#I live and grew up on the California coast

[frobby]

why are anime characters always from or going to California it's not even that cool over here

[anghraine]

I love living in Washington—I wasn't born here, but my family moved from Oregon when I was in elementary school and I lived in WA until I was nearly 20 and then moved back seven years ago. So a lot of my life has been spent here and what hasn't been spent here has been in Oregon (mostly) or California (two years of grad school).

Obviously I love the Pacific Northwest and I love the West Coast in general, but nothing reinforces this like seeing the reminder I sent to myself to sign up for health insurance, answering a handful of questions, getting immediately approved by the system and picking a plan, and promptly being informed that I now have health insurance with dental, vision, mental health, etc and that my ridiculously low adjunct hell wages means it costs *checks* $0 (even as autumn makes the PNW more beautiful than usual!).

I know it's a very US American problem to consider. But I grew up on the Canadian border, which meant that when my parents went bankrupt from my childhood medical expenses after I hit their insurance's lifetime cap when I was... like, 12, I was entirely aware that Things Don't Have To Be This Way because I had friends and family acquaintances with Canadian citizenship. And meanwhile I have relatives and friends on the US side who have to incorporate health care so much into calculations about what jobs to take, where to live, what the cost of living really is with a medical condition.

Another guy in my department and I were actually just talking the other day about figuring out possible jobs/cost of living calculations not just from reported numbers for a state or city, but about the importance of calculating cost of living for yourself specifically because of health expenses, difficulties of transportation, etc. Like, people talk a lot about how expensive California is and it definitely is, but for me that was significantly offset by the state paying all my medical expenses despite me not even having California residency. The Portland metro area is expensive, but it is entirely possible to never drive anywhere because of good public transit+walkability.

So anyway ... thanks, Washington State, that is a huge load off my shoulders and it makes voting against right-wing bullshit in WA a pleasure as well as a civic duty <3

[queen-of-the-avengers]

No More Hiding

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: minor angst, fluff

Summary: After a night of bonding, you and Bucky start the relationship of your dreams. However, you have to hide it from the one person you really want to tell: your twin brother.

Square Filled: confession in a desperate situation (2023) for @buckybingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

There are ups and downs to living in a different state from the one you grew up in. The second you and your twin brother got enough money to move out, you did. You two did everything together growing up so it made sense to move out when he did. He moved because of his job in the Army while you moved to be with him. Your job is remote so you can work anywhere, so it wasn’t a big deal to pack up your life and follow Steve across the country.

The West Coast is so much more different than the East Coast. Warmer weather, colder oceans, and lots and lots of mountains. It’s a nice change from the snow and the humidity, but there’s nothing like home. Your parents are still living in New York, and as much as you FaceTime them, it’s not the same as being there with them.

It would explain why you feel so homesick. Your mom was just telling you that Shelly, one of her neighbors, found out she was free of cancer so she’s throwing a small party for the neighborhood. You were there when she was diagnosed, and you were often the one to help her with the small tasks when her kids couldn’t be there for her.

You and Steve don’t live together but you do live three blocks away from each other. If you want to, you can see him any time you want. He’s stationed in the state of California, so he gets to go home every night and get some weekends to himself, so you hope he’ll be home. Just seeing Steve makes you feel better, so you start the trek to his apartment.

You opt out of driving there for two reasons. The weather is nice and you can use the walk to clear your head. Plus, it’s not far anyway. You and Steve pop by each other’s place all the time so you’re not worried about interrupting anything he’s doing. If he has something important to do, he texts you just in case you plan on coming over.

You knock on the door when you get to his apartment and wait. When the door opens, it’s not Steve but his best friend, Bucky, who is also in the Army. He got injured so he was granted medical leave to recover.

“Oh, hey. Is Steve home?”

“No, he’s out on a date right now and probably won’t be home until tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Realization comes over your face and you scrunch in disgust. “Oh.” You sigh and try to will the tears away. “Okay.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, but I just… I had a really bad day and I’m homesick. I was hoping Steve was here because he makes everything better when I get like this. It’s fine. I can go.”

You turn but Bucky stops you.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not Steve but I am company. Want to come in and watch a movie?”

It beats being alone right now. “Sure. Thank you.”

You walk in and find a home on his comfortable couch while Bucky makes two bags of popcorn. You like all kinds of movies so Bucky puts on a comedy to get your mind off family. Before you know it, the popcorn is gone and the movie is over with.

“Thank you for that, Bucky. I’m feeling a little bit better,” you smile.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I remember when this movie came out in theaters. Steve and I were broke so we broke into the theater and snuck into the movie. We got about halfway through the movie when we were caught, so we booked it out of there so fast before they could call the cops.”

“That sounds like Steve,” Bucky laughs.

“Yeah.” You bite your lower lip and turn to face him. “So, why are you home alone on a Friday night? Where’s your date?”

“Eh, dating isn’t really my scene. I don’t know. The last girl I dated just up and left me without warning. Like she moved away and blocked me on everything. I was never good at the dating stuff, anyway.”

“Yeah, me, too. The last boyfriend I had was so boring. He never did anything spontaneous. I was as good as dead if I stayed in that relationship.”

Bucky looks at the time and chuckles. “Well, we can either watch another movie or I have some board games in my room.”

“Oh, I’m a master at board games.”

“We’ll see about that,” he laughs.

He leaves and comes back with all kinds of board games ranging from Monopoly to Heads Up to Battleship to Uno. You lose track of time until you stretch out your stiff muscles. You look at the time and do a double-take when you see how late it is.

“Holy shit, it’s four in the morning. Wow. Time really does fly when I’m kicking your ass at Uno.” He can’t help but laugh. “I should get home.”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I walked, but it’s fine. I’ll walk back. I don’t mind.” Bucky gets up and he grabs his jacket from the coat hanger on the closet door. “What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.” You open your mouth to protest but he won’t hear about it. “Y/N, it’s four in the morning. I don’t care if you live across the street. You’re not walking out there alone in the middle of the night. Come on.”

Despite making it to Steve’s apartment in thirty minutes, you and Bucky make the walk back in fifty. You two just don’t want this night to end.

“Thank you for walking me home.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I still want a rematch on Battleship.”

You turn to leave but Bucky stops you in your tracks.

“Can I kiss you?”

You turn to him. “What?”

Bucky suddenly grows shy and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not very good at this part but can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you smile.

Bucky takes two strides to you and he’s in your arms. He pulls you in gently by your face and kisses you like you two haven’t seen each other in months. The second you touch, sparks fly. It might be cliche but you’ve never felt a connection like this before. This is where you belong.

Steve is so overprotective of you, so you’re not sure how he will react to you and Bucky starting a relationship together, so you’ve decided to keep it on the down low for right now. A few weeks of stolen kisses and moments go by when Steve and Bucky are home together for the first time in days. Bucky’s injury healed itself so he was able to go back to work with Steve. He isn’t able to do rigorous work so his workload is light right now.

“Just so you know, I’ll be at Erika’s house tonight. We’re getting a hotel that’s attached to a water park,” Steve says once he’s done packing.

“So, you’ll be gone all weekend?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky takes out his phone while Steve’s talking to text you.

Bucky: Steve is out all weekend. Want to come over?

You: Hell yeah. I’ll be over soon.

“Did you hear anything I said, Buck?”

Bucky looks up like a deer in headlights. “What?”

“I said Y/N might be over. She’s been feeling a bit homesick, and I hope you can keep her company. I worry about her.”

“Yeah, you got it.”

“Thanks, Buck. It means a lot. Oh, don’t forget to ask about this summer.”

“Okay.”

Five minutes after Steve leaves, you arrive at their apartment with a bag in hand. You don’t plan on leaving this place until Steve comes back. It’s been days since you’ve seen him and you’re Bucky-deprived. You jump into his arms and kiss him, and he carries you to the couch with ease. Bucky already has a movie playing but you two don’t do much watching.

You’re in his lap making out with him. He runs his hands over your thighs as his lips move over your neck. You pull his face back to yours so you can kiss him properly when you hear an explosion happening on the TV screen.

“You put this movie on so we can watch it,” you giggle against his lips.

“I got distracted by you.” You laugh and slide off his lap. “Hey, I still have to work it out with my job, but Steve and I are planning on taking a week’s vacation on his girlfriend’s yacht in the summer. Want to come?”

“Ooh, fancy. I’d love to.” You pause. “Wait, what about Steve?”

“What about him?”

“Come on, you know he’d kill you if he found out we were dating.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. He’s my twin. I’ve never kept secrets from him. He’ll be so mad.”

“Then we don’t go.”

“No, he’s your best friend and you deserve a vacation. Yeah, we’re going to go. It’ll be fun. It’s going to be fine,” you smile and quickly kiss him.

With Bucky and Steve going to work day in and day out, time flies by. Before you know it, the summer is here and you and Bucky have been hiding your relationship from your brother for nearly half a year. Being with Bucky makes you feel alive. He makes you feel good about yourself. He’s spontaneous.

Erika’s family owns two yachts and allowed her to bring a small party onto one of them. She is an experienced sailor but you don’t go far from the docks, only far enough not to bother anyone. She invited a few of her friends and Steve invited you and Bucky. You’ve never been on a boat much less a yacht, and you’re loving every single second of it.

Except for one thing.

Steve is here which means you can’t love Bucky in the way you want to. Bucky is getting pissed that you keep avoiding him whenever Steve is around. All he wants is to love his girl and he can’t do that because you’re scared Steve will kill him.

You sneak downstairs to the kitchen to grab a snack when Bucky comes in.

“This is driving me crazy. We have to tell Steve.”

“Bucky, we’ve been over this.”

“Y/N, it’s been six months. I’m sick of sneaking around.”

He has a point. You’d feel the same if the situation was reversed. Sneaking around was fun at first but now, all it is is a hindrance.

“I guess we can kiss in front of him. If he gets angry, we can say it was a joke or something.” Bucky scoffs, and you drop the knife a little harder than you should have. “What do you want me to do, Bucky?”

“Nothing.”

He turns and leaves, and you feel worse than you already do. After the sun has gone down, everyone is gathered around the small raised firepit. Out of the ten people on board, there are only two couples. Well, three if you weren't so chicken. You’re sitting with one of Erika’s friends half-listening to her talk about her rich-people problems while Bucky is sitting across from you with a beer in hand. Steve is with Erika being all lovey-dovey, and you can see the pot just about to boil over for Bucky.

Erika giggles and Bucky explodes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Bucky says and stands.

“What are you doing?” you ask and stand, too.

“This.”

