#Lisa Carrier

[neep-neep-neep]

Frey would take Auden with her to go back to NY once she was sure the break was no longer a risk and could bring her cat over. She would tell Auden something like "there's....something like the Break there too, kind of. You just can't...see it. But it gets to people, you know? I want you there just in case I..." *sigh* and Auden who has decided to honor her father's memory by unquestioningly supporting her Tanta like he did his would agree.

Frey would take Auden to Footlocker to show off her beloved shoes while everyone looked at their clothes like what the fuck and Frey would make her eat a Knish and Judge Maya Bird would open her upscale condo's door and do a double-take "Where the hell have you been Alfre" "who is this?!" "why are you dressed like...?!" and Homer meanwhile would run up beside her meowing and Frey would drop to one knee starting to cry as Homer leapt into her arms. Maya would believe nothing Frey said even if (especially if) Auden was enthusiastically cosigning it

[ald3r-wolfcak3]

I am not the biggest fan of Lisa music, but this T-shirt is fucking rad.

Also I don't understand the tee's description, it's clearly a piece of Lisa Peterson merch, but it suppose to be a cloth which fit with farm work...????

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): The Path We Tread [25]

Sal's freshly folded Breaking Benjamin hoodie is soft in my hands. I haven't washed it, but I figured I'd return it after accidentally stuffing it into my bag the other night.

I set it on top of the cat carrier that's prepped and housing a cheerful Gizmo who purrs like a fully powered motorboat. And he's too cute, too happy to see me, so I grin down at the orange feline and brace one hand on Sal's car door and lean down to give the little guy some scratches.

He purrs against my hand, big green eyes closed as he shoves his head into my palm and basically pets himself. I can't help but huff out a laugh, smile widening because of the little fur ball.

Yesterday, The Faces and I spent the day visiting with Henry and Lisa. Since they aren't moving to LA with us, considering they have their music store here, we wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. Especially Larry and Sal.

"Are you done coddling my cat?" Sal gripes behind me. I sigh a bit disappointedly, rubbing under Gizmo's chin before zipping the carrier closed.

Turning to the cat dad, I back away from the black Camaro. Sal gives me a not-so-serious glare before placing himself in my previous spot, snatching the hoodie I'd just laid down and unfolding it. So particular.

"He likes my coddling," I murmur, tipping my head to the side as I peer at Sal both out of curiosity and admiration. The sun beating down on him, illuminating all the shades of blue in his hair. It's still chilly here, Nockfell's norm. 

Which explains why Sal starts pulling the hoodie over his head, but I still have to try my best not to gape. What happened to him being terrified of my cooties?

"No one likes your coddling," he responds, deadpan.

I regard him nonchalantly, pursing my lips. "Your mom does."

Sal's eyes go wide, the action setting off a warpath of alarm bells in my head. I watch him warily, but then the corners of his eyes crinkle and he whips his head away from me to choke on a... giggle.

My mouth twitches in a smile that I desperately attempt to stomp down. His laughter is so symphonic, so heavenly, so rare. Worst of all, it's infectious. And, most concerning, the joke wasn't that funny. So I hesitantly inquire, "What?"

Sal takes a breath, tucking a strand of cobalt hair behind his ear. Like he's purposefully trying to display that damned dagger that haunts my every sleeping and waking moment. "There's a punchline to that joke," he croons, eyes alight with such mischief that I brace myself, hold my breath.

"My mother is dead."

The breath I held punches past my lips, expelled in a gag-cough tag team on my lungs, my throat, my fucking brain. My cheeks flush scarlet, the warmth of my embarrassment rippling through my body. Sweat beads at my forehead as utter dread courses through me.

His mom is dead?

"I— I'm sorry, I didn't—" I sputter, rushing to get the apology out as soon as possible. Because, while I wouldn't bat an eye if my own mother left this plane of existence for eternity, I certainly would if my father did.

Sal shakes his head, eyes shutting and head tilting forward as if to say he accepts my apology. "You didn't know," he says nonchalantly. "Besides, it's nice not to have to talk about her so seriously. I wish people didn't tiptoe around the topic."

"They tiptoe for a reason," I hiss, although halfheartedly. I'm just relieved he isn't suddenly snapping at my heels with rage again. "Because it is serious."

Sal shrugs, a calm and relaxed glow to his cerulean gaze. For once. I almost forget that he's public enemy number one for a moment. "Yea, well," he sighs dramatically, hands stuffed into his pockets. "Gave me a reason to scare the shit out of you again. Seeing you ready to kiss my feet and beg for forgiveness is just such a lovely sight."

He does all of this on purpose. And screw him for using me as his comedic act constantly. "Suck it, Fisher," I sneer, feeling the terror in my veins finally transform into muted contempt. The anger isn't so bad, not like it used to be.

His gaze snaps to me, and just like every other time we look at each other, I can't tell what he's feeling as he murmurs, "So long as you consent."

I gulp, ditching what wrathful thoughts had gathered in my fortress of a mind. It's all quickly replaced with a throbbing in my very bones, another tinge of color to my cheeks, and a wild replay of all the times he had his head buried between my legs recently.

Hands clamp down on my shoulders and I flinch with the agility of a cat who just lost it's second to last life-- since Sal has taken all my other damn lives.

"Hey, angel," Ash coos from behind. I peek over my shoulder to see her grinning down at me. But her happy expression doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Sal's going to drop us off at the airport. As much as you two live to hate and loathe each other, we need to talk."

Oh, no. Oh, fuck. We need to talk? That statement never, ever ends well. Does she know about us? Is she about to kick me out of the group— or Sal? Or is there going to be this brutally mortifying conversation about how she knows but she'd never tell anyone and she absolutely requires an invite to the wedding?

I suppress a shudder.

Instead, I purse my lips, tongue cemented to the roof of my mouth as every one of my four limbs goes completely rigid. "I'd rather hotbox in a car full of Larry's farts," I declare, more than ready to do just that. He ate about half his body weight in tamales last night.

Ash's eyes go wide, her brows furrowing as a guilty smirk quirks her lips. "You would rather—" she cuts herself off, shaking her head and looking up at the sky to avoid the giggles she would no doubt conjure up if she looked at me for too much longer. "Just get in the car, y/n," she commands, voice wavering with hidden laughter.

I look back to Sal and take note of the lack of color in his eyes. Seconds ago, they were bright and full of mirth. Now... they're empty. Grave. Numb.

It snaps a little bit of clarity into me, so I do as Ash said and climb into his back seat, right beside Gizmo who chirps a greeting to me. I give the orange cat a smile as Ash shuts my door, but I'm roiling with too much anxiety to do more than that.

Ash is about to have a meeting with me and Sal. The three of us. She's either going to ball us out for fighting so much, or she knows that we're fucking. And if it's neither of those, then I don't know what else it could be. I think the unknown scares me more than the other options.

Ash plops herself into the passenger seat, using the 'oh-shit' handle to adjust herself before shutting her door and buckling. She throws her head over her shoulder, grinning at me. "So," she says giddily as Sal climbs into the driver's seat. "Hot rod, old ass, family heirloom. How are we feeling?"

I raise an eyebrow that she can't see. "It's a car."

"And a treasure," she finishes thoughts I did not have, watching me with eyes that say I should cherish this gift of a ride. "How are you not tweaking with excitement? This thing is older than you!"

"Because it's a car," I repeat, narrowing my eyes at her. I don't want to kill her short-lived joy, but I'm too paranoid.

The car suddenly roars to life and maybe— for a split second— I understand Ash's elation. It might be older than my grandpa (bless his heart) but it purrs like a newborn kitten. I'll give it that much.

Sal mumbles something I can't hear then situates his hand on the back of Ash's headrest, head peering over his shoulder to back out of the driveway. His eyes meet mine for a short moment before they avert to the window, making sure Henry's car is down the road before beginning to back up.

Oh, if I was Ash with his hand behind my head like that, I'd be feeling a lot of things. Horny being the most prevalent. I definitely wouldn't admit that though. 

"Hey," Ash mutters, eyes on Sal who switches gears and begins driving behind his dad. "Are you... are you sure?"

So it's something they both know about? A spear of unease slashes through my gut, a clear reminder of this conversation we're about to have. The acknowledgement of it makes the inside of Sal's car grow thick with tension. It's almost unbearable— even Gizmo's purring has halted.

"Just get it over with," Sal grumbles, eyes on the road and fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.

I swallow thickly, watching the way Sal completely checks out of reality. Something about his position, his unblinking gaze tells me he's drifted somewhere foreign. He isn't here right now— he's simply driving.

"Okay," Ash whispers before turning to me. Her glossy lips are stretched into a tight line, a shadow of grief darkening her angelic features. "Listen," she starts, normally light and airy tone morphed into something a bit apprehensive, sad. "I'm not going to get into the details of this because it's not my story to tell. But Sal, Larry, Todd, and I agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to give you a heads up... and somewhat of an explanation."

