed your arm. Turning around, you faced Rick who held a look of gratitude in his eyes.
“Thank you for saving me, kid. But that was too dangerous. I don’t want you to ever do something like that again,” he warned as you gave him a small smile.
“Don’t worry, Colonel. I won’t. Do you have the files?” Worry etched its way onto his face as he looked around for the hard drive that he almost just lost his life for.
“Where the fuck is it?” He asked, frantically looking around before Cleo showed up from a hole, clutching the drive in her hand.
“I have it right here, Colonel.” She announced, quickly handing it over to Rick who put it in his pants.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he remarked, before following you and Cleo out of the lab and living to fight another day.
#colonel rick flag#colonel flag#colonel rick flag x reader#colonel flag x reader#colonel flag x you#rick flag#rick flag x reader#rick flag x y/n#rick flag x you#colonel rick flag imagine#rick flag imagine#colonel rick flag x you#rick flag x child#colonel rick flag fanfic#rick flag fanfic#rick flag fanfiction#colonel rick flag x y/n#joel kinnaman#child reader#platonic relationships#bloodsport#robert dubois#cleo cazo#ratcatcher 2#peacemaker#Christopher smith#the suicide squad#the suicide squad fanfic#the suicide squad imagines#Amanda waller
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Festival (Part 1)
Robert Sheehan x Reader
A night of drinking games leads to games of another kind
CW: Smutty smut
“Do you want to play a game?” she asks, her eyes moving behind you momentarily then coming back to your face.
“I’m trying to concentrate, you don’t want to look stupid do you?” you reply, carefully dotting the white paint around her eyes with a small paintbrush.
“Eye spy, with my little eye, something beginning with ‘D’,” she says, ignoring you.
“Dirt.”
“Nope.”
“Drink.”
“Nope.”
“Dry shampoo.”
Just then, a loud voice interrupts your game: “Hello, ladies!”
You turn and watch as a group of lads lugging boxes of beer and with bulging rucksacks slung over their shoulders begin pitching their tents next to yours. Alice mouths the word at you now: “Dick.”
“Yeah, I get it,” you say, rolling your eyes. “You think I can’t read your mind by now?” you add.
The noisy one gives you a friendly wave: “Hope you don’t mind if we invade your space over here, girls. Campsite is getting pretty crowded,” he says.
“Not at all,” says Alice with her custom charming smile. “The more the merrier.”
You sit back from your handiwork to admire it; the strings of dots curling around her eyes. “All done,” you say.
She picks up a small mirror from the rug where you both sit and inspects your work, her brow furrowing slightly. “I thought you said it was glow in the dark?” she says, raking her hands through her wavy highlights and pursing her lips at her own reflection.
“Yeah, well, you’re not in the dark are you, you idiot,” you say, standing now. “I’m going to go grab us something to eat,” you say, glancing back at the group of young men wrangling their tent poles. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
She places her sunglasses on her face and blows you a kiss: “As if I would,” she says.
****
The great British festival: mud, wellies, gap year students wearing flowers in their hair, music, dancing, face paint, portaloos, overpriced vegan street food; all of it coming together in a carnival of youthful debauchery. You hadn’t always been a fan, but Alice had converted you. That was her talent - persuasiveness. She could make friends in a room of strangers within minutes and have them signing over their life savings within hours.
Over the years, the two of you had perfected the art of surviving this one summer weekend. You always arrived a day early to set up before the post-work crowd arrived, creating your own little tent village with as many creature comforts as you could fit in a wheelbarrow. You didn’t do any hard drugs, you carried wet wipes with you at all times and you didn’t eat from the falafel stand - a lesson you learned the hard way.
Heading back from the food truck, you look around the campsite. It is a Galapagos island; all life is here: families with their naked babes running between the tents, familiar-scented hippies, groups of shirtless boys shotgunning cans of beer, petite girls in neon tutus. The sun, for once, is glorious and many are already sporting the painful-looking hallmarks of over-exposure. You feel energised and lightweight, like anything could happen. A weekend filled with possibilities, you think.
As you approach the tents, a group of strangers fling their arms into the air, greeting you like an old friend with a collective: “Wahey!”
“She’s back!” cries Alice, who sits on the rug under the gazebo, surrounded by a circle of young men.
“I see you’ve made some friends,” you say. How does she do this?
“Do you want to play a game with us?” asks the loud one.
“Sure,” you say, hovering awkwardly above the circle. You dangle a halloumi wrap over Alice’s head and she snatches it up like a baby bird: “Thank you, gorgeous,” she says.
Bums are shuffling to make room for you.
“Here,” says the Irish one, “you can sit next to me.”
“And who are you?” you ask, with a tone of mock interrogation. Jesus, this one is pretty. How did I not notice him before?
He smiles a broad smile that travels up to his eyes: “Just another weary traveller,” he says, patting the patch of rug next to him.
You sit down: “Ok, what are we playing?”
“Twenty-one,” says Alice.
“Oh, I hate this one, I can never remember the rules,” you whine.
“Wahey!” they all cry again.
The Irish one leans his curly head in to your ear: “If you complain about the game, you have to drink - that’s one of the rules.”
****
The dance tent is heaving. Bodies vibrate all around you. Music and blood pump in your ears. Your skin is wet with sweat, your hair sticking to the back of your neck. Neon body paint swirls around you, plastered on limbs, on faces, on fingers. The effect, combined with the alcohol, is intoxicating, but overwhelming, nauseating. You grab Alice by the shoulder: “I’m just going to step outside for a bit.” She nods and you head for the exit.
You begin to feel better as soon as the cool night air hits your lungs. Leaning up against the tent pole you take some deep breaths, waiting for your body to find equilibrium.
“Are you all right?” says the Irish one, coming up behind you.
“Yeah, I just needed some air. I’ll be all right in a minute,” you say, in between gulps.
He rests a hand on your back: “Do you need to walk it off?”
You look up at him, his expression one of genuine concern. The lights from inside the tent flicker in his green eyes. His curly hair moves in the soft evening breeze. My god, he’s pretty. “Yeah… yeah, ok,” you say.
He starts walking you across the festival ground, away from the dance tent. All around are various colourful forms of chaos; groups of people laughing and drinking, music blaring from speakers, flags billowing in the wind.
“What happened to your mates?” you ask once the nausea subsides.
“Oh, I lost them about an hour ago. I was thinking of calling it a night, actually,” he says. “I like your coat,” he adds, “very sparkly.”
“This?” you ask, walking backwards now and pulling open your cropped jacket covered in large plastic discs. “It’s my sequin technicolour dream jacket,” you say, doing a wobbly spin and tripping over a guy-wire.
He catches you: “Wo-ah,” he says, wrapping his long arms around you. “Are you sure you’re not ready for your bed, too?”
You suppress a hiccup: “I’m totally fine. But I will have a nightcap with you, if that’s what you’re after.”
****
By the time you make it back to the tent, you’ve regained some clarity. You sit under the gazebo and turn on the fairy lights strung around the canopy.
“Very nice,” he says. “You girls did a great job here,” he adds, leaning back against a cushion and propping himself up on his elbows.
You take him in momentarily: the long limbs, the razor sharp jawline as he stares up at the strings of tiny lights, the dark ringlets that cling to his ears, the smile turning to you now.
“Do you want to play a game?” you ask.
“What kind of game?” he says, eyebrows lifting.
You reach into your tent and pull out a bottle of vodka, placing it on the rug beneath the gazebo.
****
You roll around amongst the cushions, struggling to catch your breath, laughter shaking your entire body.
“Oh my god,” you say when you eventually inhale. “That is hilarious,” you add, wiping a tear from your eye, glitter eye makeup coming away on your finger.
“All right, I have one for you,” he says. “Never have I ever… done it with Alice,” he says, biting his bottom lip and staring you down with a glint in his green eyes.
You cringe and cover your eyes. Then down the rest of your drink.
“I knew it!” he says excitedly, eyes widening.
“Oh, just once or twice,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but wincing a little at the revelation. “She’s very persuasive, you know. Alice gets whatever she wants,” you add.
He smiles at you and nods slowly: “I see…”
“Ok,” you say, “I have one. Never have I ever… paid for it.”
Now it’s his turn to wince. “Umm…” he says, eyes lifting to the sky: “I’m trying to decide if it counts…”
You raise your eyebrows: “If you have to ask…”
“No, I don’t think it counts,” he says, shaking his head.
“There was an exchange of currency following a sex act, yes?” you say, interrogating him.
“Well, yeah, but it was sort of by accident,” he says, apologetically.
“You know what I think?” you say, bringing your face close to his.
“What?” he asks quietly.
Oh no, memories of the falafel stand. You gulp sharply: “I think I’m going to be sick.”
****
As dawn breaks, you emerge from a dreamless sleep. You open one eye, then the other and perform a quick body scan: head is a little woolly, stomach feels fine, mouth is a little dry though. Somehow you have avoided a raging hangover. It’s a festival miracle.
You look to your side and see him sleeping on the floor of your tent, using his folded jeans as a pillow, a thin blanket covering his foetal form. It’s coming back to you now: how he held your hair back, how he made sure you drank some water before passing out, how he insisted on staying with you.
You roll over on the air mattress and catch yourself watching him sleep. The word cherubic comes to mind: his head resting on his hands, curls clinging to his face, snoring softly. A crow caws loudly outside the tent and he stirs, eyes blinking open.
“Hey,” he croaks.
“Morning,” you say softly.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Better than I deserve to,” you reply.
He shivers a little. The air is cool; the sun has not warmed up the ground yet.
“Are you cold down there?” you ask.
“Yeah, I’m freezing,” he says, huddling under the blanket.
You unzip your sleeping bag. “Come on, don’t let the heat out,” you say with a wink.
For a second he seems slightly taken aback by your boldness, but he doesn’t hesitate. He smiles and scrambles up from the floor, slipping inside. You savour the feel of his weight on top of you as he zips you together.
“Your drunk act was all a ploy to get me in your sleeping bag, I think,” he says with another smile.
“It worked, didn’t it?” you say, drawing a hand through his curls and bringing his face to yours. You kiss him now, softly at first, then harder, inhaling deeply and pulling his body close.
You pull away and press your forehead against his, your palm against his cheek. “Thank you for looking after me last night,” you say.