Bucky storms over to you and pulls you into his arms. He kisses you like how he should have been doing this entire trip. Steve does a double take when he sees his sister and best friend kissing, and he jumps up from his spot.

“Hey!” Steve pulls Bucky off you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“She’s my sister!”

“What is it that I’m doing wrong, Steve? Am I a bad best friend?”

“No--”

“Do I treat women poorly?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Give me one good reason why I can’t be with your sister.”

“What if it ends badly? I’d have to choose between you two.”

“It won’t go wrong.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m in love with her.”

“What?” you ask.

Bucky turns and walks closer to you. “I’m in love with you. Like, I see ourselves having a big white house with a picket fence and five dogs and three horses and chickens and cows and all kinds of animals. I fell in love with you the first time I kissed you. You are my person. Am I yours?”

Everyone is silent as they wait for your response. You smile brightly and try to hide it but it comes out anyway.

“I’m in love with you.”

Bucky pulls you close and kisses you. This time, a round of cheers goes by. You’re done hiding from the world. Bucky is yours and you are his.

“I guess Bucky isn’t a bad choice for a boyfriend,” Steve says when you part.

“I think so, too,” you grin at your boyfriend.

x

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[fazedlight]

Also... Vancouver is way closer to Ireland in terms of biome compared to southern California.

Given that they were already doing Vancouver doubling (very common) with National City, I don't see why they couldn't do it with Ireland as well.

Wait. Wasn't William Dey british? Did they bury him in National City away from his family? Or did they all transplant to the US?

If they did bury him in the UK, it could have been really cool for Lena (who is IRISH) to be like, hey I'll meet you guys later, and take a side trip to Ireland to visit her childhood home.

[pascallftv]

Dad’s Best Friend (Pedro Pascal x Reader)

summary: as a retreat from your busy work life, you decide to stay with your dad and his best friend for a few days over the holidays. to your surprise, your dad’s best friend is much hotter than you anticipated. one night after the three of you play a drinking game, pedro waits until your father goes to sleep to make his move on you.

warnings: SMUT! oral (m & f receiving), edging, dom!pedro, dirty talk, some choking, rough unprotected sex, anal play

MY MASTERLIST

You never thought you’d be this excited to be back home. Since you’d moved to California, you had constantly been overwhelmed with work. You were thoroughly exhausted, and a short vacation back home was just what you needed to recharge your battery. As much as you loved the fast pace west coast lifestyle, you longed for the quiet of the midwest. You grew up in a rural area in the midwest, but moved to the city when you were a teenager after your parents split. Now your mother was off in Europe with a much younger man, and your father lived with his best friend in a quaint town house. Your dad had always sworn that if he never found his soulmate, he’d move in with his best friend, so that’s exactly what he did.

Your dad moved in with his best friend Pedro a couple years ago when they both decided they were tired of searching for replacement wives. You’d never met Pedro before, and had only heard stories about him through your father, and from what you could tell, he was a bit of a man whore. After him and his wife divorced, he fell into a routine of bringing home different women each weekend. When they moved in together, his habits didn’t change; your father said he’s sure there’s a mini Pedro running around somewhere that he doesn’t know about. Pedro wasn’t interested in dating, let alone having children. So at the age of forty-seven, he was living with your father with the tendencies of a horny, college boy.

You were sitting comfortably on the sofa of your dad’s living room with some sort of soap opera playing on the tv. You hadn’t realized you were zoned out until the front door swung open, and Pedro marched through the door, holding two handles of liquor. A wide grin was plastered on his face as he scanned his eyes around the house for your dad, but instead his eyes landed on you.

“I didn’t know you were here already.” Pedro said, setting the bottles of alcohol on the dining room table, his eyes still locked on you. You sent him a lazy smile.

“Got here this morning.”

“Well, I came prepared.” Pedro winked, gesturing towards the bottles on the table. “Figured we could play some drinking games to get to know each other better, maybe watch a movie or two.”

You simply smiled again. He was much more attractive than you’d imagined. You’d only seen fuzzy pictures of him on your father’s Facebook, and those did not do him justice whatsoever. No wonder he was pulling so many women.

Fast forward to that evening, and the three of you were sitting at the dining room table with a deck of cards playing ‘bullshit’. However, every-time someone lost, they had to drink. You were already pretty far gone, and your dad and Pedro weren’t far behind you. Your cheeks were red hot and sore from laughing, and the alcohol was only amplifying the heat in your body. You kept catching yourself gazing over at Pedro. You couldn’t help but admire his smile and laugh, it was intoxicating. You were convinced he would be an arrogant prick, but he was truly a pleasant person to be around. You couldn’t tell if you were only imagining things, but you could’ve sworn you kept catching Pedro staring at you too.

“You’re fucking cheating!” Your dad exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table. Pedro was laughing uncontrollably.

“No, you just fucking suck at lying.” Pedro proclaimed through his laughter. He was absolutely kicking your asses at this card game.

“That’s it, I’m going to bed. I’m too old for this shit.” Your dad surrendered, running his hand down his face. He stood up from his chair and stumbled over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Goodnight, kiddo. Love you bunches.” He slurred, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll see y’all in the morning.”

Your dad saluted you and Pedro and stumbled his way to the stairs and out of sight to his bedroom. You bit your lip and smiled over at Pedro who was sporting an amused smirk.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not tired yet.” Pedro declared, stacking up all the cards scattered across the table. You handed him your cards and sighed.

“Me either, my body clock is two hours behind.” You said, leaning back in your chair.

“Want to watch a movie? Maybe the Hangover?” Pedro suggested, standing up from his spot at the table. His jeans were tight against his thighs, his button up shirt riding up slightly exposing his happy trail. You gulped, averting your eyes before you looked too long. But Pedro had already caught you staring, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sure.” You said, following him to the living room.

Pedro sat on the middle cushion, giving you only two options to sit, and either way you’d be almost touching. You sat down beside him, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch to lay over both of your laps. You stared at Pedro’s hands as he flipped through the tv settings to find whichever streaming service he was searching for. There was something so attractive about his hands, and your mind began to wander down a dangerous path. You envisioned his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing at the sides of it. You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together and the sudden heat growing between them. Little did you know, Pedro noticed your body language. He could feel the attraction radiating off of you. You were so fucking gorgeous, and here you were squeezing your thighs together in arousal all because of him simply existing.

He pressed play on The Hangover, setting the remote down on the coffee table in front of you. He leaned back, stretching his arms over his head, and coming down to rest an arm behind your head. Such a cliche move, but somehow it affected you like you were a teenager again. Your heart was thumping against your chest so loudly that you swore he could hear it. You hadn’t realized you were so fucking touch deprived that you were desperate for you father’s best friend. Your thoughts were running wild again, and you fantasized about Pedro bending you over the dining room table. You pictured his hand running up the bare flesh on your ass, spreading your cheeks in front of his eyes so he could admire your holes that were desperate for him touch. You yearned for him to fuck you senseless, making you scream his name, hoping your father wouldn’t hear.

You were already drenched under your shorts. Your core was lit on fire, throbbing so hard that it was painful. Pedro side eyed you. You wouldn’t stop fidgeting; you kept adjusting your legs, and you were playing with your fingers in your lap trying to distract yourself from the longing between your thighs. He smirked. He loved the effect he had on you. He didn’t even have to try and you were an aroused little mess beside him. He slowly moved his arm from behind your head to rest on his thigh. He slowly tapped his forefinger, deciding whether or not he should act on his desires. You were his best friend’s daughter. He wanted more than anything to bend you over the couch and slam into you until you were drenching his cock, but every alarm was going off in his head. Did he want to risk losing his best friend over a fuck? There was something so intoxicating about you, and it frustrated the hell out of him. There were so many women on the back burner that would throw themselves at him, yet he wanted you. Perhaps it was the thrill of the chase.

He felt himself hardening in his jeans. He cleared his throat, his hand sliding underneath the blanket, resting half on his thigh, and half on the hot, supple skin of yours. Your skin was so fucking soft. Slowly, he moved his hand to fully rest on your thigh, giving it such a light squeeze that you thought you imagined it. If your heart was ready to thump out of your chest before, you were nearly about to have a heart attack now. His thumb began massaging slow circles in your thigh, traveling dangerously close to where you were craving him the most. You began breathing harder, turning your head to look up at him. He stared back at you, his brown eyes full of lust. Your eyes traveled down to his mustache, then to his pouted lips. It was as if a magnet was pulling you towards him, and your eyes fell to his lips, getting closer and closer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pedro whispered, his gaze focused on your parted lips. He squeezed your thigh harder this time, resting inches away from your core.

You say nothing and move even closer to him, your lips millimeters from touching. You could feel his hot breath on your mouth.

“Touch me.” You breathed out so quietly that you weren’t sure he could hear you. You were proven wrong when his fingers traced along the crease of your tights, grazing over your crotch through your shorts. Pedro began breathing harder the closer his fingers got to your waistband. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, traveling down to your folds. You gasped when his fingers spread your folds, gathering up your juices.

“Such a dirty girl. Already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Pedro teased, ghosting his fingers over your clit that was throbbing with sensitivity. You whimpered at the softest pressure he applied to your bundle of nerves. You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer, you needed to taste him. You closed the gap between your lips and kissed him hard, trying your best to communicate your lust through the rhythm of your kiss. He moaned into your mouth, his free hand moving to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. You were driving him insane. He pulled away momentarily to stare at you with hungry eyes.

“Do you know how wrong this is? Kissing your daddy’s best friend while he’s asleep upstairs.” He growled, slamming his lips back into yours while simultaneously slamming two fingers into your entrance without warning. You couldn’t help but moan a little to loud at his intrusion. His hand left your hair to wrap around your throat with a tight squeeze. “Keep fucking quiet. Wouldn’t want your daddy to hear, now would we?”

Your hand traveled down to his hardening erection and grabbed it firmly over his jeans as he fucked you hard with his fingers, a low groan escaping his lips. His hot breath was becoming more frequent against your mouth. He pulled away suddenly, his hand still gripping your throat.

“Can you suck my cock like a good girl?” He muttered, his fingers leaving your hole. You frowned at the loss of contact, but felt yourself throb at the thought of tasting his cock in your mouth. You nodded quickly, moving to get on your knees between his legs. Pedro was panting, his belly rising and falling quickly under his shirt. He unbuttoned his jeans with ease, unzipping his fly slowly. He lifted his hips off the couch to slide his jeans down his thighs, his jeans falling to his ankles. His cock sprung free from his jeans with no underwear constricting his erection.