I swipe my tongue along the seam of my lips, my mouth suddenly dry with the worry that skitters along my spine. I say nothing, simply wait for her to continue.

"We are moving to LA to be closer to opportunities, and since it's more fitting for our streaming careers," She tells me, viridian gaze zeroed in on mine. "But there's another, more pressing reason as to why we're moving."

I nod along, waiting, biting my tongue in nervous anticipation. This is where I crumble to ruins, right? When every bad decision I've made comes crashing down around me. I mentally brace myself, fingers closing around the door handle a bit tighter.

"There's a... woman." Sal's hands tighten around the steering wheel, unknowingly mimicking my own actions. "She really hurt Sal. She was put in prison for two years, but... she's being released next week. We don't want Sal to be near her, nor do we want to be near her."

Every bit of air leaves my lungs upon hearing Ash's words. Two years? What the hell did she do to him? I glance at Sal through his rearview mirror, noting how he stares disinterestedly through the windshield.

A kind of emotion I can't quite explain rushes through me. It's understanding, shared grief, fury, sorrow. None of it is aimed at him. It's for him. And part of me aches to avenge him, to find this girl and make her hurt the way she made him hurt.

The truth of it is painful, like some part of me is slowly being ripped apart from my body. It's all so unfamiliar. I can't understand why I feel so strongly about it, especially since I don't even know what this unknown woman has done. The sudden influx of emotions and undeciphered realization that's suddenly hit me overpowers every one of my brain neurons, but I make quick work to try and break everything down.

Now, I understand why he was willing to give me anything so long as I agreed to sex the other night. It was as much of an escape for him as it was for me. I wasn't the only one who needed a distraction.

I feel everything so deeply right now, and assessing the depth of all this emotion makes me realize that I must care for Sal a lot more than I originally thought I did.

Ash lets me mull over the information before speaking again. I feel my heart rumbling, echoing through the hollowness in my chest as she spills more to me.

"The reason we're telling you this at all is specifically because there are people shipping you and Sal together online. Of course, the focus on whatever the hell is going on with you and North has taken some of the heat away from you and Sal— but there's still enough going around that it's worth warning you." I suck in a shaky breath. "This woman has been known to target other women who have a close relationship to Sal. It's all via stalking online and harassment, but it's something I don't want you to have to go through. Something none of us want you to go through."

I'd take it all if it meant I'd get to enact revenge. For myself. For Sal. For both of us. I don't know.

Ash must see it on my face; the tidal wave of emotions that keep crashing into me relentlessly. She gives me a knowing look, a sad smile as if to say she understands. "So, keep us in the know, okay?" She says sweetly, reaching back with her hand, opening it for me. I blink, clutching her warm palm in mine. "If anyone messages you and it's really shitty, or if Sal is mentioned or something, tell us. We'll figure it out." She squeezes my hand, thumb running over my skin. "You aren't alone."

My eyes flit over to Sal again, trying to catch his gaze in the mirror. It almost seems as if he's avoiding me. I try to tell myself it's because he's driving, obviously, but it doesn't feel that way. He doesn't even bother to check if there are any cars behind us, just robotically stares ahead with the air condition gently ruffling his hair. Sleeping with Sirens softly playing on his radio.

My gaze drifts to him throughout the rest of our thirty minute drive to the airport right outside of Nockfell. I can't help myself. Can't help the weight that burdens me.

Eventually, Sal looks down from the windshield to shift his car to park once we get into the parking lot. Then he looks to Ash, gestures for her to get out of the car. And Ash, ever the goddess, snorts before opening her door.

I turn to Gizmo, stick my finger through a slit in his carrier, and scratch under his chin before parting ways, preparing to leave through the door that Ash has opened for me.

"Okay," Ash sighs, a cheery lilt in her voice. "Enough of the bad, more of the rad. It's moving time."

Sal throws open his door before it can even fully unlatch, a man desperate to escape the horrors of his past. The sight causes a twinge of pain in my chest, but I ignore it. I can contemplate this conversation when I'm safe on our plane and have nothing better to do.

I warily walk into the parking lot, surfacing beside Larry who has a blanket bunched in his arms and a pair of headphones around his neck. Something tells me his flight is going to be nice.

Larry takes note of me and throws an arm over my shoulder, offering me a sleepy grin that I try my best to fully return The comfort of his somewhat embrace is needed though. I'm still feeling the whiplash of the conversation I sat in on for the ride here.

I gently grab Larry's wrist and hold on, his thumb comfortingly rubbing over the inside of my palm.

"I think I've got everyone's bags ready to go," Henry says with a little sigh, hands on his hips and cheeks colored pink from handling everyone's luggage. I spot the backpack I came with and watch as Neil scoops it up, throwing a strap over his shoulder.

"I can't believe we're leaving," Ash mutters from beside me, frowning at Henry and Lisa. Her parents didn't come along to tell her goodbye. I hadn't asked her about it because the stress of moving is already enough on her shoulders, but I can't begin to imagine how painful the situation must be for her. I remember how tough it was for me to realize my mom didn't want to be a part of my life anymore-- at least, she 'wanted' to be a minuscule part of my life but not for the right reasons.

Henry smiles warmly at her, walking over to ruffle her hair. "You've said that about fifty times in the last 24 hours, squirrel." His dad chuckle follows and I find myself subconsciously smiling at their interaction. Henry became a stand-in dad for Ash the same way Lisa became a stand-in mom for me. Realizing this brings me some solace. It's a little sliver of light in the darkness of my overwhelmed mind. 

Ash smacks her lips then purses them, trying and failing to hide her affectionate smile. "I know, I know," she fusses, running lithe fingers through her chestnut hair. "It just... doesn't feel real. I've lived in Nockfell for so long."

"And I would be failing all of you if I let you stay here any longer," Henry says gently, helping Ash with her hair by tucking a strand behind her ear. "You're all blowing up. Your options and resources are astronomically limited here. We, as parents, don't raise you to walk in our footsteps. We raise you to walk beyond the path we tread. You're all doing that." Henry's gaze passes over all of us, his eyes watery with a mixture of torment and pride. "So I want you to thrive somewhere that you have a chance to exploit your gifts--" Another sweet smile and I'm getting emotional alongside him. I didn't think I'd wake up this morning with a constant lump in my throat. "Just come visit every once in a while, 'kay?'

Larry's arm flexes around my shoulders and I blink past my tears, squeezing his wrist in my hold. I watch as Sal walks up beside Ash, a hand grasping her shoulder as her bottom lip begins quivering.

I didn't expect this to be so... hard. I knew it'd kill me to leave Nockfell a second time, but taking my old friends with me and having to part with people who have slowly become family is deeply gut-wrenching.

I've learned a lot on this trip. I saw so many things that make it hard to leave because I'm afraid of never seeing them again. I found out that Sal Fisher has a heart, and it's a pretty good one. He has issues, some of which have no doubt influenced his personality, but he's not soulless. He can be kind, he can be funny, he can be a friend. And Henry has clearly been a large influence on the good parts of Sal-- his father is the most selfless person I've ever met, gentler than a mother with her newborn. He has a heart of gold with morals and values that defy modern humanity. The moment Sal took my face into his hands and averted my attention during a panic reflected all the things his father has taught him-- all the warmth he has that he's hidden for so long. Hidden from me.

Looking at Sal now, noting his hand that tenderly runs over the back of Ash's head in nearly the same way Henry did, just reinforces the difference I've observed.

Ash wraps Henry up in a crushing hug, squeezing the man close to her. And he doesn't seem to mind-- in fact, he holds her just as tight. The man presses a kiss to her hair before moving over to hug his son.

We all hug Henry and Lisa, our parting about as heart-wrenching as an ASPCA commercial. But the bright side is that we know we'll see each other again. With our jobs in the streaming industry, we'll have enough money to make frequent trips.

Lisa holds me for a long time, her head rested atop mine and her fingers threading through my hair. Giving me the mother-like comfort that I crave every now and again. And Henry, he presses a kiss to my head the same way he did for everyone else. It's a soothing relief to know that I matter as much to him as the rest of The Faces do.

As I break away from my embrace with Henry, I watch Sal pull Ash to him, his hand cupping the back of her head and holding her close. I can't quite describe the kind of emotion that zaps me when he pulls his dad's signature move and presses his prosthetic lips to Ash's forehead. It's such a precious moment to witness. Ash's response makes it even sweeter; she playfully swats at his arm before leaning down a tad to kiss the cheek of his mask.

I can't help but smile fondly at their sibling-like affection, even if it echoes a bit in the hollowness inside me. I want to be cherished so badly in this moment, to be loved the way this family loves each other.

Sal moves around, hugging Larry, Todd, and Neil before taking a step back as everyone prepares to say their final goodbye's.