“That’s ok,” he says, “it was my pleasure,” his lips finding yours again, his hand slipping behind you.
You move your arms down his back and take his ass in your hand. “I need to find a way to make it up to you,” you say.
He laughs a little, his curls dangling over his forehead: “I’m not going to argue with that.”
You kiss him again, lifting your hips to his, feeling his cock stiffen against your body. His mouth moves to your jaw and then travels down, tracing kisses along your neck.
Outside the tent you hear the sound of one or two early risers stirring, but most are still asleep.
Your breath becomes heavy as he shifts his weight, hovering above you on one elbow while his other hand moves down your body. He cups your breast and passes his thumb over your nipple through the thin material of your t-shirt.
Meanwhile your hand moves from his ass, slipping beneath his vest to stroke the soft skin of his back. He nibbles your bottom lip slightly and runs his tongue along the inside of your mouth.
You give out a little moan and he pulls his face away.
“Do you want to play a game?” he says.
“A game? Now? Like this?” you say softly, raising your eyebrows incredulously.
“Yeah,” he says, gliding his hand over your waist and slipping it into your knickers. “Let’s play the quiet game,” he says into your ear, making circles on your clit with his fingertips.
“Anything louder than a whisper and you lose,” he says quietly.
Your eyes close and you draw a sharp intake of breath, briefly arching your back a little though restricted by the sleeping bag, before bringing your gaze back to his.
“I’m very competitive,” you reply, your hand moving beneath the waistband of his underwear, grasping his cock firmly.
He closes his eyes now and presses his face into your shoulder as you massage his cock. You feel his breath heavy on your skin, his dick swelling in your hand. He seems to shudder a little under your touch, control slipping away.
“What’s that? Are you losing already?” you whisper, teasing him.
He lifts his head and breathes deeply, his eyes opening to look at you as your hand moves rhythmically over his dick. He gives out a tiny groan, but then presses harder against your clit. Your breath catches as his fingers slip inside, your mouth opening unconsciously. He places his lips on it, his tongue searching for yours.
He pulls away and puts his lips against your ear again: “I’m not giving up that easily,” he says, nibbling your earlobe.
He slips another finger inside you now, pressing against your G-spot. Your eyes roll upwards as your body responds to his touch, endorphins coursing through you.
You look into his bright green eyes as you touch each other beneath the silky sleeping bag, heavy breathing the only sound within the tent, your warm bodies entangled. Outside, campers can be heard waking, chatting in sleepy voices, beginning to make breakfast.
“You are so wet,” he whispers.
“You are so hard,” you counter, tugging his pants down.
He pulls your underwear to one side now and eases his cock inside you. Your jaw tightens to stop you from crying out as he fills you. There is very little room inside the sleeping bag, so he begins to fuck you with slow, excruciating strokes, pressing his slender hips into yours as you curl your hands around his ass.
He brings his face close and his curls hang above you, his jade eyes drilling intensely into yours.
“Don’t make a sound,” he says, “or they will hear you.”
He knows the thought of literally thousands of people sleeping just feet away from you excites you. He is reading your mind.
“They’ll all know you’re getting fucked inside your tent,” he whispers.
The way he emphasises the word fucked lights a fire in your brain.
He presses his full weight against you and wraps his arms around you, trapping you in a tight embrace. His hips move slowly, agonisingly so, his cock hitting just the right spot every time.
Your breath is getting heavy now, your body is tensing. He presses his lips to your ear again: “You better not come or you’ll lose the game.”
“Don’t…”
“Don’t what?” he says, his hips rolling against yours.
“Don’t stop,” you reply breathlessly
His lips go to your neck again as his thrusts deepen and intensify. He can sense you are teetering on the edge of self-control. You want to scream. You bite the inside of your mouth instead.
He shifts position, pulling himself up for leverage. His hand moves to your breast and grabs it roughly. His mouth attacks yours, his tongue exploring you. A fevered moan escapes you.
A few feet away, you hear people talking as they pass by the tent.
“Shh…” he says, bringing his face close again. “They’re gonna hear you.”
You can’t take it anymore. Your body is a vibrating kettle, ready to sing.
“Please…” you say, desperately.
“You want to come?” he says.
“Please, let me come,” you reply, more gasps than words.
He clamps his hand hard against your mouth and speeds up his thrusts, going deeper and deeper. You can’t help yourself; muffled whimpers come up from beneath his hand. Tears form in your eyes. The tent folds in on itself, the air around you evaporates, sweet nothingness embraces you. A black hole opens up into which you fall, mind empty, heart racing, consumed by euphoria. You feel his body tense and he falls too, suppressing his groans in your hair, pumping you full of his cum before collapsing on top of you.
After a minute, he removes his hand from your mouth and looks at you, his expression one of amused fascination. “You look really hot when you come,” he says, smiling. “I think you lost though,” he adds.
“What do you get for winning?” you ask, still catching your breath.
He moves his hand down into the sleeping bag, slipping his fingers inside you again, coating them in your mingled juices. He brings them back up to your face, running his fingertip over your bottom lip. You look into his eyes as you open your mouth and lick his fingers clean.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
Just then you hear the unmistakable sound of the tent being unzipped. You look at him, frozen, your eyes wide. Light pours into the tent, followed by Alice’s voice: “Morning! I made you a tea, sweetie.” She pops her head in, immediately taking in the scene. “Oh, I didn’t make one for you though,” she says with a smirk.
Read Part 2 here
Read Part 3 here
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The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.
Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!
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Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.
He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.
A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.
Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.
Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.
She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.
It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.
Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…
But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”
He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.
Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”
“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.
Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.
They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!
Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…
Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.
It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.
The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles.
Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.
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[Yes, this is long, but it is worth your time to read the whole thing.]
January 6, 2021 (Wednesday)
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
This morning, results from the Georgia senatorial runoff elections showed that Democrats Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff had beaten their Republican opponents—both incumbents—by more than the threshold that would require a recount. The Senate is now split 50-50 between Republicans and Democrats, so the position of majority leader goes to a Democrat. Mitch McConnell, who has bent the government to his will since he took over the position of majority leader in 2007, will be replaced.
With the Democrats in control of both Congress and the Executive Branch, it is reasonable to expect we will see voting rights legislation, which will doom the current-day Republican Party, depending as it has on voter suppression to stay in power.
Trump Republicans and McConnell Republicans had just begun to blame each other for the debacle when Congress began to count the certified electoral votes from the states to establish that Democrat Joe Biden won the 2020 presidential election. The election was not close—Biden won the popular vote by more than 7 million votes and the Electoral College by 306 to 232—but Trump contends that he won the election in a landslide and “fraud” made Biden the winner.
Trump has never had a case. His campaign filed and either lost or had dismissed 62 out of 63 lawsuits because it could produce no evidence for any of its wild accusations. Nonetheless, radical lawmakers courted Trump’s base by echoing Trump’s charges, then tried to argue that the fact voters no longer trusted the vote was reason to contest the certified votes.
More than 100 members of the House announced they would object to counting the votes of certain states. About 13 senators, led by Josh Hawley (R-MO) and Ted Cruz (R-TX), agreed to join them. The move would slow down the count as each chamber would have to debate and take a separate vote on whether to accept the state votes, but the objectors never had anywhere near the votes they needed to make their objections stick.
So Trump turned to pressuring Vice President Mike Pence, who would preside over the counting, to throw out the Biden votes. On Monday, Trump tweeted that “the Vice President has the power to reject fraudulently chosen electors.” This would throw the blame for the loss onto Pence, but the vice president has no constitutional power to do any such thing, and this morning he made that clear in a statement. Trump then tweeted that Pence “didn’t have the courage to do what should have been done.”
It seemed clear that the voting would be heated, but it was also clear that most of the lawmakers opposing the count were posturing to court Trump’s base for future elections. Congress would count Biden’s win.
But Trump had urged his supporters for weeks to descend on Washington, D.C., to stop what he insisted was the stealing of the election. They did so and, this morning, began to congregate near the Capitol, where the counting would take place. As he passed them on the east side of the Capitol, Hawley raised a power fist.
In the middle of the day, Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani spoke to the crowd, telling them: “Let’s have trial by combat.” Trump followed, lying that he had won the election and saying “we are going to have to fight much harder.” He warned that Pence had better “come through for us, and if he doesn’t, that will be a sad day for our country.” He warned that Chinese-driven socialists are taking over the country. And he told them to march on Congress to “save our democracy.”
As rioters took Trump at his word, Congress was counting the votes alphabetically by state. When they got to Arizona, Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) stood up to echo the rhetoric radicals had been using to discredit the certified votes, saying that public distrust in the election—created out of thin air by Republicans—justified an investigation.
Within an hour, a violent mob stormed the Capitol and Cruz, along with the rest of the lawmakers, was rushed to safety (four quick-thinking staffers brought along the electoral ballots, in their ceremonial boxes). As the rioters broke in, police shot and killed one of them: Ashli Babbitt, an Air Force veteran from San Diego, QAnon believer, and staunch Trump supporter. The insurrectionists broke into the Senate chamber, where one was photographed on the dais of the Senate, shirtless and wearing a bull costume that revealed a Ku Klux Klan tattoo on his abdomen. They roamed the Capitol looking for Pence and other lawmakers they considered enemies. Not finding them, they ransacked offices. One rioter photographed himself sitting at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s desk with his feet on it.
They carried with them the Confederate flag.
Capitol police provided little obstruction, apparently eager to avoid confrontations that could be used as propaganda on social media. The intruders seemed a little surprised at their success, taking selfies and wandering around like tourists. One stole a lectern.
As the White House, the FBI, the Justice Department, and the Department of Homeland Security all remained silent, President-Elect Joe Biden spoke to cameras urging calm and calling on Trump to tell his supporters to go home. But CNN White House Correspondent Kaitlan Collins later reported that she spoke to White House officials who were “genuinely freaked… out” that Trump was “borderline enthusiastic” about the storming of the Capitol because “it meant the certification was being derailed.”
At 4:17, Trump issued his own video, reiterating his false claims that he had been cheated of victory. Only then did he conclude with: “Go home, we love you, you’re very special.” Twitter immediately took the video down. By nighttime Trump’s Twitter feed seemed to blame his enemies for the violence the president had incited (although the rhythm of the words did not sound to me like Trump’s own usual cadence): “These are the things and events that happen when a sacred landslide election victory is so unceremoniously & viciously stripped away from great patriots who have been badly & unfairly treated for so long. Go home with love & in peace. Remember this day forever!”