You leaned forward, taking his length in your soft hand, admiring his size and girth. Your mouth watered at the sight of pre-cum dripping from his tip. You ran your thumb over his arousal, wetting his sensitive tip. You locked eyes with him, lowering down to slowly take his cock in your mouth. You teased his leaky tip with your tongue, swirling it around so you could get a taste of him. Moaning at the salty taste coating your tongue, you gradually lowered your mouth onto his length, soaking him with the mixture of his pre-cum and your spit. His head fell back on the couch, his hand tangling itself in your hair. He whimpered quietly and you began to stroke your hand up and down the leftover shaft that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. With your free hand, you cupped his balls, massaging them in your palm.

“Fuck.” Pedro breathed, sucking in a harsh breath. He gripped the nape of your neck, squeezing with his fingertips. “Taking my cock so well.”

Your hand moved from his balls up to his abdomen, running your fingers across his happy trail. You lowered your mouth even further, filling your throat with the rest of his length. You bobbed your head, the only sounds in the room being the wet noises of you sucking his cock, and his shaky breaths. You moaned on his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch in your throat. You lifted your mouth off his length, bringing your hand to the ridge between his shaft and his tip, stroking in quick milking motions. His legs began to shake, and a low moan escaped his lips. He grabbed your hand, stopping your movements.

“F-fuck, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He mumbled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up off your knees. He stood up from the couch, pushing you to sit in his spot.

“Take off your clothes.” He ordered sternly, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He quickly undid them while he watched you strip down to nothing. No panties, no bra. You drove him fucking wild. His cock twitched at the sight of you completely bare in front of him. He stripped his clothes off completely, kneeling where you just were.

“I’m going to taste you, then I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t remember your name.” Pedro said, spreading your legs completely open. Cold air hit your folds, your arousal glistening before his eyes. “Look at you. So fucking wet for me.”

He lowered his mouth to your core, spreading your folds open with his fingers, thrusting his tongue in and out of your entrance. His other hand traveled to your clit, rubbing soft, quick circles into your sensitive nerves. You gasped, your hand landing in his hair. It took all of your will power to stay quiet. The last thing you needed was for your dad to walk down the stairs to his best friend eating you out.

Pedro thrusted three fingers into you, not allowing you time to stretch to the fullness before finger fucking you so hard and fast that you were seeing spots in your vision. You were so fucking full, but you wanted his cock more than anything. His tongue flicked over your clit, sucking on it lightly while his fingers slammed into you, curling perfectly to the rough surface of your g spot. You weren’t going to last much longer. You slapped a hand over your mouth and whined into your palm. You orgasm was so close.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered through your fingers, locking eyes with Pedro as he finger fucked the life out of you. Your legs were trembling, and your toes began to curl. You were seconds away from reaching your high when Pedro halted his actions, and pulled his fingers out of you. You wanted to cry; you were so fucking close it hurt.

“Did I say you could cum?” Pedro slowly rose from his knees, his hand wrapping it’s way back around your throat. He pressed his lips to yours in a hasty kiss. You whined into his kiss. He pulled away, taking your bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “You’re going to cum around my cock like a good girl.”

His words went straight to your core. You were in pain. You needed release so badly. You didn’t have a moment to comprehend what was happening until Pedro slammed his cock into you, your walls spasming around his sudden intrusion. You cried out, grabbing his biceps to squeeze. You were full to the brim, and the oxygen completely left your lungs when you felt him hit your cervix from how deep he was inside of you. He slapped a hand over your mouth, his lips lowering to you ear.

“I don’t want to hear a fucking sound.” He growled, his fingers finding their way back to your clit. His fingers worked in fast circles, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He thrusted in and out of you at an agonizingly fast pace, his tip hitting the deepest part of you over and over again. You orgasm was near, and it was coming fast. You entire body trembled, and you dug your fingernails into Pedro’s toned back. Your face fell into his neck, your teeth lightly biting the supple skin there to refrain from screaming out.

“Are you going to cum?” Pedro breathed out, gripping your hips as he pounded into you. You nodded vigorously into his neck, feeling your vision starting to leave completely. With the nod of your head, Pedro slipped his cock out of you, and his fingers abandoned your clit. Tears began brimming at your eyes. You felt yourself on the verge of a meltdown when Pedro kept you from your orgasm for a second time. Without warning, Pedro flipped you onto your stomach, your knees propped up on the couch cushion, and your arms gripping the back of the couch to steady yourself. He slammed back into you from behind, grabbing your hips for leverage. He didn’t care how loud your skin slapping together was. He knew how terrible the acoustics were in the house, and how thick the walls were. He’d fucked so many women in this house to the point of screaming and your father still never heard.

You cried out as he somehow hit you even deeper than before. Pedro wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck you until you couldn’t remember your name. In that moment, the only things you knew were how deep he filled you, and how perfectly he bottomed out inside you. His balls slapped against your clit, adding to the euphoria you were experiencing. Your nails dug into the fabric of the couch so hard that you thought it was going to rip. Just when you thought you couldn’t be stimulated anymore, you felt Pedro’s forefinger tease your tightest hole. He brought his index finger to his mouth, sucking on it until it was coated with his spit, then brought it back down to your rim, pressing it slowly inside. You groaned out at the foreign sensation.

“You like that?” Pedro leaned down into your ear, his torso laying against the curve of your back and he filled both of your holes. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”

You shook your head, lowering your head to bite down onto the back of the couch. You wanted to fucking scream. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure. The feeling intensified when Pedro added a second finger to your asshole, alternating between thrusts there and your pussy.

“Such a good girl.” He moaned out, slamming into you even faster than before.

Your body couldn’t take much more. Your body was trembling, and there was no way hon would survive if you were denied your orgasm for the third time. Your eyes rolled back in your head and a hand reached back to the thick flesh of your ass to spread your cheeks apart, hoping it would bring Pedro deeper.

“God, you’re such a slut.” Pedro growled, placing his hand back to your neck, choking you harder than before. He lowered his mouth to your back, pressing a kiss to your spine. “I need you to come for me.”

His permission was all you needed before you were cumming around his cock, your walls clenching down hard around him, bringing him closer to his orgasm. Your jaw went slack as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your entire body being set on fire. You’ve never came so hard in your life.

Pedro’s fingers left your asshole and he wrapped his arm around the soft flesh of your belly, continuing to fuck into you with all the energy he had left. Your walls were extremely tight from your orgasm, constricting intoxicatingly around his cock. He moaned as he reached his orgasm, coating your walls in thick spurts. He whimpered as he filled you full of his cum, both of his hands reaching around you to grab handfuls of your breasts, pinching your nipples as he came down from his high.

Your eyes were squeezed shut still recovering for your powerful orgasm. Your body went slack against the back of the couch as tried to recover.

“What’s your name?” Pedro asked breathlessly.

You didn’t answer. You’d heard him, but your mind was so far into the clouds that you didn’t comprehend his question. You chest heaved in heavy breaths.

Pedro chuckled, squeezing your tits once last time before pulling out of you. You whimpered at the feeling; you were way too fucking sensitive. He pressed a soft kiss to your ass as he left you alone to grab a towel to clean you up with. You were still coming down from your high when he returned with a damp towel, and began gently wiping up his seed that spilled from your entrance. You trembled as he touched your sensitive folds, and you whined out.

“Shhhh, almost done.” He whispered, holding the towel there for a moment longer.

When he finished cleaning you up, he lifted you up and sat you down on the couch facing him. He picked up your shorts and helped slide them up over your soft legs, then lifted your arms to put on your sweatshirt. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead then lazily dressed himself, not bothering to button his pants or shirt.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He said softly, picking you up. He cradled you in his arms as he carried you up the stairs, your eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He carried you to the guest bedroom, and held you up expertly with one arm while he pulled back the covers so you wouldn’t be laying on top of the sheets. He carefully laid you onto the mattress, tucking you in under the covers. He couldn’t get over how blissful you looked. Your cheeks were bright pink, and your lips were swollen and plump. He bent down and kissed you one last time before leaving you alone in the guest bedroom. You drifted off to sleep before you could even realize he was gone. Before you knew it, you were waking up the next morning with soreness between your legs and a longing for your father’s best friend.

[say-al0e]

Crash

Rating: M | This is smut, no one under 18. Minors, DNI!

Summary: Literally just giving Bradley head in the Bronco, on the beach. That’s it. That’s the plot. | Ft. “Breathe through your nose,” requested by anon.

Warnings: Exhibitionism, blink and you’ll miss it mention of anxiety/adjusting to life in California post TGM, male receiving head. (I think that’s it? Anything else, tell me and I’ll tag it.)

Pairing: Rooster x fem!Reader (I think girl is used once or twice?)

Word Count: 2.2k

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

The late afternoon sunlight cast a golden hue over the empty stretch of beach. It was rare to have the place to yourselves, alone without a mass of people scattered about, but you were grateful for the relative quiet. The only sound to be heard was the crashing of waves, breaking against the shoreline, and the low hum of some soft rock song on the radio.

A soft breeze blew through the Bronco, warm sea air filling your nose as you relaxed, and you swore there’d never been a more perfect moment. It was easy to get lost in the beauty of your new home, in the sun and the sand and the warmth of it all, and you reveled in the peace as you leaned into Bradley’s side.

Warm fingers, calloused from years of baseball and work, brushed at the exposed skin of your arm. The weight of his arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to the moment at hand, was a comfort you would never tire of. He radiated warmth, always a few degrees hotter than the average, and though you’d worried it would be too much in the California heat, you found yourself seeking it out as a gust of sea air blew.

As Bradley pulled you closer, slid you across the seat and tucked you into his side, you took a moment to study him.

Bradley looked beautiful in the golden light, warm and soft and utterly breathtaking. The west coast sun had done him good, gave his skin a glow that had yet to fade and seemed to set him at ease in a way Virginia hadn’t been able to, and you made no effort to hide your awe as you studied him.

The moment the sun began to sink lower, he’d tucked his aviators into the collar of his undershirt. Soft brown eyes glittered in the sunlight, held nothing but a hard-earned contentment as he watched the waves crash onto shore, and you couldn’t help yourself as you reached out for him.

With a soft smile, you lifted your hand and gently traced the curve of his jaw, the few silvery scars that marred his skin. A barely there twitch of the corner of his mouth was the only indication he gave that he noticed and you bit back a laugh as your thumb brushed along the edges of his mustache.