The disheartened smile doesn't leave my face as everyone mutters saddened parting words. But I spare a glance at Sal to find him watching everyone the same way I am. His eyes are squinted, the sole indication of his smile beneath that prosthetic.

My breath catches when his eyes, a crystal clear image of the overcast sky today, meet mine. He simply looks at me for a moment, then holds up a hand, middle finger on display.

I blanch, oxygen rushing back into my lungs, filling the void I've refused to acknowledge. Compared to his refusal to even come to the airport in Vegas, I'd say this is a step up.

I bite down on my bottom lip in an attempt to disguise the smile that pulls at my lips and the fluttering in my chest as I flick him off in return.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Dragging my backpack onto this rickety airplane takes a lot of guts. It's so run down and beat up that I can't help but wonder if Amelia Earhart was the last person to sit in the pilot's seat. But hey, if I go missing, I'd be solving a lot of problems. Win-win?

I walk down the skinny aisle, pausing to find my seat-- only to realize that Todd and I are riding together for this trip.

I smile warmly at my dear friend, scooting past him and toward the window seat.

Sighing, I plop into my seat and fasten my seatbelt. "Hey, Todd. It's a shame you and Neil got separated."

Todd tips his head in a silent greeting, a little smile on his freckled face. "Not a shame at all. This is his punishment," he replies nonchalantly. I simply blink at him while fighting off an onslaught of giggles. They seem like the type to have random arguments and disagreements every once in a while. They're totally the couple that fully believes their hiccups make their relationship fun, too.

"I stand corrected then," I chuckle as I pull my phone from my pocket. "Just so you know," I continue, leaning toward him to whisper, "I'm on your side."

Todd laughs, the sound much like bells tolling on a lovely spring morning. He pats my wrist, gives it a little squeeze. "As you should be."

I give him another quick smile before looking at my phone.

I probably shouldn't message Sal. I should just leave it be. I'm not obligated in any way, shape, or form, but... the whole situation is weighing on me. I won't be able to stop thinking about our conversation until I extend my hand-- in whatever weird way that I can given this situation Sal and I have found ourselves in.

And, yes. Of course my messaging him is a split second decision that I'm bound to regret. I feel... closer to him. Like we've bonded somehow. 

Famous last words.

This is a true fool's rose-tinted glasses because Sal is complicated. All of this is complicated and I'm probably mistaking my relation and guilt for his traumas as us forming a connection. 

I swallow over the nerves that ravage me whole and pull up discord, clicking on Sal's and my private messages. His last text to me altered our entire situation. It started all of this:

SALLYFʌCɜ: i wouldn't have made the promise if i didn't intend on keeping it. watch what you say and give ash five minutes to remember that you're in the room. actually, give her brain a boost. SALLYFʌCɜ: come here.

I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating his last message to me before typing up a quick message. I want it to be simple, easy, done. Without considering the past too much.

But I end up typing, deleting, and retyping up until our pilot announces that all passengers are boarded.

My fingers quake as I type up my last attempt and use every bit of willpower to refrain from deleting it all over again. My thumb hovers over the 'send' button and I force myself to look away, quickly smashing the button and pursing my lips as embarrassment rips me to shreds.

I spare a glance down.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm good for more than just fucking if you need a reminder

Why the fuck did I say that? Why couldn't I be normal and just tell him I'd listen to his problems?

He starts typing.

I slap my phone face down onto my thighs and refuse to breathe for a full minute and a half. I take the time to build up the confidence to look, give myself a pep talk. I don't really care how stupid it was. It's done-- I can't change it. It doesn't matter and I don't care.

So with my heart knocking on my ribcage, I hesitantly lift my phone and look down.

SALLYFʌCɛ: i know. SALLYFʌCɛ: thank you

The guiltiest grin blooms on my face. I try my absolute hardest to smash the expression down, to tell myself that his appreciation isn't that serious. That this is just basic human decency. But, damn, something about the way he bothered to say 'thank you' instead of just 'thanks' or even nothing at all...

I put my phone on airplane mode then shut it off, look out the window as our plane begins to power up.

"Hey," Todd suddenly says, his voice inquisitive and a little concerned. "So, sorry if this is prying too much but it's kind of fucking killing me."

I turn my head to look at him, brow raised at his tone. "Don't worry about it," I murmur. "What's up?"

His dark eyes stare into mine-- deeply, investigating my soul like some kind of spiritual detective. I can't help but squirm beneath his heavy gaze, waiting for him to share his thoughts.

He starts slowly shaking his head. "I can't tell which one you're fucking."

Mentally, my eye is twitching.

I catch the shocked cough that almost escapes my mouth. Fear claws its way up my spine as I search through filing cabinets full of words in my head. "Uh," I intellectually start with. "Who says I'm fucking someone?"

Todd blinks, something like clarity morphing his features-- like he just got his answer. "Because you have North bricked up in the supply room of Henry's music store and Sal tracking your every movement like a dog salivating over a steak."

My mouth opens and closes silently up until my mental filing cabinet of words flies open and forces unintelligible sounds and words to fly through my mouth. I choke over my panic and slap a hand over my mouth, watching him with wide eyes.

Part of it is absolute amusement and disbelief over Todd's claims, but the other half of me is petrified by the fact that he sniffed me out immediately. Well, he's trying to, at least.

"I'm sorry?" I snort, my words muffled due to the hand that stays clutched to my mouth.

Todd gives me a no-bullshit look. "I won't say anything," he promises with a shrug. "I know I outted you in Vegas, but that's why I'm discussing the situation with you first this time."

"I'm not--" I pause, dropping my hand from my mouth to properly speak to him. I'm trying to school this and keep the terror out of my gaze, but I think he already knows. "I'm not fucking anyone," I declare, tilting my head down to accentuate my claim.

Maybe he'll buy it. I need him to buy it, actually.

It's not that I don't trust Todd, it's just that I know what he's going to say. It's the same thing anyone in The Faces would tell me-- the same thing Sal has insinuated repeatedly. That I shouldn't be fucking him. I want to avoid that because I already know. I don't want anyone else burying themselves in whatever the hell is going on because I don't even fully understand it myself.

This group is tight-knit. They care. They care so much that they would immediately tell me and Sal to end things and forget it ever happened because fuck buddies are 'toxic' and we 'hate' each other. But with Sal and me, it transcends all of that. We don't have half the issues we started out with, not to mention, our arrangement is working fine. And I'll admit that Sal is the farthest thing from shallow. There are so many twists and turns in his maze of a mind that I'm urged to navigate through it.  

Maybe we're nothing remotely close to normal, it's the complete opposite of what constitutes as tradition. But everything before this pales in comparison. God forbid he hear my thoughts, but Sal is becoming a friend. I had to quickly accept that notion the moment I got defensive over his trauma. 

Todd smacks his lips, a clear sign that he doesn't believe a word I've said. "Fine," he sighs. He seems a bit disappointed... but understanding. Todd loves drama, but he's thoughtful as well. He won't push me to talk if I don't want to. And let's face it, I'm sure he's already set on his opinion of the topic. The only thing he doesn't have is my confirmation. 

"Just be careful, okay?" Todd's brows furrow a bit, a small frown pulling at his lips. "I know it isn't my business, but some secrets are a lot worse than you'd imagine. Fuck who you want, just don't get close enough to get wrapped up in feelings you'd regret."

Apprehension wraps its bony, ashen fingers around my heart and chokes the life out of it. I stare at Todd with wide eyes that have reacted of their own accord. I clench my teeth and think hard about how to organize my thoughts into something comprehensible. 

"Is there something I should... know? About either or both of them?" I decide to ask, clearing my throat when my words come out whispered and hoarse, tangled with anxiety.

Todd presses his lips together, showing off his short temper. "I literally just told you they have secrets and to watch yourself. Read between the lines, y/n. Shakespeare should have taught you as much."

The pounding of my heart dies down a bit at Todd's rushed, frustrated sarcasm. The tension and fear are slowly dissipating, so I'll take Todd's claim to mean that he's just worried for me. North's and Sal's secrets can't be so bad-- everyone has baggage. And I mean, Sal's quite literally been through the wringer. An accident so bad it marred his face, a shitty woman who hurt him, and a dead mother. It can't get that much worse, can it?

I scoff playfully. "I hate Shakespeare. He was the worst person to choose for a comparison, Todd," I say gently, giving him a hesitant smile.

That sets Todd off. For the rest of our two hour flight, he argues with me about Shakespeare's genius. He made some pretty legit claims, saying that Shakespeare knew just how to throw backhanded comments to petty royals who didn't have smarts to decipher the true meaning. That Shakespeare was damn lucky he didn't get killed-- unless he was! 

Yep, a whole debacle on his death came from that. It kept me entertained though. More importantly, it distracted me from Sal who, now that we've landed and are heading to our new apartments, I can't help but worry about.