Twitter took down the tweet and banned the president for at least twelve hours for inciting violence; Facebook and Instagram followed suit.
As the afternoon wore on, police found two pipe bombs near the headquarters of the Republican National Committee and the Democratic National Committee in Washington, D.C., as well as a truck full of weapons and ammunition, and mobs gathered at statehouses across the country, including in Kansas, Ohio, Minnesota, California, and Georgia.
By 5:00, acting Secretary of Defense Christopher Miller issued a statement saying he had conferred with Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley, Vice President Pence, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA), Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY), and Representative Steny Hoyer (D-MD) and had fully activated the D.C. National Guard.
He did not mention the president.
By late evening, Washington, D.C., police chief Robert J. Contee III announced that at least 52 people had been arrested and 14 law enforcement officers injured. A total of four people died, including one who died of a heart attack and one who tased themself.
White House Counsel Pat Cipollone urged people to stay away from Trump to limit their chances of being prosecuted for treason under the Sedition Act. By midnight, four staffers had resigned, as well as Deputy National Security Adviser Matthew Pottinger, with other, higher level officials also talking about leaving. Even Trump adviser Stephen Miller admitted it was a bad day. Quickly, pro-Trump media began to insist that the attack was a false-flag operation of “Antifa,” despite the selfies and videos posted by known right-wing agitators, and the fact that Trump had invited, incited, and praised them.
Former Secretary of Defense James Mattis laid the blame for today’s attack squarely at the feet of Trump himself: “Today’s violent assault on our Capitol, and effort to subjugate American democracy by mob rule, was fomented by Mr. Trump. His use of the Presidency to destroy trust in our election and to poison our respect for fellow citizens has been enabled by pseudo political leaders whose names will live in infamy as profiles in cowardice.”
The attempted coup drew condemnation from all but the radical Trump supporters in government. Former President George W. Bush issued a statement “on insurrection at the Capitol,” saying “it is a sickening and heartbreaking sight.” “I am appalled by the reckless behavior of some political leaders since the election,” he said, and accused such leaders of enflaming the rioters with lies and false hopes. Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT) was more direct: “What happened here today was an insurrection incited by the President of the United States.”
Across the country tonight are calls for Trump’s removal through the 25th amendment, impeachment, or resignation. The Democrats on the House Judiciary Committee have joined the chorus, writing to Pence urging him to invoke the 25th. Angry at Trump’s sabotaging of the Georgia elections in addition to the attack on our democracy, prominent Republicans are rumored to be doing the same.
At 8:00, heavily armed guards escorted the lawmakers back to the Capitol, thoroughly scrubbed by janitors, where the senators and representatives resumed their counting of the certified votes. The events of the afternoon had broken some of the Republicans away from their determination to challenge the votes. Fourteen Republican senators had announced they would object to counting the certified votes from Arizona; in the evening count the number dropped to six: Cruz (R-TX), Hawley (R-MO), Cindy Hyde-Smith (R-MS), John Kennedy (R-LA), Roger Marshall (R-KS), and Tommy Tuberville (R-AL).
In the House, 121 Republicans, more than half the Republican caucus, voted to throw out Biden’s electors from Arizona. As in the Senate, they lost when 303 Representatives voted in favor.
Six senators and more than half of the House Republicans backed an attempt to overthrow our government, in favor of a man caught on tape just four days ago trying to strong-arm a state election official into falsifying the election results.
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
[Heather Cox Richardson is a Professor of History at Boston College. She has daily posts on Facebook that summarize the day's political events and puts them in historical context. The Facebook post link's first comment are her citations to sources.]
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January 6, 2021 (Wednesday)
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
This morning, results from the Georgia senatorial runoff elections showed that Democrats Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff had beaten their Republican opponents—both incumbents—by more than the threshold that would require a recount. The Senate is now split 50-50 between Republicans and Democrats, so the position of majority leader goes to a Democrat. Mitch McConnell, who has bent the government to his will since he took over the position of majority leader in 2007, will be replaced.
With the Democrats in control of both Congress and the Executive Branch, it is reasonable to expect we will see voting rights legislation, which will doom the current-day Republican Party, depending as it has on voter suppression to stay in power.
Trump Republicans and McConnell Republicans had just begun to blame each other for the debacle when Congress began to count the certified electoral votes from the states to establish that Democrat Joe Biden won the 2020 presidential election. The election was not close—Biden won the popular vote by more than 7 million votes and the Electoral College by 306 to 232—but Trump contends that he won the election in a landslide and “fraud” made Biden the winner.
Trump has never had a case. His campaign filed and either lost or had dismissed 62 out of 63 lawsuits because it could produce no evidence for any of its wild accusations. Nonetheless, radical lawmakers courted Trump’s base by echoing Trump’s charges, then tried to argue that the fact voters no longer trusted the vote was reason to contest the certified votes.
More than 100 members of the House announced they would object to counting the votes of certain states. About 13 senators, led by Josh Hawley (R-MO) and Ted Cruz (R-TX), agreed to join them. The move would slow down the count as each chamber would have to debate and take a separate vote on whether to accept the state votes, but the objectors never had anywhere near the votes they needed to make their objections stick.
So Trump turned to pressuring Vice President Mike Pence, who would preside over the counting, to throw out the Biden votes. On Monday, Trump tweeted that “the Vice President has the power to reject fraudulently chosen electors.” This would throw the blame for the loss onto Pence, but the vice president has no constitutional power to do any such thing, and this morning he made that clear in a statement. Trump then tweeted that Pence “didn’t have the courage to do what should have been done.”
It seemed clear that the voting would be heated, but it was also clear that most of the lawmakers opposing the count were posturing to court Trump’s base for future elections. Congress would count Biden’s win.
But Trump had urged his supporters for weeks to descend on Washington, D.C., to stop what he insisted was the stealing of the election. They did so and, this morning, began to congregate near the Capitol, where the counting would take place. As he passed them on the east side of the Capitol, Hawley raised a power fist.
In the middle of the day, Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani spoke to the crowd, telling them: “Let’s have trial by combat.” Trump followed, lying that he had won the election and saying “we are going to have to fight much harder.” He warned that Pence had better “come through for us, and if he doesn’t, that will be a sad day for our country.” He warned that Chinese-driven socialists are taking over the country. And he told them to march on Congress to “save our democracy.”
As rioters took Trump at his word, Congress was counting the votes alphabetically by state. When they got to Arizona, Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) stood up to echo the rhetoric radicals had been using to discredit the certified votes, saying that public distrust in the election—created out of thin air by Republicans—justified an investigation.
Within an hour, a violent mob stormed the Capitol and Cruz, along with the rest of the lawmakers, was rushed to safety (four quick-thinking staffers brought along the electoral ballots, in their ceremonial boxes). As the rioters broke in, police shot and killed one of them: Ashli Babbitt, an Air Force veteran from San Diego, QAnon believer, and staunch Trump supporter. The insurrectionists broke into the Senate chamber, where one was photographed on the dais of the Senate, shirtless and wearing a bull costume that revealed a Ku Klux Klan tattoo on his abdomen. They roamed the Capitol looking for Pence and other lawmakers they considered enemies. Not finding them, they ransacked offices. One rioter photographed himself sitting at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s desk with his feet on it.
They carried with them the Confederate flag.
Capitol police provided little obstruction, apparently eager to avoid confrontations that could be used as propaganda on social media. The intruders seemed a little surprised at their success, taking selfies and wandering around like tourists. One stole a lectern.
As the White House, the FBI, the Justice Department, and the Department of Homeland Security all remained silent, President-Elect Joe Biden spoke to cameras urging calm and calling on Trump to tell his supporters to go home. But CNN White House Correspondent Kaitlan Collins later reported that she spoke to White House officials who were “genuinely freaked… out” that Trump was “borderline enthusiastic” about the storming of the Capitol because “it meant the certification was being derailed.”
At 4:17, Trump issued his own video, reiterating his false claims that he had been cheated of victory. Only then did he conclude with: “Go home, we love you, you’re very special.” Twitter immediately took the video down. By nighttime Trump’s Twitter feed seemed to blame his enemies for the violence the president had incited (although the rhythm of the words did not sound to me like Trump’s own usual cadence): “These are the things and events that happen when a sacred landslide election victory is so unceremoniously & viciously stripped away from great patriots who have been badly & unfairly treated for so long. Go home with love & in peace. Remember this day forever!”
Twitter took down the tweet and banned the president for at least twelve hours for inciting violence; Facebook and Instagram followed suit.
As the afternoon wore on, police found two pipe bombs near the headquarters of the Republican National Committee and the Democratic National Committee in Washington, D.C., as well as a truck full of weapons and ammunition, and mobs gathered at statehouses across the country, including in Kansas, Ohio, Minnesota, California, and Georgia.
By 5:00, acting Secretary of Defense Christopher Miller issued a statement saying he had conferred with Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley, Vice President Pence, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA), Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY), and Representative Steny Hoyer (D-MD) and had fully activated the D.C. National Guard.
He did not mention the president.
By late evening, Washington, D.C., police chief Robert J. Contee III announced that at least 52 people had been arrested and 14 law enforcement officers injured. A total of four people died, including one who died of a heart attack and one who tased themself.
White House Counsel Pat Cipollone urged people to stay away from Trump to limit their chances of being prosecuted for treason under the Sedition Act. By midnight, four staffers had resigned, as well as Deputy National Security Adviser Matthew Pottinger, with other, higher level officials also talking about leaving. Even Trump adviser Stephen Miller admitted it was a bad day. Quickly, pro-Trump media began to insist that the attack was a false-flag operation of “Antifa,” despite the selfies and videos posted by known right-wing agitators, and the fact that Trump had invited, incited, and praised them.
Former Secretary of Defense James Mattis laid the blame for today’s attack squarely at the feet of Trump himself: “Today’s violent assault on our Capitol, and effort to subjugate American democracy by mob rule, was fomented by Mr. Trump. His use of the Presidency to destroy trust in our election and to poison our respect for fellow citizens has been enabled by pseudo political leaders whose names will live in infamy as profiles in cowardice.”