Though the new assignment had been an adjustment - packing up your lives and moving across the country, Bradley getting used to working as an instructor and teaching students who seemed to have more in common with Hangman than with him, building a new routine - it was one that seemed to suit him. The set of his shoulders was more relaxed, the light had returned to his eyes, and he looked truly content.

It was truly a sight to behold, a wonder that reminded you just why you fell so hard in love with Bradley, and sent a pang of warmth spreading throughout your limbs. Something low simmered in the pit of your stomach, a desire to remind him just how much you love him, and you grinned as you brushed at the corner of his mouth. 

“Roo?” The call of his name broke the delicate silence, sounded over the soft sound of crashing waves, but in no way felt unwelcome as he tipped his head to glance at you. When he pressed a soft kiss to your palm before smiling, gaze soft and so reverent it made your heart ache, you felt yourself melt further into his embrace as the warmth only grew more intense. “Can we break a rule?”

The jab was soft, poking gentle fun at his rule following nature - though, you’d gotten to see him break more rules than most, had gotten to see the wilder side of Bradley Bradshaw that others assumed didn’t exist - and he rolled his eyes fondly but laughed anyway. “What’d you have in mind?”

Instead of answering aloud, you shot him a saccharine smile and continued to brush your fingers across his sun-warmed skin. You trailed slowly along the curve of his jaw, down the column of his throat, and bit the inside of your cheek as you felt him swallow. Goosebumps began to erupt across his skin, despite the temperature, and you felt a sudden rush of pride at your ability to fluster the beautiful man before you as you continued your descent.

As your fingers trailed down his torso, stopping only to trace the band of his jeans and circle the button, Bradley inhaled sharply. He knew where this was going and a peek from beneath your lashes confirmed he’d taken a quick glance around, just to be certain no one was around. “Honey,” he began, voice low, “are you sure?”

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d done something of the sort. Back in Virginia, when the beaches closed for winter and tourists took a few months off, you’d fulfilled a few of your shared fantasies. Bradley wasn’t keen on the idea of getting caught - not when he knew the risks - but he had a bit of an exhibitionist streak. It was a quick shot of adrenaline, not quite the same rush as flying but close enough, and you’d grown to enjoy it, too.

Though there was an elevated risk - a handful of cars had come and gone, spending a few moments on the beach and shattering your illusion of privacy - and though your home was only a short drive away, you wanted to sink into the moment. Bradley had never looked more beautiful and was a giver by nature, generous and loving almost to a fault, so you found it only fair to give him something in return.

“I’m sure,” you assured him with a smile. When he pressed his fingers beneath your chin and tipped your head to look you in the eye, you batted your lashes at him. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

Bradley swallowed, eyed you as you shifted closer and trailed your hand to his thigh, and laughed quietly. “You always do, honey,” he promised as he allowed his hand to fall to his lap. He spared another glance at the deserted parking lot, at the beach devoid of any others, and dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. “We have to be quick,” he reminded you, brows furrowing as he hated to be demanding, especially in a moment like this. “Don’t wanna get caught.”

“I know. We’ve done this before,” you reminded him with a grin. A quiet laugh escaped him, acknowledging the truth in your statement. “Just relax, babe,” you urged, fingers gliding over the button of his jeans.

With a deep breath, Bradley sank back into his seat and shifted. His legs spread a touch wider, enough to accommodate the growing bulge in his jeans, as he removed his arm from your shoulders to give you a little more room to work. The moment he released you, you twisted in your seat to get a little more comfortable - as comfortable as you could, given the circumstances - and shot him a grin.

Though you were short on time, you still took a moment to drag your hands along his thighs, allowing your nails to rake over the denim in the same way they often did when you were given the opportunity to worship his bare thighs. Another quiet laugh, this one a little more confident - not exactly smug, but as close as Bradley ever seemed to get - drew your attention. When you glanced at him from beneath your lashes, Bradley lifted a hand to cup your cheek. 

“You can ride my thigh when we get home, honey,” he promised, lips curving into a smirk as you sighed at the thought and leaned into his touch.

“Don’t try to bribe me into rushing, Bradshaw,” you teased after a moment’s pause to regain your composure. “I will hold you to that, though.”

As your fingers returned to the button of his jeans, popping them open and reaching for the zipper, Bradley laughed. “Bribe? I would never,” he declared, amusement lightening his eyes as he cradled your jaw. “But I’m counting on you holding me to it. You look so perfect falling apart on my thigh.”

The warmth that had been simmering in the pit of your stomach spread throughout your limbs, burning out of control, and you pressed your thighs together in search of a moment of friction as you tugged Bradley’s jeans down just enough to free his cock from the denim. “Flattery will get you everywhere, babe.”

Before he could retort, some witty quip about being exactly where he wanted, you leaned in and traced the vein running along the underside of his cock. The words died on the tip of his tongue, lost to the crashing of waves, as his hand shifted from your jaw to the back of your head.

Bradley made no effort to control your movement - he rarely did - but you melted under the weight of his touch all the same. The angle wasn’t the most comfortable but you’d learned how best to deal with it and shifted just enough to make breathing a little easier as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

A plea for urgency was on the tip of his tongue, you knew him well enough to feel the tension in his his thighs and the way his fingers flexed, so you took mercy on him. You wrapped your lips around the tip and swirled your tongue, lapping at the precum beading there. 

“Fuck.” Bradley’s sharp exhale carried over the breeze, filled your ears and spurred you on as you slowly took more of him. Though you had only just begun touching him, he sounded well on his way to wrecked, desperate and eager for more. “Feels so good, honey.”

His praise shot straight to your core, had you shifting in your seat in search of relief, and the thought of slipping your free hand between your thighs crossed your mind, only briefly. You knew that it would only distract him, encourage him to pull you onto his lap and make a mess of you both before you made your way home, and you wanted to focus on him, if only for a moment.

Refraining was difficult, but you poured your focus into Bradley.

In the beginning, taking the entirety of his length was difficult - a skill that had to be learned through practice, though you couldn’t complain as Bradley always reciprocated - but it had gotten easier. You pulled away for a moment, took a deep breath, before slowly taking him all.

Bradley swore lowly, a deep exhale that was accompanied by a flex of the hand at the back of your head, and you reached to tap the back of it - a signal that gave him permission to guide your head as he saw fit. “Breathe through your nose, honey,” he reminded you, voice rough and low with lust, “just like that. Fuck, take me so well.”

The hand he used to guide your movements was gentle, never pushing too far as you began to slowly bob your head. You listened to his advice, breathing through your nose and attempting to calm your gag reflex, as you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes.

Though you often imagined he couldn’t get more beautiful, Bradley looked otherworldly in the throes of passion. A crimson flush began at his cheeks and spread down his throat, disappeared beneath the collar of his undershirt, and his typically warm eyes were dark with lust. His chest heaved gently, rising and falling with each shaking breath, and his lips parted with low noises of pleasure.

A combination of the pleasure and adrenaline - the rush of being in public, in the Bronco with little to hide you from prying eyes - had Bradley on edge far quicker than usual but you knew that, in this case, he didn’t exactly mind. Instead, he used the gentle hand on your head to guide you just a touch faster, to take him just a bit deeper, as he chased his high.

The tension in his thighs, the way his fingers pressed into the material of the seat, the weight of his hand pressing against your head all told you that he was close. You doubled down your efforts and hollowed out your cheeks, seeking to push him over the edge.

Bradley came with a low curse, words spilling from his lips and melding with the sounds of the beach around you, and you eagerly swallowed all he had to give. He took a moment to ride out the aftershocks, milking his cock completely in the warmth of your mouth, before gently pulling you away.

With a teasing grin, you pressed a final kiss to his hip before sitting up and batted your lashes at him. “You good, Roo?”

“More than,” he promised as he quickly slipped himself back into his jeans without bothering to button them. “Let’s go home,” he urged, voice rough with lust and still a touch breathless. “I can’t wait to watch you fall apart for me, honey.”

The promise in his voice was more than enough to have you on edge, eager and ready for what awaited you, and you knew that whatever he had in store was more than worth the risk you took.

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: This scene, specifically (the one from the gif) inspired this. I’m so upset about that scene. He looks too good. Anyway. Happy New Year.

Taglist: @lulu-noodles​, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth​, @withakindheartx​, @ssprayberrythings​, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath​, @alexparkxr​, @hangmandruigandmav​, @alexxavicry​, @calicokel, @jaymum​, @dracosluvbot​, @little-wiseone​, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000​, @xlynnx07, @julesclues​, @archetypesoflife​, @oliviah-25​, @benhardysdrumstick​, @caatheeriinee07​, @prettymucheveryothernamewastaken, @yvespoems​, @chloereidwayne​

[theaccidentfactory]

If you truly loved your child, you would not raise them in orange county, southern california. certainly not a place nicknamed "surf city, USA". I haven't lived in "surf city, USA" in around 7 years, but every single person I meet immediately clocks me as someone who spent their formative years in orange county and los angeles county because despite not living there for over half a decade, my accent is SO strong and SO distinctive and even someone who's never been to the west coast in their life can guess the general zip code of where i grew up as soon as i open my mouth to introduce myself.

[acountrygirlsfun]

Facets of a Diamond

Evan Buckley x Eddie Diaz || Teen || 35k

Southern California is where Buck has spent the most time since leaving Pennsylvania. Of all the places he’s lived and worked over the last few years, this place is where he decided to stay. It’s why he picked LAFD: to put down some roots. It’s warm, has the ocean, and it’s the opposite coast of his parents. So if he’s going to be here for a while, he thinks he’ll need to make an effort to let people in. * The fic about Buck letting people at the 118 know him, knowing himself and also me fixing canon as I go along.

Even the best laid plans go awry, and Buck will be the first to admit this wasn’t his greatest plan. After getting fired and rehired on the same day, he realizes he might have taken  things a little too far. Buck knew he was getting a little desperate for some attention, but he didn’t know that would lead to a Tinder hookup convincing him to take a ladder engine out for a joyride in the middle of a shift. He’s honestly not sure how his actions helping Sergeant Grant were enough to get him his job back. What he does know is everything he currently needs, (encouragement, support, a little grace, maybe a quick hug if he’s totally honest) he could possibly already have from his coworkers if not for his plan. 

At 26, Buck knows by now that he’s a lot to be around. 

Physically, he’s taller than average, and even though he slimmed down from all the swimming during his time at SEAL training, he’s still pretty broad in the shoulders. But more than that, he knows if he doesn’t rein himself in, he can get a little loud, a little too intense to those around him. He knows it’s at least partly because he grew up feeling invisible in his own house, and he overcompensated for that by being impossible to ignore everywhere else once he finally left his parents behind. 