Ash is sitting beside me watching the buildings of LA pass us by. She squeezes my hand here and again, smile widening when we come across landmarks she spent her own time searching up. It's so sweet-- all the places Ash couldn't visit on her first trip here are all available to her now.

Meanwhile, Larry's animatedly chatting with our Uber driver-- somehow he happened upon the topic of Speedos. Interestingly enough, our driver seems more than happy to let our friend talk. Neil chimes in here and again to add to Larry's outlandish remarks, making the driver nod in agreement or chuckle.

I watch the streets, slowly beginning to recall all the times I've walked these sidewalks within the past year. All my surroundings are starting to become familiar. 

It's comforting knowing I won't be walking these streets alone anymore.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

I set my backpack on the floor, taking in the wide expanse of Sal and Larry's brand new living room. It's enormous; tall ceilings to accompany the loft to one side of the room, then a wall of windows with balcony doors across from me. As modern as it is, it has a nice, darker touch to it. The floors are grey oak, the walls a charcoal color, and the ceiling is bright white— a perfect contrast to the shade crawling upward.

I lick my lips, trying my best not to gape at the only room I've seen so far.

Larry whistles his adoration for the place, standing in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, inspecting every nook and cranny of his new home. He's but a speck of dust in a fancy cave. "This shit's pretty hardcore," he murmurs.

Neil places his bag on the floor beside mine, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Didn't you check the place out already, Lar?" he asks, a cheery edge to his voice.

Larry, in response, snorts and waves Neil's comment off. "Duh," he sarcastically answers. "This place has too much pizazz for me to not admire it like a middle aged man admires his new lawnmower. This is ejaculation material, bro."

Todd sighs obnoxiously, but Neil nods his head beside me, handsome smile on his face as he says, "Fair enough."

I seem to have found myself quite the group.

Ash glides her way through the entrance, giving the big room a once over and an approving nod that says she likes the apartment. She glances over at me, gestures with her elbow. "Looks pretty similar to ours, Vee," she chirps, viridian gaze glittering in the lovely sunshine that filters through the big windows. Sal and Larry didn't get an apartment, these dudes bought a house. In the sky. This thing is too extravagant to be undermined with the term of 'apartment.'

And then Ash's claim spins around my head, hitting all sides of my cranium to solidify the fact that we have a near identical home.

My eyebrows bunch together and I blink at Ash. "Wait, what?"

Ash simply shrugs, little grin plastered on her lips as she scrolls through her phone and plops herself onto the floor. She sits criss-cross applesauce and drags my backpack over to her, tucking it into her lap like a pillow. "I'm calling Sal to let him know we made it," she mutters, clicking on her phone a couple times before putting it on the ground in front of her.

I see a pig-tailed, really tiny Sal on her phone. His contact picture. He and Ash are standing side by side, both of them holding up bunny ears behind each other's heads. Ash looks exactly the way I remember her as a teenager. Sal looks the total opposite of what I thought though.

Part of me expected him to be this super lanky, scene kid. I mean, the hair said enough. But he just looks awkward and childlike here. His eyes are big and bright, happy. He's on his tiptoes to try and add some height to his small stature, so he doesn't look quite as short next to Ash. It's refreshing— clearly, he hasn't always been so... closed off, mean, and unhappy.

The call suddenly accepts and I'm forced back to reality, especially when someone who absolutely cannot be Sal Fisher answers the phone.

"Hey, sweetheart," he starts warmly, tone cosplaying as a literal cinnamon roll. Gooey, sweet, and cozy. "Did you guys make it safe?"

What brain slurping alien has taken over his body? There's no way that's him.

I think back to our night in Nockfell-- he called me sweetheart. He's calling Ash the same. Is this the true Sal? Laid back, caring, and gentle? Is that what he was trying to portray to me when we acted as distractions to one another?

"Sure did, mi corazón," Ash replies in a sing-song voice, rocking back and forth. "How are you and Gizzy? Staying safe? What's the ETA?"

I hear a low, content chuckle from the phone and swear I've been thrust into an alternate reality. "I'm fine, Giz is great. He's napping on my lap while I drive. Staying as safe as an eyeless guy can. And we should be there around midnight tonight."

Ash frowns. "Midnight? Why don't you guys stay the night at a hotel? Kinda risky to drive for so long."

Sal hums in contemplation. "My chances of finding a pet-friendly hotel are scarce. It's more trouble than it's worth. I don't usually go to bed 'til early in the morning anyway— you know that. I'll just get our bags down when we get there and save the unpacking for tomorrow."

"Let us know when you get here then," Ash murmurs worriedly. I grab my phone and check the time. It's six in the evening. Is he really going to drive for another six hours? "And please, drive safe. Don't forget to eat and stay hydrated. You literally take, like, two weeks off all our lives the longer you aren't around," she adds, tone much like a grandma fussing.

Sal laughs heartily on the line and my lips quirk up at the sound. "I will, I will," he replies to her, voice lovingly tender. "I'm about to stop to pick up dinner and feed Gizmo. I'll update you later, 'kay?"

"Okay," Ash chirps, satisfied with Sal's promise. "Ik houd van jou!" She kicks her feet after speaking, pinching her lips together and staring at the ceiling excitedly, waiting. Ash and her languages... I have no idea which one she just spoke, but usually if it's not in English, she's saying 'I love you.'

"You too, darling." Sal knows her as well as I do. This interaction is too precious-- I should not have been present for it.

Ash ends the call then looks over at us. "He's in such a good mood," she whisper yells, exhilaration scrawled across her face. She looks like she just did a line of coke. "He never says he loves me too!?" She whips her head to Larry, eyes narrowing as she inspects him. And Larry, he balks; holds his hands up in surrender to accompany his saucer-sized gaze. 

"Is he on drugs? Did you give him something?" Ash asks, raising an eyebrow but never letting up that little glare she has going. 

"No!" Larry exclaims, voice cracking. His surrendering hands turn upward in an exasperated shrug. "Why the hell would I send him on a road trip with drugs? We're talking about Sal."

"Exactly. We are talking about Sal. Sal who likes to party with you. See where I'm going?" Ash counters, tilting her head to accentuate her point.

Larry opens his mouth to argue, but then his brows furrow and he snaps his mouth shut, looking off to the side contemplatively. I'm still reeling over this news about Sal supposedly liking parties. "Okay, I see," Larry grumbles. "But seriously, I didn't give him anything. Hell, I don't even have anything."

"I wonder what the hell has him so cheery then," Ash mumbles to herself.

"It's trauma, dude, I swear," Larry declares passionately, pointing at Ash with one hand while the other buries itself into his hair. He's just had an 'aha!' moment. "He's fucking coping. Let the man cope."

Ash stuffs her face into her hands. "Larry," she says darkly, voice muffled. My hair stands on end at her tone and I note Larry grimacing beside me. "That is not funny."

Larry purses his lips and takes two steps back. I watch him struggle, cheeks going red as his mouth works. Like he's trying so desperately hard to not say something. But when can he ever keep his mouth shut, right? This is King Cockblock. Emo Buff Daddy.

"Sal would've laughed," he says softly, wincing when Ash's head snaps up and she sends him a cold glare. 

I giggle when Ash launches into a full frontal attack, heading straight for Larry who squeals like a piglet. Todd simply sighs, pinching Neil's arm who laughs at our friends.

As unclear as everything is, I know that I can rely on the people here with me. The excitement on their faces just from knowing they have a new start, surrounded by one another. This is solid, this is good.

Ash and I eventually find our way three stories above Sal and Larry's apartment to our own apartment. It's at this exact moment that reality sets in. Not only will I be beside Ash every single day from here on out, but the rest of our friends are in the same exact building. For as long as I've felt alone, I feel stuffed with company and I love every bit of it.

She wasn't wrong either. Our apartment is essentially the lighter, more feminine version of Sal and Larry's. The floor is a dark, mahogany color but the walls are eggshell white, creating a lovely contrast in the room. Our ceilings are still stunningly tall, but unlike Sal and Larry, we don't have a loft. Just a lot of fan room, as Ash joked. 

We spent time having our 'ooh' and 'ahh' moment, exploring our spacious three bedroom apartment and its bathrooms. And not long afterward, we set up the one blanket I brought with us in the middle of our living room. We ordered ramen and had a picnic beneath the moonlight fluttering in through our balcony windows. 

It's a girl's night that I've been craving since the moment I first left Nockfell all those years ago.

Ash ends up dragging me and our little blanket out onto our balcony so we can stargaze. In fact, we're in the middle of discussing Twenty One Pilots's new album when pale hands suddenly drop onto Ash's shoulders. 

She and I both yelp, Ash's arms flailing and her eyes squeezed shut in absolute terror as she flings herself off our blanket. I flinch, spinning in my sitting position to see Sal who's absolutely grinning beneath his prosthetic.