The attempted coup drew condemnation from all but the radical Trump supporters in government. Former President George W. Bush issued a statement “on insurrection at the Capitol,” saying “it is a sickening and heartbreaking sight.” “I am appalled by the reckless behavior of some political leaders since the election,” he said, and accused such leaders of enflaming the rioters with lies and false hopes. Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT) was more direct: “What happened here today was an insurrection incited by the President of the United States.”
Across the country tonight are calls for Trump’s removal through the 25th amendment, impeachment, or resignation. The Democrats on the House Judiciary Committee have joined the chorus, writing to Pence urging him to invoke the 25th. Angry at Trump’s sabotaging of the Georgia elections in addition to the attack on our democracy, prominent Republicans are rumored to be doing the same.
At 8:00, heavily armed guards escorted the lawmakers back to the Capitol, thoroughly scrubbed by janitors, where the senators and representatives resumed their counting of the certified votes. The events of the afternoon had broken some of the Republicans away from their determination to challenge the votes. Fourteen Republican senators had announced they would object to counting the certified votes from Arizona; in the evening count the number dropped to six: Cruz (R-TX), Hawley (R-MO), Cindy Hyde-Smith (R-MS), John Kennedy (R-LA), Roger Marshall (R-KS), and Tommy Tuberville (R-AL).
In the House, 121 Republicans, more than half the Republican caucus, voted to throw out Biden’s electors from Arizona. As in the Senate, they lost when 303 Representatives voted in favor.
Six senators and more than half of the House Republicans backed an attempt to overthrow our government, in favor of a man caught on tape just four days ago trying to strong-arm a state election official into falsifying the election results.
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
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2020 Fic Round-up
F/F Fics:
Wedding Dress: Claia, rated T, 1201 words, Clary overthinks the show stopper of her new collection, and Maia offers an alternative to the original wedding dress...
Babe: Maryse x Cleophas, rated T, 1029 words, Maryse is waiting in a taxi in front of Cleophas’ building. She asked her to be her plus-one to Clary and Izzy's wedding, and pretend they are dating, so she wouldn't feel bad around Robert. Turns out, saying 'fuck you' to fears of what others think is the best way to go.
Curiosity, perhaps: Aline x Maia, rated T, 564 words, Maia asks Aline out
Same Coffee, Different Containers, Midge Maisel x Susie Myerson, rated T, 1010 words, slice of life
F/M Fics:
Monstrous, Sebastian x Isabelle, rated M, 2010 words, Sebastian and Isabelle have a fight after he hurts someone for her, and it sends Sebastian in a terrible spiral.
Power in Her Hands, Isabelle x Meliorn, rated M, 1826 words, Things have changed since the death of the Seelie Queen. Isabelle visits the Seelie Court, her Seelie King.
10 AM - Paris Time, Maryse x Luke, rated T, 1033 words, Luke is on mission in Paris, and Maryse enjoys life there, sitting at the terrace of a café.
wrap your fingers around me, I’m your gun, Clary x OC, Clace, rated M, 1483 words, Jonathan and Clary are on the prowl again, to get revenge on someone who has wrong them. Jace helps.
M/M Fics:
Please Make it Go Away, Meliorn x Jace, rated M, 1444 words, Jace struggles to deal with Clary's loss, and finds himself drinking too much. Drunken steps lead him somewhere he didn't know he needed.
Quiet Love, Jace x Underhill, rated T, 1064 words, Jace needs a bit more cuddles time in the morning. Andrew is very happy to oblige. Love confessions ensue.
Burning Hot, TWI!Jonathan x TWI!Sebastian, rated T, 942 words, A small look into the TWI Universe after the show's visit.Jonathan has coffee with his boyfriend, his sister and her boyfriend. Cuteness and fluff galore.
Watchful, Widomauk, rated M, 825 words, Caleb watches Mollymauk shirtless.
Fire’s Embrance, Widomauk, rated M, 1679 words, Mollymauk has a very bad panic attack after a nightmare. Caleb finds a way to help.
The Mollymauk Library Memorial, Widomauk, rated T, 6130 words, collab with brunetta6, Teaming up with Lucien was hard enough for Caleb. Mollymauk has to be in there somewhere. He just needs the right motivation, right?
The Song of the Elder Woods, Geraskier, rated G, 893 words, Geralt visits the Elder Woods... and he's in for a surprise.
Gen Fics:
Is it a Tiefling Thing?, Mollymauk & Yasha, Mollymauk & Caleb, Pre Widomauk, rated M, 2151 words, Molly, Lucien, and the ones before them all had a complicated relationship to warmth. Here are three flashbacks and a scene illustrating that.
Turn of the Season, Caleb & Beau, rated G, 1139 words, The oak tree of the Xhorhaus starts to shed some leaves.Caleb realizes what time of the year it is, and Beau is a slightly unexpected ally.
Multi Fics:
Selfish, Jace x Lydia, Clace, Claia, Sizzy, Malec, rated M, 56,018 words, Magnus and Alec have been married for almost a year now, and Jace comes to visit his parabatai in Alicante. He is still mourning the love of his life, but there is a familiar face in Alicante that he might be able to share his grief with.Over the course of a few months, Jace and his family deal with loss, grief and finding their own paths for themselves.
Shadowhunters 2.0. - Dive, Clizzy, Malec, Saia, rated M, 230,230 words,A rewrite of Season 2A of Shadowhunters, following the rewrite of Season 1 in Shadowhunters 2.0. - Discovery
Knowledge, Widomauk, Beauyasha, Fjorclay, rated M, 12,236 words, An AU in which Molly, Yasha, Caleb and Beau are just doing their jobs, until they can't afford to do just that anymore.
A Castle in the Forest, Perc’ahlia, Vaxilmore, rated M, 7,507 words, Vex'ahlia moves to the Alabaster Sierras National Park outpost to get away from her past and take over after the previous ranger's disappearance. As she works to care for the park, she discovers there's much more to save than a wild forest and a gorgeous mountainside.
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Hi Aly! I really liked your previous post and your devotion to the ship, so I was wondering if you had, by any chance, a list of Keenler scenes/episodes? I know it is a lot to ask, but considering the situation we are in, I wanted to start rewatching the series focusing fully on Keenler! Another thing. Do you know where I can find the comic that you uploaded in the post with your thoughts about Ressler being Liz’s source of light? Thank you for everything!! ❤️
Hi there and thank you! Sorry it’s taken me a day or two to respond to this - I recently posted a list of fav Ressler/Keenler eps off the top of my head in the Keenler group chat here on Tumblr so this list will be very similar to that with some additions.
For the comic book - I know the books are available as graphic novels for purchase through Amazon. I still have my original digital editions through the Comixology app back from when I got the new issues live and I think they still sell them both as individual issues and as graphic novels. I also feel like I saw a post somewhere (Reddit maybe?) recently that said they are available somewhere else online but I’m not sure where and I can’t find it easily. If anyone knows, please chime in for anon. They were last published as individual issues during S3.
Anyway, the non-exhaustive list because I’m sure I’ve missed something:
Season 1: Stewmaker (the hug of course!), The Courier (when she listens to him talk about how the job is all he has left), General Ludd (his sympathy for her pain when she loses her dad), Anslo Garrick (giving up the code once he sees Liz’s face), Mako Tanida (moments throughout but especially her talking him down from shooting Jonica), Kingmaker (the bridge talk plus the “I didn’t know where else to go” at the end), Berlin (him with her in the wreckage of her apartment)
Season 2: Lord Baltimore (Ressler rolling his eyes at the rinse & repeat of failed relationships plus her concern for him not seeing the psychiatrist); Monarch Douglas (lots of moments, but especially her hand on his shoulder at the end), Mombasa Cartel (ambulance scene at the end when she confronts him about the drugs), The Scimitar (the great fake hospital scene where she saves them both and shirtless Ressler!); The Decembrist (near fist fight with Tom with the whole “what are you, her boyfriend? line); Luther Braxton Conclusion (where he confronts Red at the end of the memory manipulation and sweeps Liz off in the blue blanket); Ruslan Denisov (where she confesses about the Harbor Master); The Deer Hunter (he stops her from killing the woman and then confronts her outside about not turning herself in over the harbormaster); The Longevity Initiative (birthday dinner!); Tom Connolly (letting her go!)
Season 3: The Troll Farmer (she was my partner and the scene with the trap door in the bar, chasing her to the Embassy), Marvin Gerard (Embassy car chase and rescue! diner door scene), Eli Matchett (first phone calls, “good person” talks), Arioch Cain (his testimony; fear that she was dead and the Aram hug), Kings of the Highway (the chase) The Director 1 & 2 (multiple jail scenes, car scene, saving her from the bullet, I’ll keep you safe I promise, etc.)., if you can stomach the wedding in 3.17, their talk before her wedding &. him showing up at the church, The Artax Network (Ressler only), reaction to her office being cleaned out, taking her foot massager; Alexander Kirk Conclusion (Ressler only) willing to let Red kill Kirk and learning Liz is alive.
Season 4: Esteban (willing to risk himself to rescue her; Cuba restaurant scenes), Mato (rescue at the summer palace and the second hug!), The Forecaster (first time they’re back together in the field), The Harem (those lovely park bench scenes), Isabella Stone (another ambulance scene at the end), Dr. Bodgan Krilov (Liz attacking Krilov and talking Ressler down from shooting Hitchen), The Debt Collector (Samar telling Ressler he needs to be there for Liz despite his suspension; shootout at the cabin).
Season 5: Greyson Blaise (not really a Keenler ep but just fun all around with Ressler in jeans); Miss Rebecca Thrall (Ressler making excuses for phone calls with Prescott), The Kilgannon Corp (horror at her engagement ring; working together on the case); Ian Garvey (another clingy hug (hug #3!) and all the scenes at the hospital), The Informant (Ressler only but very important for his mindset), The Capricorn Killer (his arm around her talking about silver linings), Sutton Ross (the interrogation scenes and Liz’s escape)
Season 6: Dr. Hans Koehler (the “I know you” in the parking garage), The Corsican (all the scenes at the UN), Alter Ego (banter over his cousin’s wedding and the idea of hiring a date), Marko Jankowicz (the entire episode), Minister D (Liz’s concern for Ressler testifying and her reaction when he does), Robert Vesco (library scene, scene with Red and Dembe), Robert Diaz (matching outfits, arrested)
Season 7: Louis Steinhil Conclusion (talk about “we,”); Norman Devane (teasing Aram and talk about seeing her happy), Hannah Hayes (the talk about a year or seven), Victoria Fenberg (the ballet discussions), Cornelius Ruck (the ballet scene at the end), Twamie Ullulaq (discussions in Alaska), Brothers (all of their scenes together but especially the final one), Roy Cain (conversation in the car about Red’s health), The Kazanjian Brothers (the conversation in their office)
Phew. Hope that helps anon!