So the plan to keep this job and make it a career, to finally do something that matters, (to finally be someone that matters, a nasty voice whispers) was to rein it all in. 

Don’t be too loud; don’t overshare; don’t dominate conversation; don’t be needy. 

But as he had packed up his locker, finding out everyone on his shift agreed that he deserved to be fired, he realized he’d perhaps hidden too much. He’d hidden so much that no one knew him enough to even do him the kindness of lying, to even pretend to be on his side of things. 

He doesn’t know where his strategy went wrong - it worked all through SEAL training and at the fire academy. The more he thinks on it though, he recognizes that none of the people from those two experiences are people he could call on for help except maybe one or two. He hadn’t made anything beyond surface friendships with those people at the time. So although it worked to keep people from being annoyed with him, it meant he didn’t make any lasting connections with anyone. 

Southern California is where Buck has spent the most time since leaving Pennsylvania. Of all the places he’s lived and worked over the last few years, this place is where he decided to stay. It’s why he picked LAFD: to put down some roots. It’s warm, has the ocean, and it’s the opposite coast of his parents. So if he’s going to be here for a while, he thinks he’ll need to make an effort to let people in.

Continue on Ao3

[rjzimmerman]

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Northeast Is Burning. (New York Times)

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The smoke around New York City is back. But don’t blame Canada.

In Vancouver, British Columbia, where I’ve lived for 25 years, we used to blame California and Washington for our occasionally smoky skies. Then in the summer of 2015, Vancouver’s air turned Martian orange, just as the air on the East Coast did last year. Only this time, the fires were ours. It wasn’t just a bad year; something fundamental had changed. Since then, almost every summer has brought red suns at midday, health advisories, broken heat records, anxiety and, when fires get close, real fear: Our old house is a tinderbox. Where would we go?

Red flag warnings in New England indicating fire weather — that is, hot, dry, windy conditions — have been issued repeatedly since late October. These warnings are common in the West, but they are extremely rare in the Northeast, where I grew up and where my base line was established, my notion of what normal weather is. And I can tell you: This isn’t normal. Back in the 1970s, the idea of wildfires along the I-95 corridor in November was simply inconceivable.

This fall, more than 500 wildfires have ignited in New Jersey alone. And in the past two weeks, in parts of Connecticut and Pennsylvania where developments end and wild lands begin, known as the wildland-urban interface, fires have been threatening homes, too. New York City’s fire department responded to 271 brush fires across the five boroughs just in the first two weeks of November. A 5,000-acre fire has been burning for more than a week on the New York-New Jersey border, prompting voluntary evacuation orders on Saturday, after the fire broke through containment lines.

Last month a firefighter was killed and two more were injured by a vehicle while fighting a wildfire in Berlin, Conn. On Nov. 9 an 18-year-old New York State employee was killed fighting a fire in Sterling Forest State Park. Wildfire fighters getting killed? Maybe in Colorado or California. But in the Northeast, hardly ever.

Two weeks ago, a newspaper reporter from Provincetown, Mass., called me. Could the pitch pine and scrub oak forests of Cape Cod burn like the Western forests I described in my book “Fire Weather”?

“Yes,” I told him. “Maybe not in the past, but now they can.”

It felt strange, almost traitorous, to say that, because I’ve been going to the cape since I was a child. I know the smell of those pine needles in summer, the soft crunch of the cones underfoot. The idea of those trees burning never occurred to me before this year.

We are being reminded the hard way that we share this world. Smoke knows no boundaries, and neither does fire. It’s not a Southern problem or a Western problem; it’s our shared reality. This is not just a “bad year.” Globally, 2023 was the hottest year in recorded history, and that record is already being broken. This year is on track to be not only one of the driest autumns in U.S. history since records have been kept but also the first full year in which global temperatures rose 1.5 degrees Celsius (2.7 degrees Fahrenheit) above preindustrial levels. That doesn’t sound like much, but when this kind of elevated heat is prolonged, it stresses natural systems, killing marine creatures and making forests and grasslands more flammable.

[artdcnaldson]

i have soooo much lore in my head surrounding patrick & art and how they grew up… their little quirks… etc…. sigh

i always think of patrick growing up in some giant estate in connecticut or massachusetts (pre!stanford au my beloved……). his family is super powerful. in politics, most likely. idk his dad mayb is a federal prosecutor or something and his brother + cousins + uncles are in politics. running for congress and senate etc. like the kennedys. i also imagine them having like a summer home in the hamptons or mayb deleware or somewhere random. mayb its his grandparents.

art… he’s less figured out for me. i looove midwest art. growing up primarily being raised by his grandma in her little farmhouse. mayb his mom died. his dad is kinda evil. whatevs. i also have thought about like. pacific northwest art. or northern california art. colorado art. nebraska!!!!!!!hmmmmm. i think they’re super catholic….. (catholic trauma midwest art… he’s so ethel cain kinda). this might be kinda unpopular but i think of his family as like. fairly middle class. mayb his mom’s parents were loaded (hence why he goes to boarding school. they pay) but they don’t really talk to him anymore after his mom died…… he lives w his dad’s mom in her modest little house. either a farmhouse or a little craftsman. i put too much thought into this…:(

tashi i haven’t thought about as much but. she’s def giving like socal. or texas!!!!!!!!! i think her family wasn’t like. super poor and struggling. but they weren’t rich. just average middle class.

lots of ppl headcanon the academy as being in florida… so that’s usually what i think about… but. i love the idea of it being somewhere else. california maybe. only bc i’m a firm firm believer in west coast best coast. anyways. sorry for talking your ear off…………….

NEVER EVER apologize to me pookie <3 u are a delight to have in the inbox <3

Why does Pacific Northwest art also make so much sense to me…….. teenage granola art going to national parks and hiking during his summers at home :((( bringing Lily to his favorite trails he used to hike growing up…. Put me down now lord I’m ready !!!!!!!!!!!

[andradrawsstuff]

Fourth chapter of my fic ✨

Finally back home so I can continue working on chapter 6

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Bienvenidos a Miami

The sound of splashing water and humans’ laughter could be heard for miles. Crystal cyan waters glistened across the stretch of the coast, with skyscrapers towering directly opposite. Palm trees dotted alongside the road, and a mural of umbrellas painted the pearly-white sand a colourful rainbow. Party in the city where the heat is on. Welcome to Miami.

“Hey, boys!” A familiar voice emerged from around the corner. It was Gloria, holding what appeared to be a cocktail with a tiny umbrella sticking out of the top.

Skipper swung around, flicking his shiny black sunglasses engraved with tiny dolphins on the left rim, bobbing his head and stomping his foot to the beat of Will Smith’s fitting song ‘Miami’. “Hm?”

The penguins were plopped underneath the refreshing shade of a bright red gazebo on the sand, somehow managing to fit half of the locomotive underneath too. It was a miracle they weren’t spotted by the humans, but perhaps them choosing to bunk in a remote area of South Beach was a smart move. They did have to account for the rest of the circus folk and the fact that they were animals though, so they chose to squeeze in a quiet spot between 24th and 26th Street. As for their gargantuan circus tent? Sprawled across a few dozen square metres of greenery. Very discreet.

“What are you guys doing?” Gloria queried. “It’s like, ninety degrees!”

Private jumped in. “We’re fixing the engine! Admittedly, we are melting a little…”

“Aaaand so is the core.” Kowalski butted in. “Ugh, I hate the heat. Its always too clammy, and my inventions keep breaking!”

“You mean more than usual?” Private teased.

Kowalski shot him a disapproving look.

“Pfft, sorry…” He giggled.

The truth is, Private did have a point. Despite Kowalski being one of the smartest birds alive, he sure had a knack for making things that exploded mid-use. He was lucky no such thing happened to the train engine and the core yet. 3 months had passed since its initial installation and trip to California. This was a new record.

“Hey… where’s Rico?” Gloria pondered, noticing his absence.

Skipper pointed towards the cyan sea, sipping from a coconut.

A distant “WOOOOOO!” grew closer, as out of nowhere sprung Rico and Marty straddled on a neon pink surfboard. Marty struggled to control the direction they were being launched in, heading straight for the gazebo. Rico gasped and threw up a pointy rock in front of them, instantly halting the surfboard. The two monochromatic friends were flung into the air, landing on top of the gazebo and bouncing off only to plummet head-first into the sand.

“Well hello to you too.” Gloria sarcastically greeted the duo.

Rico opened his mouth and an avalanche of sand rushed out. “Bleeeergh…”

“Woo!” Marty celebrated. “Now that is something I never thought I’d try!” He raised his hoof in a hi-five position.

Rico burped out the last few grains of sand and slapped his flipper against Marty’s hoof. “Wahoo!”

“Okay boys, you’ve had your fun.” Skipper uttered. “Rico, we need your help.” He chucked over a screwdriver to the adrenaline-pumped penguin. They needed to lock in, or this core that Kowalski impressively hadn’t exploded yet, might just do that.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it, then… I guess.” Added Marty, gesturing to Gloria to join him.

The birds got along surprisingly well with the four ‘hippies’, as Skipper would call them. Over the last year they had the occasion to bond over both mundane and exciting adventured all over the world. The mammals did find the little guys charming and cute, so they grew quite fond of them. Although, they did tend to draw trouble wherever they went. But that was just something that they’d have to live with if they wanted to keep the little guys around.

In what seemed like only a few minutes, the beach was surrounded by darkness, with the crescent moon and neon city lights illuminating the entire coast. But the penguins had little success in fixing the engine, resulting in Kowalski removing the core completely until they managed to cool it down. He placed it in a small sachet that he swung around his shoulders in order to keep it safe. They were headed for the nightlife in the heart of the city. It was Miami after all, what else would they do?

[anghraine]

Fellow PNW Tumblr girlie here - people outside the PNW definitely do not understand it at all 😂 I'm from Oregon, not WA, but when traveling on the east coast I've actually had people not know where Oregon is at all 🤦‍♀️ I've resorted to just saying west coast now, bc people will be like oh where are you from and then go 🙂???? when I say Oregon 😂😂

I've forgotten what prompted this, but you're entirely right, lol. It is genuinely a bit incredible to me how little most of the country knows about the PNW (despite all the griping about "coastal elites" not knowing all the nuances of other regional cultures). I almost always have to say I'm from "north of Seattle" to give people even a vague sense of my background (in reality, I grew up over 100 mi north of Seattle, but most people know so little about Washington that they just get blank and confused if I say anything more specific—even "on the Canadian border" is not always illuminating, somehow!).