I look past him, noting Larry and Neil hovering in our living room with bags and suitcases surrounding them.

Oh, an important note, all three men are completely shirtless. Even better, they're a little sweaty too.

"What the fuck, Sally!?" Ash yells, sighing exasperatedly as she lifts herself from the ground and walks over to Sal, wrapping him up in a tight hug. "You're lucky I'm relieved about you being here because I would so twist your dick if this were any other situation."

"Thanks for sparing me then," he chuckles, hand splaying across Ash's lower back as they break their embrace.

I've found myself wordless all day. I feel like a spectator-- like I'm not even here with them on this balcony.

Ash ignores his remark. "Why are your nipples out? Why do you smell like a wet dog?" she asks instead, wrinkling her nose and leaning away from him.

Sal rolls his eyes and moves his arm away from her. "Because I've been unloading. Why else?" He steps aside, ushering Ash back into the apartment with a gesturing hand.

She follows his unspoken command, walking through the balcony doors and beholding the sheer amount of smelly men in our new home. "You should have called us for help," Ash murmurs, hands on her hips as she comes to a stop before Larry and Neil.

Sal doesn't answer her immediately. Instead, he looks over at me with his bright eyes that have been phenomenally captured by the moonlight above. He tilts his head toward the door, silently telling me to follow Ash's lead.

Gulping, I lean down and quickly gather my blanket in my arms, trying my absolute best not to express the nerves ravaging me whole. Sal's here. I don't really hate him like I thought I did. And he hasn't spewed insults at me yet. It's awkward and I feel... shy?

I start walking to the door, making absolute sure not to look at him. 

As I pass through the threshold, I can feel the very tips of Sal's fingers brush along my side. Even in LA's smoldering weather, chills suddenly erupt along my skin. I don't know what kind of touch it was-- a greeting or a reminder of his presence-- but it was certainly something. 

I suck in a quick breath, counting my steps so as not to trip over my feet as I walk further into the room. 

Sal follows, shutting our balcony doors behind him and moving to point at all the luggage on the floor. And, oh, thank God, someone was either smart enough or kind enough to bring an air mattress. "This is all your shit, Ash," Sal sighs sarcastically, though there's some amusement beneath his facade.

"How did you manage to fit all of this into Sal's trunk?" Larry asks, gathering his hair into his hands, a ponytail between his teeth. "Everyone else had, like, three bags. Here you are, bringing your entire closet and then some."

"Uh, yea." Ash's attitude comes out full force, a glint in her forest eyes that says she's ready for this argument. "I brought my entire house, dude. I just moved states away, if you didn't know."

Neil cackles, grabbing onto Larry's shoulder for support. "I'm so glad we all moved together. I never get tired of you guys."

Someone get this man out of the room. Neil's a really handsome mouse surrounded by vultures, especially shirtless like this. Sal blinks at him then turns away and-- honestly-- I'm not far from having to do the same.

Ash smirks at Neil, shifting her weight to one leg to accentuate her little sassy pose. "You're going to get tired of us when we finish unpacking our stuff. After that, we're going pack up all of y/n's stuff to haul it here."

Neil tries to mask the way his face suddenly falls at the reminder that we're moving me here too, but he miserably fails. His quivering lips say enough and the group of us can't help but burst into laughter.

"It shouldn't be too bad." I send Neil a reassuring smile. "I'll rope Nate into helping us somehow--"

"Your hot LA bestie?" Ash squeaks excitedly. She turns to me with her hands fisted beneath her chin, her previous attitude mist in the wind now.

My brows furrow. "You think Nate is hot? You? Ms. Scissoring Expert herself?" I can't help but pick on her a bit.

Ash's excitement morphs into flattery at the name I came up with for her. "Oh, come on. It's not that shocking is it? I indulge in men sometimes."

"Yea, every three blue moons," Sal chimes in, watching us with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

Ash sticks her tongue out, mocking him before she focuses back on me. "Definitely invite the hottie," she tells me with raised brows.

Whatever Ash wants, Ash gets.

I grab my phone without another word and start typing out a message to Nate. Ash watches over my shoulder, her coconut and poppy scented hair brushing along my chin.

Me: hey, i'm moving. help pack???? pls???? :DDD

Nate: I swear I wasn't serious about revoking your brownie rights. You don't have to leave.

Me: LMAO i promise that's not the reason the faces just moved to la & ash invited me to live with her soooo

Nate: So you hate me is what I'm hearing.

Me: --_--

Nate: Lol. Kidding. You know I'm happy to  help with whatever you need.

Me: this is why ur my favorite ex <33

Ash gasps. "You dated the hottie?" I fling my head around to look at her, forgetting she was in on this entire conversation.

"Woah," Larry adds, hands waving like he's washing windows. "You dated the guy who tried to kill you before our stream?"

I shake my head disappointedly, glancing down at my phone to see if Nate fixed my fuck up. And he has, so I show everyone the message.

Nate: We've never dated. I'm not your ex.

Me: but you're clingy like one so you  might as well be... plus you literally drop everything to help me

Nate: Have fun packing on your own.

Me: I'M SORRY I WAS JOKING

Larry's cackling by this point, watching the conversation over my other shoulder. "I'm so proud of you for inheriting my good humor," he squeezes my shoulder in his big palm, causing a grin to split across my face.

The boy's start talking about something that I don't care to listen to. I just spare Sal a couple glances, noting his unfazed and easygoing persona right now. All day, I went against all that my DNA has decided about him. I've worried and sympathized, battled myself constantly at the expense of my own sanity just because he showed some of his truth to me once. 

Nockfell changed things. 

I left LA lustful and I've returned with a friend.

-----

A/N::::: WHO'S READY FOR THE GANG TO MEET NATE OMGGGGGG

so sorry it's been fucking FOREVER guys >~< this was kind of a hard chapter to write. i had a general layout with certain scenes and whatnot but i've had to do SO many transitions, as you can see. I kinda hate that cuz i'd much rather stick with one theme and gently lead into side pieces in one chapter rather than bouncing ALL over the place. but, as you can tell, this chapter was needed to address some of sal's issues, y/n's thoughts and feelings as of current, as well as the way their relationship has changed a bit :3

ofc the other reason i've been gone is cuz of that stupid accident i had o_O for those who don't know, the summary is that i hit my foot so hard it made me faint and i literally shmacked my head on the floor HAHAAAAA here's the update: it's been two weeks and my foot hurts even more than it did when the accident happened. the day of, i got x-ray's and my doc said that i just had a bruise but i'm going to another doctor for a second opinion. i'm literally not even bruised anymore, but still swollen asf and can hardly walk sooooo that's tomorrow's agenda. i'll update you guys again when i find out more!!! (psa, if my foot is broken/fractured before my beach trip in two weeks, the hospital i went to better start counting its MONEY not its DAYS because guess who'll be going to fucking COURT with my DISCHARGE PAPERS AND WORK EXCUSE STATING THAT I AM HEALTHY AND OKAY TO WALK AROUND??????????)

tell me how i can improve! how could i make my transition smoother? what are some thoughts and/or actions i could add in to make things more entertaining and personal? also give me some fun words!! i need to expand my vocabulary >.<

anyway, as always, i love you guys with all three of my working limbs, even my janky foot. smooches and squishes my loves <333

(p.s. sorry for the long ass note)

(p.s.s. sorry for the shorter chap </3)

[usafphantom2]

Navy Making Final Selection For F/A-XX Stealth Fighter, Plans For 2030s Service Entry

While the Air Force’s NGAD fighter initiative currently paused, the Navy is pushing ahead with its similar F/A-XX stealth jet program.

Posted on Oct 3, 2024 7:49 PM EDT

The U.S. Navy expects its sixth-generation fighter to enter service in the 2030s, bringing with it the ability to operate alongside drones and fly missions at long ranges — capabilities seen as essential for future conflict with China, for example. The Navy’s ambitions, if realized, mean that the service may introduce its next-generation crewed fighter before the U.S. Air Force, which is now re-examining requirements for its new stealth combat jet, with the program on temporary hold.

Boeing

The U.S. Navy expects its sixth-generation fighter to enter service in the 2030s, bringing with it the ability to operate alongside drones and fly missions at long ranges — capabilities seen as essential for future conflict with China. The Navy’s ambitions, if realized, mean that the service may introduce its next-generation crewed fighter before the U.S. Air Force, which is now re-examining requirements for its new stealth combat jet, with the program on temporary hold. As it sits now, the Navy is late in the source selection process on who will build its next generation fighter and that decision could come soon.

Like the Air Force, the Navy is working on its sixth-generation fighter as part of a program named Next Generation Air Dominance (NGAD). The Navy crewed fighter is often referred to as the F/A-XX. The Navy is involved in direct cooperation with the Air Force’s program and both initiatives put crewed fighters at the center of a broader ‘system of systems’ that will also include advanced Collaborative Combat Aircraft (CCA) drones.