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January 6, 2021
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
This morning, results from the Georgia senatorial runoff elections showed that Democrats Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff had beaten their Republican opponents—both incumbents—by more than the threshold that would require a recount. The Senate is now split 50-50 between Republicans and Democrats, so the position of majority leader goes to a Democrat. Mitch McConnell, who has bent the government to his will since he took over the position of majority leader in 2007, will be replaced.
With the Democrats in control of both Congress and the Executive Branch, it is reasonable to expect we will see voting rights legislation, which will doom the current-day Republican Party, depending as it has on voter suppression to stay in power.
Trump Republicans and McConnell Republicans had just begun to blame each other for the debacle when Congress began to count the certified electoral votes from the states to establish that Democrat Joe Biden won the 2020 presidential election. The election was not close—Biden won the popular vote by more than 7 million votes and the Electoral College by 306 to 232—but Trump contends that he won the election in a landslide and “fraud” made Biden the winner.
Trump has never had a case. His campaign filed and either lost or had dismissed 62 out of 63 lawsuits because it could produce no evidence for any of its wild accusations. Nonetheless, radical lawmakers courted Trump’s base by echoing Trump’s charges, then tried to argue that the fact voters no longer trusted the vote was reason to contest the certified votes.
More than 100 members of the House announced they would object to counting the votes of certain states. About 13 senators, led by Josh Hawley (R-MO) and Ted Cruz (R-TX), agreed to join them. The move would slow down the count as each chamber would have to debate and take a separate vote on whether to accept the state votes, but the objectors never had anywhere near the votes they needed to make their objections stick.
So Trump turned to pressuring Vice President Mike Pence, who would preside over the counting, to throw out the Biden votes. On Monday, Trump tweeted that “the Vice President has the power to reject fraudulently chosen electors.” This would throw the blame for the loss onto Pence, but the vice president has no constitutional power to do any such thing, and this morning he made that clear in a statement. Trump then tweeted that Pence “didn’t have the courage to do what should have been done.”
It seemed clear that the voting would be heated, but it was also clear that most of the lawmakers opposing the count were posturing to court Trump’s base for future elections. Congress would count Biden’s win.
But Trump had urged his supporters for weeks to descend on Washington, D.C., to stop what he insisted was the stealing of the election. They did so and, this morning, began to congregate near the Capitol, where the counting would take place. As he passed them on the east side of the Capitol, Hawley raised a power fist.
In the middle of the day, Trump’s lawyer Rudy Giuliani spoke to the crowd, telling them: “Let’s have trial by combat.” Trump followed, lying that he had won the election and saying “we are going to have to fight much harder.” He warned that Pence had better “come through for us, and if he doesn’t, that will be a sad day for our country.” He warned that Chinese-driven socialists are taking over the country. And he told them to march on Congress to “save our democracy.”
As rioters took Trump at his word, Congress was counting the votes alphabetically by state. When they got to Arizona, Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) stood up to echo the rhetoric radicals had been using to discredit the certified votes, saying that public distrust in the election—created out of thin air by Republicans—justified an investigation.
Within an hour, a violent mob stormed the Capitol and Cruz, along with the rest of the lawmakers, was rushed to safety (four quick-thinking staffers brought along the electoral ballots, in their ceremonial boxes). As the rioters broke in, police shot and killed one of them: Ashli Babbitt, an Air Force veteran from San Diego, QAnon believer, and staunch Trump supporter. The insurrectionists broke into the Senate chamber, where one was photographed on the dais of the Senate, shirtless and wearing a bull costume that revealed a Ku Klux Klan tattoo on his abdomen. They roamed the Capitol looking for Pence and other lawmakers they considered enemies. Not finding them, they ransacked offices. One rioter photographed himself sitting at House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s desk with his feet on it.
They carried with them the Confederate flag.
Capitol police provided little obstruction, apparently eager to avoid confrontations that could be used as propaganda on social media. The intruders seemed a little surprised at their success, taking selfies and wandering around like tourists. One stole a lectern.
As the White House, the FBI, the Justice Department, and the Department of Homeland Security all remained silent, President-Elect Joe Biden spoke to cameras urging calm and calling on Trump to tell his supporters to go home. But CNN White House Correspondent Kaitlan Collins later reported that she spoke to White House officials who were “genuinely freaked… out” that Trump was “borderline enthusiastic” about the storming of the Capitol because “it meant the certification was being derailed.”
At 4:17, Trump issued his own video, reiterating his false claims that he had been cheated of victory. Only then did he conclude with: “Go home, we love you, you’re very special.” Twitter immediately took the video down. By nighttime Trump’s Twitter feed seemed to blame his enemies for the violence the president had incited (although the rhythm of the words did not sound to me like Trump’s own usual cadence): “These are the things and events that happen when a sacred landslide election victory is so unceremoniously & viciously stripped away from great patriots who have been badly & unfairly treated for so long. Go home with love & in peace. Remember this day forever!”
Twitter took down the tweet and banned the president for at least twelve hours for inciting violence; Facebook and Instagram followed suit.
As the afternoon wore on, police found two pipe bombs near the headquarters of the Republican National Committee and the Democratic National Committee in Washington, D.C., as well as a truck full of weapons and ammunition, and mobs gathered at statehouses across the country, including in Kansas, Ohio, Minnesota, California, and Georgia.
By 5:00, acting Secretary of Defense Christopher Miller issued a statement saying he had conferred with Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Mark Milley, Vice President Pence, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA), Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY), and Representative Steny Hoyer (D-MD) and had fully activated the D.C. National Guard.
He did not mention the president.
By late evening, Washington, D.C., police chief Robert J. Contee III announced that at least 52 people had been arrested and 14 law enforcement officers injured. A total of four people died, including one who died of a heart attack and one who tased themself.
White House Counsel Pat Cipollone urged people to stay away from Trump to limit their chances of being prosecuted for treason under the Sedition Act. By midnight, four staffers had resigned, as well as Deputy National Security Adviser Matthew Pottinger, with other, higher level officials also talking about leaving. Even Trump adviser Stephen Miller admitted it was a bad day. Quickly, pro-Trump media began to insist that the attack was a false-flag operation of “Antifa,” despite the selfies and videos posted by known right-wing agitators, and the fact that Trump had invited, incited, and praised them.
Former Secretary of Defense James Mattis laid the blame for today’s attack squarely at the feet of Trump himself: “Today’s violent assault on our Capitol, and effort to subjugate American democracy by mob rule, was fomented by Mr. Trump. His use of the Presidency to destroy trust in our election and to poison our respect for fellow citizens has been enabled by pseudo political leaders whose names will live in infamy as profiles in cowardice.”
The attempted coup drew condemnation from all but the radical Trump supporters in government. Former President George W. Bush issued a statement “on insurrection at the Capitol,” saying “it is a sickening and heartbreaking sight.” “I am appalled by the reckless behavior of some political leaders since the election,” he said, and accused such leaders of enflaming the rioters with lies and false hopes. Senator Mitt Romney (R-UT) was more direct: “What happened here today was an insurrection incited by the President of the United States.”
Across the country tonight are calls for Trump’s removal through the 25th amendment, impeachment, or resignation. The Democrats on the House Judiciary Committee have joined the chorus, writing to Pence urging him to invoke the 25th. Angry at Trump’s sabotaging of the Georgia elections in addition to the attack on our democracy, prominent Republicans are rumored to be doing the same.
At 8:00, heavily armed guards escorted the lawmakers back to the Capitol, thoroughly scrubbed by janitors, where the senators and representatives resumed their counting of the certified votes. The events of the afternoon had broken some of the Republicans away from their determination to challenge the votes. Fourteen Republican senators had announced they would object to counting the certified votes from Arizona; in the evening count the number dropped to six: Cruz (R-TX), Hawley (R-MO), Cindy Hyde-Smith (R-MS), John Kennedy (R-LA), Roger Marshall (R-KS), and Tommy Tuberville (R-AL).
In the House, 121 Republicans, more than half the Republican caucus, voted to throw out Biden’s electors from Arizona. As in the Senate, they lost when 303 Representatives voted in favor.
Six senators and more than half of the House Republicans backed an attempt to overthrow our government, in favor of a man caught on tape just four days ago trying to strong-arm a state election official into falsifying the election results.
Today the Confederate flag flew in the United States Capitol.