I definitely feel you about Oregon, as well. My mother's family lives in eastern Oregon, a bunch of my other relatives in central and western Oregon, and I lived in various parts of the state for over ten years, so it's very recognizable to me personally—yet most people I meet away from the PNW seem to have zero familiarity with anything about it except sometimes Portland. Occasionally a conversation arises in which I think about trying to explain how much eastern Oregon is absolutely not the stereotype of the PNW but is still very PNW in some ways, but it would require so much explanation that I usually don't bother.

I remember the first time I really travelled away from the PNW as an adult, when I went to this conference in Florida and met some awesome people. But it was kind of funny because all these people who were mainly from the East Coast were like "you're from Washington? The West Coast? It must be so scary!" while a literal tornado had just struck outside of where we were in Orlando and it tore palm trees up by the roots and nobody seemed particularly perturbed. It turned out the "scary" West Coast thing they were thinking of was earthquakes, which ... uh, don't exactly dominate life in the PNW, lol. I thought for sure it'd be the ever present threat of Rainier melting Seattle or something like that, but no, the West Coast is just California+ to the rest of the country (and "California" is just LA or SF despite how absolutely gargantuan it is).

[copperbadge]

I’m working on the novel to follow Twelve Points, and it feels like there’s been a weird roadblock removed now that Twelve Points is all set up to be posted (keep your eyes peeled starting January 12th!). It just seems like I can work more fully on Royals-Ramblers. Which means writing a bunch of stuff set in California, since the first third of the book is in the also-imaginary town of Santa Luna, a fusion of Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay. 

Which is delightful and nostalgic, don’t get me wrong, but also...

Georgie, the romantic heroine, is Shivadh by birth, European, and she lives on the coast so she’s familiar with Mediterranean marine life. Monday, who grew up on the California coast, decides to take her on a whale-watching tour, and I was like...Georgie is a cool customer, she’s seen whales before, but she should get nerdy-excited about some marine life that they have in California that they don’t have in the Mediterranean.

Otters? No, they have otters. And seals and dolphins...they have whales that are bigger than California’s, too, and none of California’s whales are especially adorable. And Monday’s too young to have memories as I do of Humphrey the Lost Humpback. What the hell marine life does California have that Askazer-Shivadlakia wouldn’t --

Elephant seals.

It’s elephant seals.

Which is a very...novel thing to get excited about, admittedly. Georgie is excited to see Elephant Seals in the wild, and that’s fine, but also have you seen an elephant seal?

The most romantic of all the pinnipeds. 

[ID: A photo of an elephant seal on a beach; he is shaped like an ordinary seal but very large, and instead of a seal’s ordinary muzzle he has a large, curving proboscis that juts out of his face with a little knob on top. He looks like a seal wearing a Groucho Marx Glasses disguise.] 

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

obviously there's not an easy way to do this with like capitalism and bigotry and such, but I wish everyone in the US had the option for a sort of home-country study abroad situation, just the ability to spend a couple years living in different areas and different states and seeing what it's like out there

because like I grew up in California suburbs and didn't really spend much time anywhere else until I graduated college. And I love where I grew up, but I was really lacking a lot of perspective and context and understanding of the rest of the country. california has a hell of a superiority complex and there honestly wasn't a lot of a push to go or learn about or empathize with anyone else.

and then in the last two years, moving around for my job, I've lived in the rural southwest, in east coast suburbs, in the urban south. I've gotten crash courses in politics, in cultures, in history, and just how life is lived that I never would have seen in my hometown. I've met so many people, been a part of so many different communities.

I've met the kindest and most genuine people from brash and loud east coast cultures. I've found the most welcoming queer community I've ever been a part of in the south. I've worked with folks in the desert who live totally off the grid, who have to drive into town for water and can only get the news from their radio. I've also worked in urban sprawls with coworkers who've experienced homelessness in a big city.

and the people I meet and work with bring their learned experiences as well! I went to a potluck of midwestern delicacies thousands of miles from their origins, I've been lectured on grassroots politics in Florida by an enthusiastic intern on the east coast, I've been regaled with stories from a coworker who's lived in thirteen states in the last fifteen years. and I've learned so much.

I don't know where I'm going with this. Tomorrow I hit the road again, moving to my fifth state in the last two years, and I'm feeling nostalgic and also hopeful for the future. I guess I'm hoping that I never lose this feeling, this awe and respect for what I am experiencing and who I have the chance to learn from. And I really, really hope that other people have the chance to learn like this too.

[nightingaelic]

Fallout 4 companions react to learning about Caesar's Legion (maybe from an ex-Legionary perspective who now realizes that he was used as a weapon by a ruthless fascist(

The sole survivor was in the corner of the Third Rail's bar, tilting their nearly-empty glass around in fascination as the man before them told his story. The tale itself was full of sand, blood, banners with a golden bull and a bottleneck in the Mojave where nations fell, and it was easy enough for the sole survivor's companion to slip in and listen while the stranger laid it out.

"Arizona," the sole survivor said in wonder when the man had finished. They downed the rest of their drink and pushed the glass forward for a refill. "And trying to recreate Rome... I was never really into ancient history, but it sounds like your Caesar didn't want the reality of that society, just the trappings of it. Am I right?"

The stranger inclined his head. "The change was quick, ruthless, but it brought stability where there once was none. You could even live well in the empire, if you kept your head down. But we lived in service to Caesar, not his Legion, and Caesar's thirst for conquest could not be quenched. It was his end, and thus the end of what he built. There was no empire without Caesar."

Cait: Cait's mouth had taken on an awful, bitter taste as soon as she realized that the man was describing a nation of slaves, and she swallowed the rest of her own drink to try to flood her senses. It didn't help much - the Third Rail's beer had its own bitterness. "Good riddance," she said instead, rubbing her neck. "Let men like him dry out in the desert, in unmarked graves."

"So he died in the Mojave?" the sole survivor pressed. "What killed him?"

"I don't know." The stranger pushed his hair back and glanced around the room. "There are stories, thick as bloodbugs after rain. Internal strife. Heart attack after the defeat at Hoover Dam. An old Legate, come back from the dead to exact revenge, or a newcomer with stars in their eyes and the city across the river at their back. Doesn't matter, I say."

"You're goddamned right it doesn't," Cait agreed. "What happened to his army? The people he took, to run his war?"

The man shrugged. "Scattered. Went home, or elsewhere if home was gone. Arizona roads fell apart again, raiders came back, but the old feuds were gone. Made it easier to band together, make something new."

"As long as it's not another slaving group." Cait huffed her dissatisfaction and slumped against the bar. "That's about the only good thing that comes out of wearing a collar. You find someone else who's worn one, you know them. Doesn't matter if they fought it, suffered alone or with others, tried to play it off like they were happier with one on, you just... know."

Codsworth: "I don't suppose this Legion was very popular, outside of the areas it occupied?" Codsworth asked anxiously. "I would hate to think that there were other nations like it, in what was once a great country."

"Popular or not, the fact that it grew into something big enough to occupy Arizona and beyond is enough to make you worry." The sole survivor sighed. "You fall asleep for 200 years and you wake up thinking that maybe things changed. But they didn't. I'd say I don't get it, but there's nothing left to get, I suppose. The world goes on."

The stranger nodded. "The Bull rose quickly, but it fell just as fast, aided by the Bear and the Colorado River itself."

"I say, bulls and bears?" Codsworth perked up. "What sort of creature are you talking about now?"

"The two-headed bear, the NCR." The stranger raised an eyebrow, sensing his audience was unfamiliar with the acronym. "The New California Republic. The image of the old world, born anew on the other coast, that arose to meet Caesar when he marched west?"

The sole survivor made a face. "New California Republic?"

"Image of the old world?" Codsworth repeated excitedly. "In, eh, in what way?"

"In every way. Progress, politics, destinies and dollars."

"Well that doesn't sound so bad." Codsworth turned to the sole survivor. "I should like to visit this republic someday, if that's alright with you?"

The sole survivor smiled. It wasn't unkind, but it had the ghosts of disappointment and resignation behind it. "Sure, Codsworth. Right after we're done in the Commonwealth."

Curie: "I do not understand," Curie said, furrowing her brow. "To rebuild L'Empire romain, or even to try to do so... this is a step backwards, no?"

The sole survivor and the stranger glanced at each other. Cure shook her head. "But why do this? Where is the sense?"

"Caesar saw strength in it," the stranger replied. "Rome endured, and he wanted the same for his Legion."

Curie looked supremely annoyed. "Strength comes in many, many forms, but ever since I set foot in the wasteland, the only strengths that seem to hold value are military might, and the length of time a thing may last. C'est incroyable. I am... I am sick of it! Adaptation, change, progress of knowledge and learning from past mistakes, where have these all gone?!?"

"You're telling me," the sole survivor agreed, passing her another Nuka-Cola Dark. "Imagine my surprise, leaving the vault after 200-some years."

"Hmph. Imagine mine!"

The stranger's eyes sparked. "If the past world was as well-off as you imply, it's a wonder it ended in fire."

"Oh no, don't put that on me." The sole survivor wagged their finger at him. "Curie here was built for a vault, so she didn't know the pre-war world much, but I spent long enough in it to know the majority of America was swept up in forces they couldn't understand, much less control. I didn't drop the bombs, some well-to-dos in suits did."

"An easy thing said aloud, by someone who escaped the destruction."

Curie frowned at the stranger on the sole survivor's behalf. "You escaped the Legion, Monsieur. Did you also escape the destruction it caused?"

"No."

"Well, then." Curie took a sip of the Nuka-Cola Dark. "If it is a debate of systemic failings you want, we are all more than prepared."

Paladin Danse: The Brotherhood Paladin that accompanied the sole survivor nodded along, recalling what he'd learned about the western chapters of his order and the trouble the Legion's rise had caused them. "I am glad to hear Caesar's government collapsed completely. From what I've heard, he was never sympathetic to the Brotherhood cause. His troops met ours in combat a few times."

"Indeed," the stranger said, in a tone of voice that suggested he might have done more than just hear about the clashes.

"How long ago were you in the Mojave?" Danse pressed. "Do you know if the Brotherhood chapter there is still active?"

"I am unaware of their current activities, but I believe the Knights brought their skills to Hoover Dam, when the time came."

"Outstanding." Danse smiled and sat back on his stool. "It's nice to know that there are people like us out there, wearing the same uniforms and carrying the same purpose - even if they're thousands of miles away."