A Boeing concept artwork for the F/A-XX next-generation carrier fighter. Boeing

But increasingly the programs seem that they might be headed in differing directions, certainly as far as current timelines are concerned.

The Navy’s sixth-generation fighter will have “advanced sensors, advanced lethality, advanced range, and being able to integrate with manned and unmanned capabilities together,” according to Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) Adm. Lisa Franchetti, quoted in an article by Air & Space Forces Magazine. This matches what we previously knew about the initiative.

Based on what we know about the two services sharing some technology and even control capabilities for CCA drones, it’s not a surprise that Franchetti mentions the manned/unmanned integration. “That’s one of the things, as we learn from the Air Force and the work they’re doing, to integrate that with what we know that we need to be able to do,” she added.

Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Lisa Franchetti delivers remarks during the Inter-American Naval Conference (IANC), in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, September 24, 2024. IANC was established in 1959 to strengthen the bonds of friendship, partnership, and collaboration among Western Hemisphere naval leaders through the exchange of ideas and knowledge. (U.S. Navy photo by Senior Chief Mass Communication Specialist Elliott Fabrizio/released)

Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Lisa Franchetti. U.S. Navy photo by Senior Chief Mass Communication Specialist Elliott Fabrizio/Released Senior Chief Petty Officer Elliott Fabrizio

The mention of range is also particularly interesting.

Faced with the prospect of a potential future war in the Pacific with China and facing ever more advanced and further-reaching air defenses, as well as the vast distances involved in such a theater, long range was always seen as being one of the core capabilities of the Air Force’s NGAD fighter. That requirement is likely now being reassessed, although the Navy remains committed to it, according to Franchetti. Allowing for the carrier air wing to be able to reach relevant target sets and at a significant frequency while keeping the carrier itself at a safe distance from anti-ship and other anti-access capabilities is a glaring issue for the USN. Dramatically increasing the unrefueled combat radius of at least some of its fighters, which would be paired with CCAs with similar endurance, would go a long way to solving this problem.

The CNO added that the service plans to place a contract in time for the new fighter to enter service in the 2030s.

This is the same kind of timeline that was anticipated for the Air Force’s equivalent new stealth fighter, but the current situation could push that date further to the right.

Exactly how the Air Force’s NGAD fighter might be rescoped is unclear at this point and elements of the design have always been a tightly guarded secret anyway.

As it stands, however, the Air Force’s NGAD program is under deep review, and there may be significant revisions to better reflect what the service wants — or can afford — out of its next fighter. Above all, this situation has been driven by the realization that the highly advanced aircraft might cost three times as much as a new F-35 — upwards of $300 million per copy. The Air Force is now eying a far less expensive aircraft, coming in at roughly the same price as an F-35 or F-15EX does, at around $90 million to $100 million each.

You can read our deep dive into what this revised NGAD could look like here.

An F-35 Lightning II test pilot conducts flight test Sept. 10 to certify the carrier variant of the fighter aircraft for carrying the AGM-158C Long-Range Anti-Ship Missile (LRASM). As part of ongoing integration efforts, the Pax River F-35 Integrated Test Force (Pax ITF) team flew two days of test flights to evaluate flutter, loads, and flying qualities with two AGM-158 loaded on external stations. LRASM is a defined near-term solution for the Offensive Anti-Surface Warfare (OASuW) air-launch capability gap that will provide flexible, long-range, advanced, anti-surface capability against high-threat maritime targets. The Pax River ITF’s mission is to effectively plan, coordinate, and conduct safe, secure, and efficient flight test for F-35B and C variants, and provide necessary and timely data to support program verification / certification and fleet operational requirements.

An F-35C stealth fighter carrying AGM-158C Long-Range Anti-Ship Missiles (LRASM). U.S. Navy/Dane Wiedmann

U.S. Navy/Dane Wiedmann

The Navy’s F/A-XX has also not been free of financial woes. As we reported back in the summer, the program’s budget, which was already set to be truncated, could be cut even more severely in the next fiscal year. Members of the Senate are proposing to give the service nearly 90 percent less funding than it asked for to support continued work on the new carrier-based fighter. ‘Black budgets’ also play a role in a program like this too.

Franchetti didn’t appear to mention those fiscal concerns, but the fact that she still said the service expects the aircraft to enter service in the 2030s makes it clear that the program remains a top priority. Still, it’s questionable just how achievable that goal is, and ‘2030s’ is a broad window to begin with.

Whether realistic or not, the Navy will first have to choose between Boeing, Lockheed Martin, and Northrop Grumman, which are currently in competition to provide the F/A-XX. Franchetti said that the service is now in the process of selecting which design to pursue. Meanwhile, it is understood that just Boeing and Lockheed Martin are perusing the USAF’s manned NGAD fighter tender, with Northrop Grumman dropping out of the competition in part to focus on the Navy’s program.

It was always considered likely that the F/A-XX would share a powerplant with the Air Force NGAD, using technology being developed under the Next Generation Adaptive Propulsion (NGAP) program. With that in mind, it’s possible that the Air Force reducing the goals of the NGAP program — in line with reductions in performance targets — could have a knock-on effect on the capabilities of the Navy’s NGAD fighter. Whether the Navy would be willing to take a performance hit on its fighter if it meant saving a lot of money, both in development costs and eventual production expenditures, is unclear.

General Electric’s XA100 adaptive cycle jet engine during testing in 2020. General Electric GE’s XA100 engine on a test stand. GE Aviation

Aside from the cost factor now impacting decisions on the future of the Air Force NGAD program, there are increasing signs that the service is also reconsidering whether the crewed fighter concept, as understood up to now, is actually the best to meet emerging threats.

As far as we know, however, the Navy still expects its F/A-XX and its accompanying drones to replace its F/A-18E/F Super Hornet multirole fighters as well as its EA-18G Growler electronic attack jet, all part of reshaping a carrier air wing that could eventually feature as much as two-thirds uncrewed aircraft.

Intriguingly, however, Franchetti said that, while it’s important that the Navy and Air Force NGAD programs are aligned to some degree, this wasn’t the most critical factor in the Navy’s F/A-XX efforts.

Making an effort to distance F/A-XX from the current uncertainties around the Air Force’s NGAD is perhaps understandable, considering the pause on the latter program.

The Navy should have a much better idea of how the Air Force’s potential overhaul of its NGAD affects its program of the same name once the flying branch makes a decision on the path it wants to take for its sixth-generation fighter initiative. Such a decision is due to be made in the next few months.

(ILLUSTRATION) -- An artist illustration depicts a sixth generation air dominance fighter during an evening mission over an undisclosed location during a future near-peer conflict. Mike Tsukamoto/staff; Boeing

An artist’s illustration depicts a sixth-generation air dominance fighter of the kind being developed under NGAD. Boeing

The Air Force has reiterated that it is committed to having a crewed stealth fighter at the heart of the wider NGAD initiative and that it will have a human pilot to start with, although an optionally crewed version might ultimately be developed too.

“I’m absolutely confident we’re still going to do a sixth-generation crewed aircraft,” Secretary of the Air Force Frank Kendall said in July of this year.

Even if the Air Force NGAD effort ends up taking a radically different approach to meeting the service’s future air combat requirements, that also doesn’t mean that the Navy will not be able to benefit from technologies and concepts spun off from that program or run collaboratively.

“I think more broadly, as all the services work together to make sure that they have complementary capability, ‘Where can we learn from each other?’” Franchetti asked. “Where can we leverage that learning so you can be more common in the future?”

While the Air Force NGAD initiative has been characterized by its secrecy, the equivalent Navy sixth-generation fighter program has been proceeding, if anything, even more in the shadows. It remains to be seen to what degree the pause on the Air Force program will affect the F/A-XX, but the release of any new details about the programs at this critical stage is of great interest, to say the least.

Contact the author: thomas@thewarzone.com

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part VII

Auld Lang Syne

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: We’ve finally made it to 1943! Can you believe it will soon be a whole year since the night Bobby and Peach met?

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

To ring in the new year in the story, the title of this chapter is based on the holiday classic, Auld Lang Syne. To get in the spirit, check out this 1939 instrumental version by Guy Lombardo!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter​. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, talk of the holidays, brief allusions to the trauma of war, references to rationing, and a ton of fluff.

January 12, 1943

Dear Peach,

Happy New Year! I know we’re only 12 days in at this point, but I hope that 1943 is already shaping up to be a good year for you. Hopefully it will be a good year for all of us. And I look forward to hearing all about your Christmas back home in Georgia!

Now to address that “elephant in the room” as you called it—well, Peach, I see no elephants, but I do see what has to be the most beautiful and elegant photograph I’ve ever had the good fortune to lay these sorry eyes on. Are you sure you really meant to send it to me and not to MGM? You could be a movie star! I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was announced that their next big picture was starring The Sweet Peach from Georgia. Hey, maybe that could even be the name of the movie. What do you think?