-Heather Cox Richardson
American historian and Professor of History at Boston College
#us politics#washington dc#capitol insurrection#heather cox richardson#trump#if you aren't angry you should be#i'm absolutely furious#politics
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Is it just me or did Edward's looks shift drastically from one movie to another? It seems kinda weird that Edward from twilight is the same Edward in eclipse and bd. The makeup in the latter movies did him no favors really, he was gorgeous in the first movie. Do you think it was intentional to alter his makeup? And why did they not mantain the look of the first movie? Robert Pattinson himself didn't change much looks wise from the first movie to the last. It seems like no one notices this (1/2)
...or talks about it much lol. Also could you pls tell me what site are you watching the movie on with your friend? (2/2)
So I think that in twilight, since it was an indie film, edward’s styling was more minimal... he was meant to look sort of boyish and handsome, sure, but to some extent... sort of “real”? like a pretentious high schooler with a jawline sharp enough to use in battle, but still sort of believable as a person at home in a high school cafeteria. to me, this is the most authentic edward, because edward in the books is fun and sassy and somewhat down to earth (even if he is overbearing). i think they probably also didn’t have the budget to do anything dramatic with his styling.
but then the movie was an overnight smash hit and the next movies had these HUGE budgets and people suddenly realized edward was this heartthrob... and i think there was this effort to make edward this sort of... idk... Everything Boyfriend. The Marty Stu of boyfriends. he had to be serious and masculine enough to appeal to the large contingent of soccer mom fans, otherworldly enough to make the monsterfuckers happy, dark enough to appease the emo girls. his styling became a lot older and more masculine, and i DO think that was intentional. it might also have been an attempt to make him more appealing to (potential) male fans-- and you can see the movies attempting to court a male audience, in the way they focus so much on the battles and war-like drama and honestly so little on tender romantic moments or lighthearted cullen shenanigans. plus, arguably, the way they cast the wolf pack and had them parading around shirtless all the time and tearing apart vampires was much more “male power fantasy” and less “female romantic daydream”. so i think that edward became more serious and masculine in both writing and styling in later movies to court that male audience (and counter his floofy, girly, sparkly, “gay” image) and honestly it’s a shame. it was the sassy, lighthearted edward of the books that the audience really fell in love with (and adored about the first movie-- -everyone loves the edward jumping on bella’s car scene, the “is the even italian scene”, the “cat” scene, and the whole first movie more than the rest) so it was disappointing to see later directors abandon that in favor of a supposedly more universally appealing, masculine, dark edward. but i like pretty boys, so i’m biased.
i will say, there are 2 edward styling decisions that i will never forgive slade or condon for and they are 1- edward’s sideburns in eclipse (g r o s s and weird and plot-inconsistent) and 2- edward’s makeup at the wedding-- honestly he looks deathly ill to me, insanely pale with these bright red lips that look like he’s just been coughing up blood, and i don’t even know what was going on with his eyes. the whole thing is just hideous.
my friend and i are watching movies on twoseven.xyz -- it’s been working really well for us! if one of you has a file of the movie you want to watch, the other person can stream it from you, and it’s the only site i’ve found that allows that and consistently works. but i also physically gave my friend all my twilight movie files (yay SD cards) so it’s often less glitchy if you both have the same file and the site can just sync it. (with other friends, i have us both torrent the same file to save time) but i really like the site and it’s been working great for us, and you can chat while you watch the movie (via message, audio, or video), and either of you can pause/rewind/whatever the movie and that’s pretty much all we need lol. and it’s free, which is important bc my broke ass doesn’t like paying for shit.
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As You Wish
Pairing: Bucky X Reader
Summary: You and Bucky have been on rocky ground after a big fight caused by his overbearing nature. During a late Halloween party, you remind him just where he gets to be in control.
Warnings: SMUT, seriously. 18+ y’all.
A/N: EVERYONE SAY IT WITH ME:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @wonderlandmind4!!!! 🎉
When my boo asked for Bucky smut for her birthday I was determined to give her just that. So what follows is a birthday gift (she’s already read) that you all get to enjoy too.
Tags are open!
The elevator slows its descent at Natasha and Hill’s floor as you readjust your red dress.
“Uh, you two know this is a costume party right?” You ask as the doors slide closed.
“Yeah?” Hill raises an eyebrow.
“And you two are…” You study their sleek black outfits. “Yourselves?”
Natasha rolls her eyes looking at Hill, “See, I told you.”
She brushes her off, “We’re Charlie’s Angels.”
“Where’s the third angel?” They exchange a smirk, as the elevator slows once more.
“Right here,” Natasha says.
The doors slide open to reveal Thor looking better than he had a right to in a skin-tight black outfit of his own, Farah Faucet hair, go-go boots and all. Your jaw hits the floor.
“My Angels!” He bellows with a laugh.
“We watched all the movies a few weeks ago,” Hill explains.
“Honestly,” you take the three of them in, “I’m impressed.”
“Thank you,” Thor says, laying an arm around his companions.
“What are you?” Natasha twirls one of your long blonde waves around her finger.
“Princess Buttercup,” you shrug.
“Sure you’re not going for more of a Jessica Rabbit vibe?” Hill gestures to your ample cleavage.
You laugh, “Couldn’t waste these magic titties in some high neck ensemble. That would be a shame.” The off the shoulder neckline was the only liberty you took—the rest of the look from the lace front wig to the sleeves to the belt was exact.
“Indeed,” Thor comments with a smirk.
“So who’s your Wesley?” Natasha narrows her eyes at you. All you give her is a sidelong glance. “Ah. Are you two-”
“I’ll answer that if he shows up in costume tonight.” The three others nod in agreement.
It wasn’t that the two of you had broken up—you’d just, embarrassingly, had it out during your last mission… in front of everyone.
Bucky meant well, you knew that, but he was so was overbearing at times. You could handle yourself, you didn’t need him hovering, taking issue with every mission, every decision, every single thing that may be the least bit dangerous.
After that, you both decided some space was best—well, you’d decided would be a more accurate statement. Since you all got back almost a week ago, you’d been staying in one of the guest suites rather than the apartment you’d been sharing with him for more than a year. It wasn’t easy, sleep had been hard to come by and when you’d inevitably ran into one another for work it was more than a little tense.
When the elevator stops next you hold your breath a bit. Hanging back you gesture for the Angles to go first to make their grand entrance. They’re met with whoops and cheers, Thor happily posturing in the classic Angel pose. You can’t help but smile despite the anxiety tightening in your gut.
Stepping out you look around the room, hoping to see him somewhere but you come up empty. Your stomach drops to your knees, though it shouldn’t. He’d been pretty against dressing up for the party when it was actually going to be on Halloween. Now-
“Happy Halloween, your highness!” Tony saunters up to your left.
“It’s November 26th, Tony,” you say dryly, Thanksgiving was days away but here you all were. Slowly, you take in his perfect replica of Cap’s cheesy 1940’s threads. “He’s gonna kill you.”
Tony laughs, “Nah, that wouldn’t be very captainly of him. Besides, mockery is the best form of flattery,” he winks and you roll your eyes.
He throws a friendly arm around your shoulders, “And just because we had to save the world on Halloween doesn’t mean we don’t get to celebrate like everyone else.” Raising a hand in the air he summons a drone in bat regalia sporting two drinks on a tray.
“Drink,” he passes you the smoking green concoction. You look like you need it.”
You nod, conceding his point, “Cheers, to being just like everyone else.”
“Cheers,” Tony smirks and you both take huge gulps of your drinks.
“Try to have a good time tonight,” he says, his tone no longer light. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks, Tony,” you give him a wide smile before he bounds off to harass someone else.
Steve showed up not long after you in a damn good zombie getup, apparently having done the makeup himself. While Sam, saying Halloween wasn’t just for women to get sexy, opted for a boxer look—shirtless, oiled up, in a robe, the works.
When Clint showed in nothing but a black trash bag and crocs you were more than a little confused. Once he clarified that he was white trash you spent a solid five minutes laughing.
Wanda had taken the witch thing to another level with her Wicked Witch of The West costume. She did the green skin and even kept a couple of flying monkey plushes floating behind her the whole time.
After your third drink, you stop eyeballing the elevator expectantly and allow yourself to just enjoy the evening.
Honestly, it’s not hard. Everyone needed a breather after their last mission—three brutal weeks had left you all ragged inside and out—and what better way to forget about it than dancing, drinking, and costumes.
On the dance floor, Wanda lifts you up in red glowing energy, spinning you, causing your skirt to flow out. Thor wraps his hands around your waist as you float down only to spin you around some more. The booze and the movement make you feel light and airy. You laugh and laugh, head back, joy buzzing through your whole body.
Back on the ground, still giggling, you rest your spinning head on Farah Faucets broad, godly chest, waiting for your body to register that it wasn’t twirling any more. A voice to your right brings gravity back in an instant, however.
“Mind if I cut in,” Bucky’s velvet tone sending the smallest thrill through you. Thor says nothing, just looks down at you raising an eyebrow.
When you nod slightly he releases you, “If it’s what the lady wants.” He steps back to join his fellow Angels and you stare at the Dread Pirate Roberts himself.
The corner of Bucky’s mouth ticks up just a bit, “You look amazing.”
“I know,” you quip back earning you a full smile.
“Can a dastardly pirate treat a P\princess to a drink?”
“A princess has already had several,” you step close enough to him to catch a whiff of his clean, slightly spicy, scent. Hooking your fingers into the front of his pants you pull him closer, “But she’d love a dance.”
He rests a hand on the small of your back, “I think I can manage that.”
The warmth of him so close makes you ache in every way. Despite your frustration, you missed him desperately. Missed his smell, his touch, his voice.
Turning in his embrace, you press your back against his chest. Your hips sway to the steady beat of the music, the feeling of his fingers holding your hips back against him make you long for more.
His breath brushes against your neck as his lips settle by your ear, “I’m sorry.” You stop dancing and look over your shoulder at him, sincerity clear in his blue eyes despite being shadowed by the dim lights and his mask.
Bucky’s fingers trace your jaw for an instant before your lips meet. It’s a tentative kiss, neither of you sure how to approach this just yet.
“I’m sorry,” he says once more, breaking the kiss.
The dance floor, hell the whole room, suddenly feels overcrowded. Wordlessly you tug him toward the elevator, wanting him alone. He doesn’t resist, following half a step behind you.
When the doors close you feel a moment of hesitation. Maybe you’re a little too drunk and still a bit too angry with him to do this. But when F.R.I.D.A.Y. asks where to there isn’t a moment of hesitation.
“Guest floor,” you respond. Bucky’s brows knit, clearly having expected you to want to go home. You weren’t sure of a lot at this second but you knew that you’d rather be on neutral ground.
As the elevator climbs up you reach for his left hand. Even after all this time, he tries to pull back a little, not trusting himself or it near you. Your grip remains firm though as you pull it up, studying the silver knuckles. Flipping it over you place a kiss on his palm your eyes locking to his.
He opens his mouth to say something but you stop him, pressing a finger against his soft lips, just as the doors slide open. Whatever doubt you had a moment ago is gone.
In the apartment, you push his large nonresistant frame in front of you. Hand-pressed flat on his chest you guide him backward into the living room. For a moment you stand silently, just taking him in. Reaching up you pull the mask off, he wore a mask for too long after all.
Years of undercover work taught you how to move in a gown. A moment after you remove the mask you sweep his feet from under him. He goes to right himself from a kneeling position but you grab his jaw first, forcing him to look up at you.
A familiar spark glints in those enchanting eyes of his, replacing the earlier touch of regret you saw.