"Uniforms, perhaps. Purpose?" The stranger shook his head. "The desert Knights vary, in belief and knowledge. Most struggle to hold onto their people, their way of life, as the NCR pours inland and the pull of New Vegas grows stronger. Some dream of things as they once were, speak ill of your Maxson and how he opened his gates to the wasteland. Some don't even know his name, or the name of the one he came from, their own forefather."

That stumped Danse. "They don't know the name of the first Elder? I thought the NCR named a state after him."

"The NCR has much to thank the Maxson line for, but in the end, time can only change a name into a common word. It will happen to their state, as it is happening to your brothers and sisters. They forget their sacred charge, carry out its motions without knowing the reasons, and they die out in their bunkers while history moves on. Like the Legion, their purpose contains a fatal flaw. A dead end, as Caesar used to say."

Danse glowered at him. The sole survivor cleared their throat. "Easy, Paladin. You weren't really expecting to find Brotherhood fans in Goodneighbor, were you?"

Deacon: From behind his sunglasses, Deacon eyed the stranger suspiciously. What he was saying rang of truth, given what he already knew about the Legion, but letting on the fact that he knew anything at all about Caesar or his failed attempt to build an empire might be the wrong move.

He shook his head when Whitechapel Charlie came over to refill their cups, watching the bot take his empty glass away with nonchalance. "Sounds like hell to travel through. Did you run into trouble, coming over to the East Coast?"

"None that you can't find elsewhere." The stranger studied him too, eyes dark and unreadable. He fiddled with the straps of the face mask he'd removed and set on the bar in order to drink. His hands were large, scarred from a lifetime of movement and pain. "Or here, if the things they say about the powers of the Commonwealth are true. Brotherhood, Minutemen, and more. Soldiers and spies... the same battles rage on, East or West."

The sole survivor seemed to have caught on to Deacon's hesitancy, and they drew the attention back to themselves. "Sure. Same shit, different bucket. You do something about it, or you learn to live with it. Like people under the Legion, I guess."

Deacon winced internally, but their careless statement had done the trick. The stranger turned his head on them, lacing his words with ire. "And what is living? The definition changes, if you ask an emperor or a slave. How much choice goes into the act of it? To tread the line of life and survival, to say what must be said to still draw breath, sate hunger, shelter through a storm... sometimes all one can do to resist a force like the Legion is exist, and existence is not enough."

The sole survivor smiled. "No. It isn't. But existence, endurance, in spite of something that wants you in chains or dead is still the first step."

They took a long drink from their glass, sighed, and ran a hand over their face. Deacon knew what they were going to ask, even before they opened their mouth. "Do you know what a synth is?"

Dogmeat: The sole survivor's hand dropped to Dogmeat's head, scratching behind his ear. Dogmeat whuffed softly and leaned into the attention.

"I'm sorry," the sole survivor said to the stranger who smelled of fire and sand, anger and regret.

The stranger closed his eyes for a moment. "There is nothing to apologize for. All of it belongs to history, now."

"Trust me, I know." The sole survivor finished patting Dogmeat and accepted a new drink from Whitechapel Charlie. "Everything that I used to be is history now, and ancient history at that. But I'm living proof the pain's still there. Known or unknown. So I'm sorry about what happened to you, and everyone else the Legion took."

It was a long time before the stranger answered them. The two sat there drinking in silence, staring at the bottles behind the counter and listening to Magnolia's song. It was a sad one, some Buddy Holly cover about rain and the misery of a broken heart, and it seemed both appropriate and wildly unmatched for the two figures grieving destroyed futures at the bar.

"Thank you," the stranger said, when the song was finished.

The sole survivor stood. Dogmeat rose immediately and looked up at them, ready to go.

"I'm glad I met you," the sole survivor said, extending a hand to their drinking companion. "If you ever want to stop looking for what you lost, come visit Sanctuary. I'm there now, most days."

Mayor John Hancock: "Damn shame." Hancock threw back one of the shots that Whitechapel Charlie had just delivered. "Then again, he sounds like some of the people I murdered in order to become the mayor. Either way, we drink."

The sole survivor raised their own shot, but the stranger declined. "Slower," he said, by way of explanation.

"Sure, sure, take it easy." Hancock winked at him. "Got all the time in the world, now that you're not fighting for some asshole who wants to dress up as a historical figure. Who does something like that?"

The sole survivor broke down laughing, and Hancock threw an arm around them and joined in. The hint of a smile played around the stranger's lips, but he remained silent and observant.

"So." Hancock slammed his shot glass onto the bar again. "Why are you here, now? Joining the Brotherhood, the Minutemen? Or just looking for work? You're welcome to use the VIP room, if you're lining up customers as a hired gun... or maybe something else?"

The stranger ignored his suggestive eyebrow waggle. "Walking roads not yet traveled."

"Taking in the sights, or something more specific?"

"Both. Neither. The journey is the destination."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, a poet." Hancock rolled his eyes. "You must be pretty good with that rifle on your back, if you can wander wherever you like and write songs about it, to boot."

"Not songs." The stranger's eyes gleamed. "Histories."

"Histories. My bad." The mayor of Goodneighbor grinned. "Enough about the Legion. How's New Vegas doing, these days? I've heard some wild stories from pre-war friends."

Robert Joseph MacCready: MacCready had gone rather pale as the stranger told his story, and the sole survivor turned to him in concern. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said, a little too quickly. "Er. Yeah. I'm okay."

"You're not."

"Uhh..." MacCready glanced at the stranger, then at the sole survivor. "It's just... it reminds me a little too much of the Capital Wasteland."

"I thought they'd stamped out slavery in the Capital Wasteland," the sole survivor said in alarm.

"Yeah, for the most part, but that's not what I mean." MacCready swallowed another gulp of his beer. "It's... the Brotherhood. I know, they're not trying to be Rome or whatever, but everything revolves around them, even if you've got nothing to do with the Citadel or Adams. They take what they want, and they use it to make themselves stronger."

"Slavery to a cause, a banner, without the collars." The stranger nodded. "No need for collars, if they write the histories themselves. No room for what might have been, what still might be... and the bull charges on."

"Gears," MacCready corrected him. "And swords."

"Putting a bull on their power armor might be a bit too on the nose," the sole survivor mused. "Then again, gears and swords aren't particularly subtle, either."

"Is that what brought you to the cradle of liberty?" the stranger asked MacCready. "Running from your own bull, mercenary? Or maybe some other bull, a greener one, that leaves skulls in its wake?"

MacCready wouldn't meet his burning eyes. "Let's change the subject," he said.

Nick Valentine: Nick Valentine sighed heavily. "'To ravage, to slaughter, to usurp under false titles, they call empire, and where they make a desert, they call it peace.' Though I guess the desert was there already."

The stranger inclined his head. "And it remains."

"How'd you get out?" Nick asked. "By your own will, or circumstance?"

The man at the bar thought for a moment. "Both. Neither. Fortune and finesse often have ways of intertwining."

"Don't I know it." Nick accepted the new beer that Whitechapel Charlie had brought him and raised it up. "Here's to you and anyone else lucky enough to get out of that situation with their lives. From one runaway to another."

The stranger and the sole survivor raised their drinks in kind, and all three drank deeply.

Piper Wright: "This is gold." Piper was already a few pages deep in her ever-present notepad, scribbling furiously. "We rarely get visitors from the West Coast, traveling through all that territory in between... well you know, you made the trip."

The stranger eyed her notes with an unmistakable expression of mistrust. Piper chuckled nervously and tapped her pencil against the notepad's spiral. "Sorry. Force of habit. Is... is it okay if I log this? Just for my newspaper's files. I'm not going to write an article about you, or anything. Unless you want me to."

The sole survivor chuckled and shook their head. "She's harmless," they reassured the stranger. "Unless she thinks you're dangerous."

The stranger half-turned on his stool. His eyes swept across the room, lingering on the usual figures of Triggermen, mercenaries, wasteland wanderers and midnight revelers, all bearing scars from old battles. All armed to the teeth. Piper caught his meaning and smiled. "Dangerous beyond the norm," she clarified.

"Have to do better than that." The stranger shook his head. "Caesar and his Legion were dangerous, if you talked to the NCR... the raiders... the slaves. But ask the trade caravans who walked its roads, and they'd sing songs of praise. Ask the men who rose in its ranks, who carried its flag to Hoover Dam, of the glory they found. They'd tell you that the danger Caesar spread was merely the threat of change, on the horizon of the Bear's empire. Danger to some, but not to all."

"Yep, same thing the Brotherhood says if you ask them politely not to take your tato crop." Piper screwed up her mouth in thought, before nodding decisively. "I'd like to interview you. Properly. Feel like visiting my office in Diamond City?"

Rather than answer, the stranger finished his drink. He stood, adjusted the strap of his rifle, and let his braids fall in his face as he headed for the exit. Piper scrambled after him, and the sole survivor could make out her excited questions echoing all the way up the subway's stairwell.

Preston Garvey: Preston sighed and removed his hat. "I suppose Rome was around for a long time, but still... not the period of history I would have started trying to rebuild."

"Nah." The sole survivor nudged his arm playfully. "You're more of an American Revolutionary War buff."

Preston blushed a little and put his hat back on. "Seemed more useful, I guess. I didn't come up with it."

"But you kept it going." The sole survivor smiled at him, then turned back to the stranger. "Ever heard of the Minutemen?"

The man across from them inclined his head. "Heard of their strength, and how it waned. Heard of the fort's fall, of a massacre, of a march to Sanctuary."

The sole survivor and Preston glanced at each other. "So you've been in the Commonwealth before?" Preston asked. "I didn't think all of that was common knowledge, outside of the Boston ruins."

"Used to seek the uncommon out," the stranger offered.

"Uh-huh." The sole survivor took a deep breath and blew it out fast, mildly suspicious. "You never said what your job was, in the Legion. Intelligence, I'm guessing?"

The stranger's response was dull, the words heavy on his tongue. "Action. Movement. Shaping roads in darkness, for armies in the sun."

Both Preston and the sole survivor had their hackles up, now. Preston's hand twitched, and his eyes flickered between the man at the bar and the Minutemen general.

The sole survivor's next question was in a lower voice, under the music and bustle of the bar. "So what brought you here?"

The stranger considered his drink. When he finally answered, it was with a longing that Preston felt with his entire being, an emptiness that he sometimes found in himself, after Quincy. "Searching for a new nation. Looking for the sun."

Strong: "Not strong," Strong pronounced the men who had failed to coalesce after Caesar's death.

"Sounds like they were strong enough to cause trouble for a while, though," the sole survivor pointed out.