Peach, I hope you know that I’m not teasing and I’m not kidding. And I hope my saying so doesn’t come across as forward, but you really are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, whether in the movies or in real life. Part of me was starting to wonder if maybe I’d dreamed it all up, that night we had together in Charleston. Could any girl really be that beautiful and kind and funny and smart, all wrapped up in one splendid person? But then I opened your last letter and your photograph fell out of the envelope, and I realized that sometimes real life can be even better than our dreams. Because you, Peach, are even more stunning than you were in my memories. And you know what makes it even better? That your beauty shines from the inside. Looking at your photograph, I can see all the kindness and gentleness and goodness that I’ve come to know so well, shining in your eyes and brightening your smile.

Gosh, am I rambling? I’m sure I am. But I don’t want you to feel embarrassed, not for a moment. And to think that you would even suggest I take a photograph this beautiful and shove it in a drawer or throw it off the carrier! That would be an absolute crime! It deserves to be framed and hung for everyone to admire. I admit that I’ve never seen the Mona Lisa, but I can already guarantee that you’re a thousand times prettier. But can I tell you the truth, Peach? As much as you deserve to be universally praised, I’ve been very selfish. The fellas are all quite jealous, you see, that the prettiest girl in the world has chosen to write to me, of all people. So I keep your photograph tucked close to my heart, away from all the guys. Don’t want to rub salt in the wound, you know?

Benny and Tommy Boy wanted me to respectfully let you know that you looked quite lovely in your photo, and that they’d be more than willing to serve as pen pals to any of your friends back home who may be in need of some correspondence.

Will you do me a favor and thank Dottie for this little scheme of hers? I knew that I liked your sister already, but this has truly solidified it for me. She’s a smart woman, that Dottie Sheridan. And I hope Frankie’s birthday pictures turned out just as nice as yours!

Can I tell you something else, Peach? We’ve been doing a lot of flying over here, me and Paul and the rest of our squadron, as I’m sure you can imagine. Paul keeps a photograph of Natasha and the kids in our aircraft when we’re flying. He says it brings him good luck and helps him remember what he’s fighting for. I like to keep a photograph of my family with me while we’re flying so that I can remember the same. But now I carry your photograph with me, too. And I think I understand now what Paul meant about his photo bringing him luck. Every time we’ve flown since I started carrying you with me, I feel this extra sense of protection. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. You’re my good luck charm, Peach, and I thank you for that. Thanks for helping me remember what I’m fighting for, every day that I’m here. And, hey—it’s sort of like we’re flying together already, right?

I was glad to hear that you enjoyed the pumpkin pie story, and that my utter humiliation could at least bring you some laughter. It’s funny that you should mention my mama setting aside some pumpkin pie for me because I did, in fact, receive a letter from her not long after Thanksgiving, and she told me she had done just that. She said that she’s hoping and praying I’ll be home for pumpkin pie this year. I hope she’s right.

I’m so happy to hear that you got to spend time with your folks and be together for the holidays. And happy belated birthday to little Frankie! They grow up fast, don’t they? Natasha sent Paul some photographs from Paul, Jr.’s first birthday, and neither of us can believe how big he’s gotten. Natasha says she’s writing down all his milestones in a little book for when Paul returns, so that he doesn’t miss a thing. I know it makes Paul feel good to hear that. He misses them so much.

I hope you don’t mind me doing so, but I shared with some of the guys on the carrier how you offered up your Thanksgiving gratitude and prayers for us. It lifted a lot of fellas’ spirits, I’ll tell you that. We were all missing home a little extra around the holidays, but to be reminded of why we’re doing this, and of the good people back home who are thinking of us, really makes all the difference.

Now to hear that you were an excellent pupil back in your grade school days does not surprise me one bit, Miss Peach. It’s funny that you say that you’re hopeless when it comes to arithmetic because I was always rather hopeless when it came to my writing—as I’m sure you can tell from the woeful state of my handwriting. My teachers at school—and yes, even my professors at Annapolis—always scolded me over it. Everyone has their strengths, huh? But if you don’t mind handling the writing, I’m more than happy to take care of the numbers and figures. We’d make quite a team.

Peach, I can promise you that the thought of getting to share another dance with you is one of the few things that keeps me going on the days when this war just really takes all the stuffing out of me. I just hope it’s something that YOU still want when all is said and done. I’m sure all the boys are lining up to sign your dance card.

Speaking of, have you been to any more dances at the USO lately?

You’re right when you say that Paul, Tommy Boy, Benny, and I couldn’t be any more different if we tried, but we do have a special bond and I’ll always be thankful for that. I’m glad to know you have that, too, with Dottie and Paddy and the rest of your family.

That glass of lemonade in Charleston sounds real nice right about now. It’s cold and rainy where we are, but I’ll be dreaming about that South Carolina sunshine.

My family was telling me about the coffee rations in one of their last letters. I am sorry to hear about that. I can only imagine how hard that’s hitting people, especially Paddy. I used to see him down at least three or four cups in the morning, back when I was stationed stateside. I’m sending all my best wishes that you and Dottie can survive his grumbling.

Peach, I just want to close by letting you know, once again, how much your support means to me. Truly. I hate to dwell on the negative, but there are days when this war is really hard. In fact, there are days when it feels downright impossible. But then I reread one of your letters, or take out your photograph and gaze at that pretty smile, and my hope is bolstered. You’ve given me so much, through your words alone, and I want you to know that.

I miss you, too. Who knows? Maybe 1943 will be the year we finally get that dance?

I hope so.

Very Truly Yours,

Bobby

February 3, 1943

Dear Bobby,

Happy New Year! 1943 has been treating me kindly so far, but it would be even better if it was the year that you and the rest of our boys came home. Just like your mother, that’s what I’m hoping and praying for.

My goodness, Robert Floyd, you certainly know how to make a girl feel special! I have to confess, I must have read your letter through a good two or three times when it first arrived in the mail, and I couldn’t stop blushing or beaming the whole time. Dottie said that I looked like a giddy school girl, which taught me that I really ought to read your letters in the comfort of my own room instead of in front of my nosy big sister.

Just so you know, Dottie gladly accepts your praise and thanks, and has not let me live it down for a moment. She has not failed to remind me that big sisters know best, and that I shouldn’t be so afraid to trust her, because look how well her plans always turn out? Well, knowing her my entire life, I can quite confidently say that Dottie’s plans don’t ALWAYS turn out well, but I am glad that this one did.

I’m certainly no movie star, but Dottie did work her magic on me that morning, and I’m touched beyond words at your kind reception of such a silly little thing. My cheeks still feel warm, even as I write to you now. Do you really carry my photo with you, even when you’re flying? I can hardly believe it, but I know you’re an honest man, Bobby, so it must be true. And if it brings you any sort of luck while you’re up in the air, then I’m glad for it and I’d send you a hundred more photographs if I could. I want you to come home safely, Bobby, more than anything. I need you to make it home safely so that we really can go flying together one day.

Please send my thanks and my best wishes to Benny and Tommy Boy, who are both clearly gentlemen of the highest caliber. But I’m sorry to tell them that I don’t have any girlfriends I can match them up with. Truth be told, I don’t have many girlfriends to begin with, and most of the women I do know are spoken for.

Speaking of which, do you remember my friend, Emily? She was the blonde volunteer working at the punch table with me the night we met. That was so long ago now, it’s okay if you don’t remember. Anyway, she just got engaged! She and her fiance actually met that night at the dance. His name is Eddie and he’s a corporal in the Army. He was stationed in Charleston for about a month or so after you were deployed, and he and Emily got to spending a lot of time with each other. They wrote to each other after he left, and Eddie proposed while he was back in Charleston on a short leave last month. Isn’t that something? It’s funny how things work out sometimes. I had thought Eddie was going to ask me to dance that night, but it was Emily he wanted to dance with. And look how well it turned out for them! I’m really happy for her. She’s so excited. They’re hoping that the war will be over soon and Eddie will come home permanently so that they can plan a big wedding. Emily even asked me to be one of her bridesmaids! I was Dottie’s Maid of Honor when she got married, but I’ve never been anyone else’s bridesmaid, so it’s all very exciting. A little bit of good news and hope in the midst of so much ugliness.

Christmas in Georgia was lovely, even if it was a little quieter than Christmases we’ve enjoyed in the past. I did get to see my grandparents, and some of my aunts and uncles and cousins, and that was a joy. If there’s one thing this war has taught us, it’s that spending time with the ones you love is really what matters most. My aunt actually made a pumpkin pie for dessert on Christmas Eve and I couldn’t stop giggling, thinking about your pumpkin pie fiasco as a little boy.