“Don’t be sorry,” your thumb wanders over to touch his bottom lip. “There’s a place for you to take control, to make the decisions.” You rip the black bandanna from his head, burying your fingers in that thick dark hair, holding tight, “It’s just not out there.” He smirks, leaning his head back a bit despite your grip.
“Remember that and you won’t need to apologize again.”
“So,” he purrs, rising to his feet, “You want me to take control, your highness?” You release his hair and he slowly backs you into a wall, waiting for your response.
“Yes,” you breathe out.
Bucky’s hands cup your face, kissing you firmly but fleetingly. His eyes bore into yours as his fingers, warm and deliciously cool, run down your neck, trace your collar bones, and grip your shoulders.
“As you wish,” he grins before he spins you around, strong hands pressing your chest into the wall.
The long blond hair of your wig sways against your back with the sudden movement. His fingers lightly trace the swoop of skin at your back, left exposed by the off-the-shoulder neckline, and gather the thick locks, twisting them and laying them over your shoulder. Lips press against the base of your neck, teeth playfully sink into your tender flesh.
“You make a cute blonde,” he says into the shell of your ear.
Pressing close, he reaches around your front to untie the belt at your waist, letting it fall to the floor. When his hands grip the neck of your dress, ripping it down the back you can’t hold back the gasp. It joins the belt in a pool of red fabric by your feet.
He unhooks your strapless bra, tossing it to the side. Taking each of your full breasts in his hands he catches the tips of your hard nipples between his middle finger and thumb. The light touch quickly turning firm.
You whimper, pain and pleasure mingling. Your head falls back onto his shoulder sending the gold tresses swaying
“Hmm, you like that,” he hums against your temple. Bucky lifts the weight of your breasts by the tender points trapped between his fingers before releasing them, causing them to bounce and sway.
Just as the sensation of being trapped in his tight grip fades he latches onto the tender pebbled flesh once more. This time he doesn’t let go, rolling and squeezing, teasing your nipples and breasts until you can hardly stand.
He steps back abruptly leaving you swaying, breath ragged. You’re about to turn to him when he’s behind you once more.
“Stay there,” he steadies you with his warm right hand.
His hands come around your face, holding the black bandanna you’d tossed aside earlier. Gently he ties it around your eyes, making the world go dark. You don’t protest but your body stiffens just a bit.
Ever tuned into your every reaction his lips press to your cheek, “Trust me.”
“I do.” You mean this with everything you are.
With steady hands, he guides you back to what your knowledge of the space and the slight lingering scent of your perfume tell you is the bedroom. He releases you and you remain planted, waiting, though maybe not patiently.
There’s the sound of zippers, boots being flung away, the rustle of fabric. Involuntarily your tongue wets your bottom lip, anticipating, craving, the salty taste of his skin.
But then there’s just silence. There’s no indication of his warmth near you, nothing. Without anything to orient you in the blackness, your heart begins to race.
“Goddamn,” he breathes in a reverential tone from behind you. The suddenness makes you jump a bit.
“Bucky,” your body pivots toward him wanting to gain your bearings.
“Ah, ah,” his chide is accompanied by the light flick of a plastic rapier across your ass, the sting barely dulled by the fabric of your lacy high waisted lingerie.
Cool metal fingers trace your cheekbone, “You said you wanted me to take control.”
“Yes,” his thumb hovers over your cupids bow before parting your lips.
The metal slips between your teeth, you flick your tongue across the tip. Your hand rises to grip his forearm, sliding down to his wrist, holding his hand in place, reveling in the way his breath catches.
He slips his thumb from your mouth, fingers gripping your chin, “Then let me,” he growls so close to your lips you can feel the damp heat of his breath.
All you can manage is a nod, your voice choked off by the desire flooding your body.
“On your knees,” he says before releasing you.
Doing as he says you lower yourself to the thick carpet. A finger tilts your chin up so that the moist, quivering tip of his cock just barely brushes against your hungry mouth. Without hesitation your tongue flits out to catch the precum you know is there, longing to taste him.
He lets you take your time, tracing the outline of his head with your tongue, enjoying the way he twitches each time you pull back. When his left hand gently cups the back of your head to guide you you’re eager to take him in.
As they have countless times before your hands rise to grip the irresistible muscles of his thighs. You jump back in surprise, his cock slipping from between your lips when the rapier pops against the back of your hand.
“No hands, just this perfect mouth of yours,” his metal index finger sliding in for just a moment as if to prove a point before he replaces it with his cock.
You take him down until he hits the back of your throat, loving the size of him. His hand at the back of your head doesn’t demand, merely guides as you use your mouth to draw shudders and sighs from him.
When he begins to thrust against you, your lips curl despite their preoccupation, thinking he’s going to come. Instead, he pushes deep, causing you to gag a bit, and holds your head still. He pulses for a moment but doesn’t come, pulling out with a slick sound.
Suddenly soft light floods your eyes causing you to squint as Bucky’s face comes into focus, eyes blown out with lust. Warm fingers wipe at the moisture around your mouth, “So beautiful,” you can feel a slight blush heat your cheeks.
He smiles, his fingers running from your chin to your throat. They wrap around your neck, pushing you down with firm but gentle pressure until you’re on your back looking up at him.
“And mine,” he growls, fingers squeezing just a touch.
It's not a question but you answer it anyway with a whisper, “All yours Bucky. Only yours.”
There’s nothing tentative or unsure in the way your lips meet now. With his right hand still on your throat, your mouth opens to him, letting him taste the desire, the longing. You catch his bottom lip in your teeth and a rumble shakes his solid form above you.
Cool fingers press against the dampness between your legs. A little moan slips between your kiss as your hips thrust up, demanding more.
Your lingerie may have been expensive, quality stuff, but it never stood a chance against a super soldier. Bucky merely flexes his fingers and your underwear is reduced to nothing but decoration hanging from your hips.
He doesn’t give you time to protest.
Smooth metal slides over your folds. How something so hard could be so sensual always threw you. His fingers tease you, never landing where you desperately want them.
“Bucky,” you whimper, “please. Please,” your hips buck up desperate. He just chuckles, pressing your body tighter to the floor with his weight, covering your mouth with his until you’re about to come undone.
When his thumb finally gently caresses your swollen clit your body practically convulses. Bucky rests his other arm by your head his fingers stroking your forehead.
“How quickly do you think I can make you come?” That mischievous smile makes his eyes sparkle. His middle and index finger slide inside of you. The only answer you’re able to give is a low groan of pleasure.
He curves his fingers, pressing against you at just the right spot, and you cry out. If he kept that shit up he’d have you over the edge in minutes.
“You know, you’re so pretty when you come,” he whispers over your lips, staring into your eyes. He catches your next cry with a kiss. “Do you wanna come for me?”
You’ve forgotten how to speak, all you can manage is a weak nod.
“That’s not a yes.” He picks up his pace just a bit, your body begins to tremble. “I asked if you wanted to come for me. Do you, baby doll?”
“Yes,” you say with a gasp, your back arching up.
“Yes, what?”
A small noise slips from you before you stutter, “I-I wa—nt to—to. Oh, fuck!” You pant as he pins you with his stare, “I wanna come for you. Please, Bucky. Please, I-” You cut yourself off as a low moan bursts from you.
“Not yet,” he responds as his fingers keep working their magic, pushing you closer and closer to losing control entirely.
“Bu—Bucky, baby, I, I can’t…” Your fragile control slips with each ragged breath.
He smiles softly, tongue wetting his lips, before he finally says it, “Come for me, Y/N.”
Your body tenses, and releases sending you spiraling. For a moment there’s nothing but the electric pleasure flooding your system, you’re floating—or maybe it’s just that Bucky has gathered your trembling, limp, body in his arms.
There’s no resistance from you as you let him lay you on the soft bed. His mouth latches onto one breast and then the other, tongue and teeth drawing more soft moans from you.
Every reaction makes his hips rut against your thigh, the hard length of his cock enticing. Your fingers tangle in his hair, causing the minty smell of his shampoo to rise into your nostrils, and you pull his head from your breast to look at you.
“I want you in me. Now.”
He chuckles darkly, “Thought I was calling the shots.”
You flush, “You are but-” He presses a muscular thigh against your dripping cunt, your body immediately pressing into it, yearning for more.
“As you wish,” he says with a wink. You laugh as he flips you over, pulling your ass into the air.
His warm right-hand crashes into your ass cheek stinging in the best way. You toss the curtain of blonde hair from your face, wanting to look at him.
Without a word his left-hand slides down your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades to force your chest and head against the bed, bringing your ass higher up. He squeezes the slightly burning flesh hard before he slides his cock into you.
Despite his earlier efforts you still cry out as your walls stretch tight around the size of him. His own low groan makes you shiver with delight and push back harder against him, wanting all of him now.
Gripping your hips with a force that would no doubt leave a few marks later he fucks you with abandon, long since learning that you could take what he had to give.
An orgasm rocks you but he doesn’t stop, forcing another before his left-hand grips your throat and pulls you up against his chest.
“You feel so good, baby,” his teeth graze your earlobe and you gasp, reaching back to grab his immovable thigh for support. “So good.”
His right-hand slides down your torso, fingers caressing your clit. You mean to say words but they come out as nothing but unintelligible sounds of ecstasy.
“Y/N,” Bucky sighs into the curve of your neck as he thrusts deeper into you, your walls tightening. “That’s my girl. Let me feel it.”
His fingers on your neck tighten on your arteries, his fingers on your clit continue to dance, drawing out more soft sounds. He groans and your nails dig into his thighs, you can feel his body tense behind you.
With a hard thrust, your body shakes almost violently, your orgasm silent but intense as his own comes with a roar, his cock pulsing inside of you.
He moves his hands from your throat to your chest, holding your shaking body tight.
His cock, still hard, pushes deeper into you, “I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”
“Good,” you croon, leaning back to kiss his, for once, stubble-free jawline.
Bucky pulls out of you, hands coaxing you onto your back. He sits on his heels, cock damp and twitching as he takes you in with a look you aren’t sure you’ve ever seen him wear.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, your tone concerned as you sit up on your elbows against the nest of pillows.
His face brightens with that eye crinkling smile that made you fall in love with him.
“How could anything be wrong, my love? I have you.” He tenderly pushes a few strands of hair from your face.