Strong shook his head. "Super mutant leaders strong in two ways. First way, strong."

He raised his arm suddenly and curled it, causing a few of the Third Rail customers nearby to flinch. The stranger didn't flinch, but he eyed the super mutant with wary interest.

"No strong, no leader." Strong flexed his bicep a few times before nodding. He let his arm fall again, and slapped the center of his chest decisively. "Second way, strong. No strong, no leader."

The sole survivor's gaze turned back to the stranger. "Does that about cover it? No one with the muscles or the heart to take charge, after Caesar died?"

"More to it than that."

Strong snorted. "Boring. Strong or not strong. Nothing else."

Slowly, the stranger nodded. A peculiar look came over his face. "Nothing else."

X6-88: X6-88 took the new information in silently, watching the stranger. The sole survivor had a penchant for approaching the most dangerous person in the room and attempting to befriend them, and more often than not, X6-88 felt nothing beyond mild annoyance at what second-rate raiders passed for menacing in the wasteland. But this man was different. Each new observation the Courser made was raising alarm bells. Scars over scars, jagged lightning across the man's muscled arms. The hard line of his mouth, which was only revealed from behind a breathing mask after purchasing a drink. The worn marks on the weapons he carried openly, indicating practice and familiarity. The weapons he was hiding, inside his long coat, boots, belt. The measured movements of his hands. The impassive light in his eyes.

Indeed, throughout his discussion with the sole survivor, the stranger kept looking the Courser over in turn, perhaps calculating what sort of threat he might pose. X6-88 hoped that his outfit, general demeanor, and refusal to participate in the discussion were enough to dissuade the stranger from any plans that might harm the one he protected.

By now, the sole survivor had tried to draw X6-88 into the conversation a few times, and was increasingly vexed each time he gave a one-word answer. "He's not going to shoot me at the bar," they said finally, gesturing at the man they had singled out. "He'd never make it out of here."

"I would," the stranger corrected them, without missing a beat.

X6-88 put his hand on his laser rifle. "You wouldn't."

And of course, the sole survivor set about scolding both of them for getting riled up over nothing, but over their protestations the two men continued to stare each other down. X6-88 was the only one who saw the stranger give him the slightest of nods. It could have been either a challenge or an indication of respect.

X6-88 did not return the nod.

BONUS!

Ada: "The western caravan companies must be in disarray," Ada surmised, shifting the weight of her protectron frame in a robotic show of interest. "Regime collapse tends to stall trade."

"No more than war," the sole survivor guessed.

"War can be good for trade," Ada corrected them. "Demand goes up for weapons, ammunition, supplies to feed armies..."

"Armies that are willing to pay." The stranger looked the robot over with mild interest. "Caesar took what he wished, if he was able."

"There must have been things he couldn't seize through conquest," Ada replied politely. "The last time I was in the Mojave, his movement had stalled at Hoover Dam. If he didn't control the dam, he must have been in need of electricity, which requires parts and manpower to generate and maintain."

"Lines from Kingman," the man answered, with a faraway look in his eye. "Poles marching north from solar panels, 80 miles along the 93. Salvage purchased or taken from the Mojave itself, dragged south by caravans and slaves. The Legates nailed an NCR captive to every other pole. Left them in the sun to dry. Said they would connect them to the dam itself, then New Vegas, until the line held every NCR soldier from Arizona to the sea."

He fell silent, and so did Ada and the sole survivor. While the latter started in on their drink with relish, Ada shook her assaultron head. "Shall we change the subject?"

Porter Gage: "Sounds like a few I've followed, over the years," Gage admitted. "No plan for what's next, when your number comes up. Course, most don't make it far enough to plan in the first place."

He raised his glass to the sole survivor and smirked. "Do better, Overboss. Watch your back."

The sole survivor rolled their eyes, but they drank as well. The stranger's glass remained untouched, his features hard and unreadable.

"So what brings you east?" Gage probed. "Looking for a new flag to follow? Or are you done with all that, going it alone? Could always use new guns at Nuka-World, if you're looking for work."

The stranger shook his head, and his braids swayed gently. "Not sure what I'm looking for, now, but I won't find it at Nuka-World."

"Come on, won't know until you come through."

This earned the old raider a look so cold that he forgot what sorts of attractions he'd been meaning to highlight at the old theme park. The sole survivor caught Gage's tongue-tied state and chuckled. "Leave off. He's got places to be that aren't covered in tonic residue and nukalurks."

Old Longfellow: Old Longfellow grunted his distaste for the subject matter. "Just another one."

The sole survivor and the stranger eyed him curiously. "Another what?" the sole survivor asked.

"Another man in costume, saying he's got answers." Longfellow shook his head and reached for the bottle of liquor that Whitechapel Charlie had left him. "And none to be found. Fog, sand, Atom or Rome... all the same."

He swallowed a gulp that was a little larger than he'd meant to and fell to coughing. The sole survivor slapped him on the back until he quieted, but Longfellow heard their sigh under his hacking outburst. Sorrow, maybe. Exasperation, more like.

The stranger, for his part, seemed like he was considering the old man's words. Longfellow didn't know if the Children of Atom had any churches in the Mojave, but if it meant that someone else thought harder before joining that radiation-worshipping cult, all the better.

Elder Arthur Maxson: "And Caesar's empire will not be missed." Maxson nodded decisively. "Its disruption of communities and widespread cruelty were renowned across the western deserts, even beyond Arizona and the Mojave."

"Cruelty. Hm." The stranger soberly studied the Elder. "There was no shortage of cruelty in the Legion, but their cruelty was only one tool in their arsenal. There are other ways to break a nation... break any hope of a future. To grasp at power. Isolation. Rhetoric. To put oneself on a pedestal."

Maxson caught the man's drift and glared over the rim of his drink. "Say what you wish to, traveler. Plainly, if you can."

"Easy," the sole survivor warned. "If Hancock has to throw us out again, he might-"

The stranger rose to the challenge, but unlike the Elder, his eyes weren't sparkling with the thrill of it. He looked just as tired as he had when he'd first entered the bar. "An ideal. Lost to time, most can see, but others refuse to let go of. Not a road the Legion is alone on, in this wasteland."

"You would equate my order with a kingdom of slaves?" Maxson slammed his glass down on the bar and pulled himself up to his full height. "The average wastelander might not grasp your veiled insults-"

The sole survivor rolled their eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake-"

"-but I know full well when someone is trying to-"

"Oi!" Whitechapel Charlie floated over, managing to make every one of his three eyes look cross. "Put a cork in it, or I'll call Ham down here for housekeeping. I don't care if you're the queen herself."

Desdemona: Desdemona's eyes narrowed. "What did you say your name was, again?"

"I didn't."

"My mistake, then." Desdemona smiled slowly, as if she'd plucked her answer from the stranger's very gaze. The two shadowy figures sized each other up, while the sole survivor looked between them with growing unease.

The stranger spoke first. "Heard tell of trains that run the length of the East Coast, bringing passengers by the handful out of one darkness and into another. Slaves of many flags walking the tracks, taking their chances elsewhere."

"We've all heard the stories," Desdemona agreed, sitting back in her chair. "I even heard some about a courier that came looking for those trains, and how he wanted to pull some passengers back into the nightmares they were running from. A courier with a flag of his own."

"I'm not following," the sole survivor muttered.

"I heard his flag changed, even before the bull was slain." The stranger seized his drink and stared into it.

Desdemona crossed her arms. "I heard otherwise."

"There may be truth there." The stranger took a long swallow from his glass and looked away, over the bar toward the neon signs that Whitechapel Charlie hadn't dusted in some time. "The flag, the uniform, even the skin may change, but who knows if the man beneath them has? He may not even know, himself."

"And that's his own business." Desdemona shook her head. "The rest of the world can't afford to assume good intentions anymore."

The sole survivor pushed their stool back and stood. "Okay, my head hurts. I'll be in the VIP room begging Hancock for Mentats if you need me."

[beardedmrbean]

A man from Los Angeles will spend three decades in prison after he pleaded guilty to killing a transgender woman in Gulfport.

Makhari Seven Gasaway, 22, was sentenced on Friday. He pleaded guilty to one count of second-degree murder, one count of aggravated assault and one count of tampering with evidence, the District Attorney’s office said in a news release.

In June 2022, police responded to the Emerald Pines apartments on 39th Avenue in Gulfport and found the 27-year-old victim dead from two gunshots, the news release said. Friends and family previously identified the victim as Shawmayné Giselle Marie.

Gasaway met Marie through a dating website and admitted to shooting into the apartment when he met her there and learned Marie was transgender, according to the release.

“Why didn’t you just walk out?” Judge Lisa Dodson asked Gasaway during the plea hearing, according to the news release. “I can’t fathom why you would react so viscerally as to shoot somebody. No one did anything to you. The family will suffer forever, and you will have this long sentence.”

Dodson sentenced Gasaway to 50 years. He will serve 30 years in prison with 20 suspended and faces five years of post-release supervision. His second-degree murder sentence must be served day-for-day with no early release or parole.

The shooting also wounded Marie’s sister with three gunshots, the release said.

Marie’s sister, who survived, told police a man wearing dark clothes came to the apartment near midnight and shot her and her sibling, according to the release. Detectives reviewed surveillance video from 20 spots around Gulfport and tracked Gasaway as he fled on a bicycle to the Oxford Point apartments, where police later found the bicycle.

On a search warrant, authorities seized the bicycle and searched the apartment, where they found Gasaway’s ID, the gun and clothes worn during the shooting. Gasaway also admitted to deleting messages after the murder, the release said.

Marie grew up in Gulfport and worked as a personal care assistant and as a certified nursing assistant, according to the Human Rights Campaign.

“Shawmaynè was a kind, beautiful young person who, like any person, deserved to live a full life,” Tori Cooper, the Human Rights Campaign director of community engagement for the Transgender Justice Initiative said in a statement in 2022.

“These tragedies happen all too often to Black and brown transgender women in communities across the country,” Cooper said. “The violence we face is one of the devastating results of ongoing stigma and discrimination. All of us must step up to end that stigma. We are people. We have friends and family, passions, hopes and dreams, just like anyone else. And we deserve to live our lives fully without discrimination or violence.”

Assistant District Attorneys Chris Daniel and Haley Broom prosecuted the case.

District Attorney Crosby Parker called the crime “senseless and tragic.”

“This is an important day for the family,” District Attorney Crosby Parker said. “We appreciate the hard work, dedication and commitment of the Gulfport Police Department that ensured this arrest and conviction.”