Your eyes burn a bit with tears of joy as you settle back into the pillows holding your arms out to him. He takes the invitation without hesitation, settling over you and seating himself deep inside you.
“You will always have me,” you whisper into the shell of his ear. He shifts to look into your eyes. “I love you, Bucky.”
Another blinding smile graces your vision before his lips find yours.
Pressed tight together, your legs wrapped around his hips, you speak only in touch and trembling sighs until you both cry out once more.
Later, tangled in each other’s arms Bucky presses a kiss to the crown of your head, pulling you from the edge of sleep.
“Thank you for giving me another chance,” he whispers.
You smile, “Of course.”
“I love you, baby.”
Snuggling tighter against him you drift into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Tags:
@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @this-kitten-is-smitten @handplucked @jewelofwinter @whiskeywinter89
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky#bucky barnes x reader#avengers tower#smut#bucky smut#bucky barnes smut#Bucky feels#bucky angst
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Arrow 8x01 Brain Dump
So that was....awesome! I’m in shock! Obviously there was a gaping chasm where our precious cupcake used to be, but that’s gonna be the new normal for this last run, so I’m gonna try to not dwell on that too much in these last few reviews. And apparently these aren’t getting any shorter, even without Felicity...
Oliver Jonas Queen: Paragon and bestest hero everrrr (suck it, Larry)
Our beautiful boy 😭😭😭 kicking the episode off with stunning recreations of the very beginnings of the show, first on Lian Yu, then returning to Moira was just *chef kiss*.
That Oliver is now able to relive these moments, really feeling the feelings and speaking the words that he was previously too broken to, upon his real return from the island, and expressing them to both himself and to those people he can no longer see in his reality, is just heart-breaking and tear-inducing and beautiful and satisfying and all of the feelings. He worked his arse of to get here and to experience it and he fucking well deserves it. Ugh I just made myself cry haha.
More under the cut...
Stephen’s acting was a beautiful thing to watch in this episode. Oliver’s scenes with all the returning guests were just so perfect; his emotions over seeing Tommy and Moira again 😭, then not-Felicity 😍💔 then Adrian 😂 were all perfect. The scene where he was trying to seek advice or validation from Moira over leaving his family for this mission (even though he couldn’t reveal why) was just heart-breaking. Then when he breaks down (along with us!) and tells Moira he’s sorry, it’s almost like he’s doubly apologising; to Moira for not better understanding her, now that he is a parent himself, and to Felicity, William and Mia, for having to leave them behind.
It was so sad seeing Oliver doubting himself throughout the episode. He tells Diggle that Earth 2 has so many more people alive without him having been there, and then when Moira astutely observes that he is a better man now than before he went on the Gambit, he replies he’s not so sure. How can he still not see this yet?? He’s clearly been away from Felicity for too long! By the end of the episode he seems to be making some headway, at least in realising that he doesn’t need to face this crisis alone, when he delivers an EPIC SPEECH to Tommy “because were only as good as the people in our lives. Every one of those losses brings with it a choice between darkness and light. Make the right choice.” YES MY BOY!!! I’m totally here for this whole season of Oliver going to other Earths, realising how awesome he is, then imparting this wisdom on everyone by delivering rousing speeches!! The Monitor said it himself in his voice-over, referring to Oliver “the highest [form of heroes] belong to those known as the paragons and they are the only hope of all creation.” YAAAASSSSS!!!! SUCK BALLS LARRY AND LARA!!!
Felicity/Olicity
Just because she’s not there, doesn’t mean she’ll be forgotten! I’m honestly so pleased that the show isn’t going to pretend Felicity doesn’t exist just because Emily left. Her absence is palpable, so the mentions and nods to her character throughout the episode (and the rest of the season, it seems) are very much welcomed!
The fake-out Felicity scene was beautifully done! From Oliver’s initially excited face and “it’s supposed to be red” 😭😭, his “good for her” when he found out that E2 Felicity is a badass mogul, to the OLICITY LOVE FERN on not-Felicity’s desk!!! Perfection!!
Source: eloquence-of-felicities
Ugh and the scene with Oliver staring lovingly at Felicity and Mia’s photo...HFDSKGHFKJGHDSFKS NOT OK!!! 😭😭😭😭
Source: olicitygifs
Diggle
The Diggle ‘reveal’ was nostalgic perfection:
My live reaction 😂😂
Can I just say that I loved that he’d spoken with Felicity about Oliver, and gone after him. OTA for life!! I’d hoped that that would be the case, but you never can tell with these writers in recent seasons 😬 Dig is a master at advice-giving, and getting Oliver to see the big picture. Oliver needs a friend in this endeavour, and neither Felicity nor Dig would have him doing it alone. Dig’s purpose throughout the whole episode was pretty much to tell Oliver that he’s not alone, his death is not necessarily unavoidable, that he NEEDS TO ACCEPT FRACKING HELP (”that’s the thing about being brothers; you never, ever have to ask”😭😭), and that the whole reason that E2 has gone to crap was because Oliver was not there to protect it!
In John Thomas Diggle we stan.
FTA
Our FTA babies were back, and in the lair!! AHKASFHDSDAKF!!! I loved the power struggle, with the team trying to find the right dynamic, before finally deciding to just make the Olicity baby the leader (duh), or moreover, Mia demanding that things be done her way from now on (apples, falling, tree?).
Source: oliverxfelicity
William’s little comedic moments just popped.
Source: olicitygifs
And then his delivery of a Felicity-worthy pep-talk to Mia had me falling infinitesimally more in love with him. This is the spin-off team we need to see!!
We finally met JJ Diggle who appears to be irredeemably (not likely) evil, and very handsome to boot, leading the Deathstroke Crew (baby Sara would have NEVER 😒😒). I was hoping for some Old Man Diggle, but alas we were not so lucky this week. Much as I actually LOVE the flash-forwards, I did feel like they were a little shoehorned in in this episode. There was so much to unpack in the present story, that I kind of just wanted that to continue?
Special Guests
From Moira’s first words I was crying.
Susanna Thompson continues to be outstanding as Moira, I love her! E2 Moira married Malcolm Merlyn, meaning we got John Barrowman back 😍😍, in a non-evil role (YAAASSSS!). Although there was no mention of Robert, given that we know on this Earth he returned from Lian Yu, and was later unmasked as the Green Arrow?? Anyway, this new Queen-Merlyn union officially made Oliver and Tommy brothers 😭😭 Oh btw.....TOOOOOMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!!!! AGSHAGFKJSAGFJKAG!!! Back, alive and kicking (literally) and gorgeous as ever. Ugh I just adore my Merlyn men 😍😍😍😍
Source: feilcityqueen
Tommy turning out to be the Dark Archer on this earth is all we had ever wanted to see!! Evil!Tommy is a thing of beautiful fanfiction dreams!! (I also lolled at the OTT, campy, cowering Malcolm, as Oliver realised it wasn’t him!) Not to mention this scene, that re-lit our Toliver flames in the most perfect way 🔥🔥
This moment was so good that I can just about forgive Oliver’s historically inaccurate non-shirtless state 😒😒 (strike 1)
In trying to track down the dwarf star shizzle at Queen-Merlyn Enterprises👀 , Oliver stumbles across the E2 GA who turns out to be ADRIAN CHASE!! YAAASSSS!!!! It was great to have him back, in the growly S1 Oliver-esque fashion! E2 GA also enjoys the salmon ladder....Stephen really played us all when he told us that we’d see the salmon ladder in episode 1 😡😡 (strike 2 Steve, you’re on your last warning!) I loved Oliver’s little inside joke with himself when he said to Adrian “maybe I’m just 10 steps ahead of you” lolololol!!
Thea OD’d on Vertigo and passed away on E2, which was sad, but meaningful, as it spear-headed Tommy’s war on The Glades, much like Rebecca’s murder did for Malcolm on Earth 1. (Psst, it’s ok though, our Speedy’s back in a few weeks).
Superfluous Cast
Rene and Dinah remain disloyal rats on this Earth, and with no Oliver to mentor them, they turn out evil as well as incompetent and we got to see them taken into custody at the end of the episode...wah-wah-wahhh!! I would definitely be happy with this nice small amount of relevance/screen time for them moving forwards, please and thank you. Let’s let our boys shine for the last few outings!
Black Siren’s presence in the episode was thankfully small, and although she was saved in the end, presumably to go on to help Oliver and Dig (she kinda owes them now), I’m hoping that we continue with this minimal exposure, because, as much as I enjoyed her last season, with no Felicity to make her likeable, I’m not feeling her. I also laughed for a disproportionately long amount of time that her ‘iconic’ Pretty Bird moment that we all heard about beforehand came from Adrian, not her ‘Ollie’ 😂😂
That ending
Following on from the press previews and interviews leading up to the episode, there were comments along the lines of Oliver suffering a devastating loss, and that the Arrowverse would never be the same etc etc, regarding the end of the episode. Well...I have to say I just wasn’t as ‘shooketh’ or as moved by the ending as the previews implied I would be 😬 I mean of course the ending was awful; a whole Earth was erased, and Oliver having to see Moira/Tommy die at the end (especially after managing to redeem Tommy) must have been devastating for him in the moment, but the thing is, I’m not all that invested in Earth 2, so the magnitude of it didn’t really affect me that much. Maybe I’m just a cold-hearted bitch my heart has simply been irrevocably broken by 7x22. Anyway, I’m sure Oliver will be back and fighting fit again next week 😂
When MG, Beth and even Stephen had been throwing around the dreaded term ‘love letter to the fans’ I was more than scared about this season 😬 but the episode really did play out that way in my eyes, something I’m hoping that they are able to continue over the few remaining episodes. So yes, I lost my shit and (begrudgingly) loved this episode 😂😂 It was easier to deal with the lack of Felicity when they had thrown the (brand new, super high-spec) kitchen sink of guest stars at the episode. So it will be interesting to see how we fare over the next few episodes, where the guest stars won’t be such scene-stealers.
Thank you to the amazing gif-makers 💗💗💗 It’s so wonderful to see beautiful new scenes again! Any uncredited gifs are mine.
#Arrow 8x01#Arrow#Oliver Queen#Olicity#John Diggle#Tommy Merlyn#Arrow Season 8#Arrow spoilers#beccie's brain
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