I hope that Paul, Jr. had a wonderful first birthday, same as Frankie! I think it’s an absolutely marvelous thing Natasha is doing, writing down all the special moments that are happening now so that Paul can relive them when he gets home. What a special gift that will be! Would you do me a favor, Bobby, and send Paul my best? I’ll never forget his kindness at the dance that night, and I really do hope he’s doing well.

Of course I don’t mind you passing along my best wishes to the rest of the men! I feel like I have so little to offer, and so little to contribute to this war, so if my thoughts and prayers can help lift even one person’s spirits, then I’m happy to hear it.

I’m also happy to hear that you’re good with numbers and figures because I simply never have been. I’d suggest that you could tutor me when you return home, but I’d be embarrassed for you to see just how truly hopeless I am when it comes to my mathematics. Instead, I’ll gladly take you up on your offer to handle all the writing if you handle all the numbers. An excellent team we’d make, indeed! And believe me when I say that your handwriting is far from the most dreadful I’ve seen. You should see my father’s and Paddy’s—completely illegible! Paddy once left me and Dottie a note letting us know he’d be home late that night, and we sat up for hours worrying because we couldn’t even read what it said! So trust me, Bobby, your writing is not as woeful as all that.

You can also trust me when I tell you that there are certainly no boys lining up to sign my dance card. I’ve volunteered at several other USO events, but truth be told, I haven’t gone to many dances since that one back in May. Emily’s always trying to get me to go with her, and I have gone to a couple, but it just doesn’t feel the same, Is that silly? I know we only got to attend one dance together, but it just doesn’t feel right, being there without you, Bobby. Every time I did force myself to go, I’d hear a song that played that night and then I’d miss you too much. The next time I go to a dance, I want you to be there, too, and I want us to be dancing together. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of lemonade for us afterwards.

I think Paddy is finally recovering from his caffeine withdrawals, thank goodness! Dottie and I have been cutting back on our coffee consumption so that he can have some more in the morning. I have a feeling more rations will be coming soon, which is why Dottie and I are already making plans to revive our Victory Garden this spring. We didn’t pay as much mind to it last year, when everything still seemed so readily available, but this year we’re determined to grow as much as we can. We’re not exactly farmgirls, my sister and I, so maybe you could send us some tips?

Bobby, if my words bolster your spirits, then I want you to know that your words do that a hundredfold for me. Receiving your letters in the mail brings me such joy. I have every single one saved, and I read them whenever I’m feeling sad or scared about the war. Have I told you lately how glad I am that we met and that we’re still exchanging letters all these many months later?

Here’s to hoping that 1943 is our year, Bobby. I hope that I’ll be seeing you real soon.

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. I almost can’t believe I’m asking this—and I hope you don’t think it too forward—but is there any possibility that you might have a photograph you could send? I can still see your face so clearly in my memories, Bobby, but it would be so special to have a photo to remember you by. If not, it’s okay. I just thought I would ask. Stay safe, Bobby.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Family odds.

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x reader, Oliva!Priscalla x reader, Austin!Elvis x Oliva!Priscalla.

Scenario: What if the reader in 'ain't that something universe' was black?

Warning: Racial slurs, Time-period racism, Lisa Marie wanting to kick someone's ass,

Summary: you were as sick as a dog and Priscilla was heavily pregnant, so it was up to Elvis to get medicine for you and to look after the children but someone shows their disapproval about his growing family.

"Spencer, Savannah, Lisa Marie! Let's get a move on!" Elvis called out for the rest of his children while bouncing his newborn son Eric Presley with car keys in hand, soon he could hear rapid footsteps racing downstairs with a "Coming daddy!". Lisa came down holding both of her sibling's hands with a big smile on her face "Which car are we taking daddy?" she asked taking Eric into her arms as Elvis bend down to hug the twins, of course, Spencer, the youngest of the two pretend to dislike it while his sister, Savannah giggled her little heart out.

"Your Favorite one." He answered, standing back up and opening the door, so the children could go before him, once they were out the door he closed and locked it. Elvis smiled at his little, well not so little family, Lisa was already helping her little siblings into the car seats. "Thank you, honey," Elvis said getting in the driver's seat

Luckily they were able to reach a drugstore and unnoticed, quickly Elvis and Lisa got Spencer, Savannah, and Eric into the store without much trouble "Let's split up," Elvis suggests, kissing Lisa's head before walking the other way with Erice. Almost immediately he found the medical aisle "Is that thing yours?" An elderly voice came from behind him "what?" he looked at the old woman, who was glaring at his son in his carrier, oh, Elvis can already feel his blood boil.

"'That thing' is a boy and yes he is my son." He replies " You fucked a nigga?" she said with disgust in her voice "What did you call MY ma, fucking bitch?!" Elvis and the hag turned around to see Lisa Marie with the twins clinging to their sister's pants "Lisa" Elvis hissed, the old woman just stood in shock from the disrespect "Don't look shocked now, you CU-" Lisa Marie started but the store clerk, that arrived at the scene, cut her off "What's wrong here—wait are you, Elvis Presley?" The young girl asked which he reply with a nod and a kind smile. "is this woman bothering you, Mr.Presley?" the girl asked again "Actually," Elvis paused to look at the old woman "She is." at that the clerk grabbed the hag and moved her out the building, while the said elder yelled profanities at Elvis and his children but he chose to ignore it instead looking at his oldest daughter with a disproving look "What?" she raised an inquiry, Elvis just shook his head with a "We'll talk about it later."

"How do you know those words?"Elvis wondered, focusing on the road "You, Ma, and Mama say it all time at night, weird enough" Lisa shared looking back at the twins playing in the backseat. "We do not" "Yeah you do I heard you said 'such a fucking slut' once, whatever slut means." Elvis's eyes widened and he quickly turned the music up on the radio.

'God help me.'

Taglist: @galaxygirl453, @babyxshy, @powerofelvis, @lovincherries @godlypresley, @plasticfantasticl0ver , @ophelia-writes-stuff

[girls-band-headcanons]

When lisa, aya and himari go shopping tomoe is the bag carrier. Pounds upon pounds of bags. She always gets something in return from himari though.

Copious amounts of food.

Mod Fusion: Tomoe was definitely the girl who grabbed all the chairs, when the teacher asked for someone strong to carry them.

[fangbangerghoul]

Howdy yall!

It's sunday so yooooou know what that means!!

S N I P P E T S U N D A Y

This week has been a long one.

tagging: @bearlytolerant @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @lisa-and-shadow @therealgchu

The air was chilled. Neither of them expected the life functions to be down on the ship, not yet at least. There was a whispered modulated voice in the distance as Ghoul slowly moved her way into the room. The culprit popped out behind a tower of shipment crates, pointing his gun steadily at her. Her yellow eyes narrowed and before she had the chance to grab her knife a bullet flew from behind her, hitting the spacer. She did not have to turn around to see who had fired the shot, the heavy boots echoed in that rhythmic step and that was enough.

            “I thought you said you could handle this?” An annoyed growl came from carrier of the boots. His accent of Latin decent and the question was more like a challenge. He always liked to challenge her.

            “I thought you said you’d wait for my signal.” She spun to face him to show him the sardonic smirk on her face. “Didn’t seem like you could give me a fucking second.”

            “Cut the crap.” Delgado spat; his hand motioned towards the dead body. “You may be good at throwing knives but a knife isn’t faster than the laser pistol he was going to kill you with.”

            “Guess we will never know.” She blew out air in exasperation then moved forward without allowing Delgado another word in. His clamoring boots were like nails on a chalkboard for her. It seemed like none of the people she ended up traveling with knew what stealth was.

            “We don’t have much oxygen left on this ship.” He pointed out the obvious as he followed. Ghoul noticed her warm breath becoming more visible as the ship grew colder. They would have more than oxygen to worry about if they did not get back to their own. Ghoul wondered if Delgado appreciated his fingers as much as she did and if he was willing to lose them since he was taking the time to bitch about the obvious. 

[theunstuffedpepper]

I’ve read 5 books since Derrick was born 6 weeks ago, and this most recent book was the first one that I really enjoyed quite a lot. If you’re into true crime at all, I recommend reading None of This is True by Lisa Jewell. It was a twisty read that sorta reminded me of that show on Netflix, Dead to Me. It was a fun read and kept me engaged even at all crazy hours of the night when I’m up with the baby, which I feel like is saying something.

I had my 6-week postpartum check up appointment yesterday and I brought my tiny friend along for the trip. He was a big hit of course. I’m glad to say I’ve healed up completely so I can start getting back to normal life, little by little.

Today we’re doing a morning together as a family - we need to go pick up groceries and hopefully some mums. Then we’ll prep some food for B to take on a weekend away with his business partners. He’ll be gone from tonight through Sunday, so it’ll be me and the boys for the weekend along with help from MIL. I can’t say I was thrilled that after spending so much time away working on the apartment building recently, B and his friends/business partners are also now doing a weekend getaway to an airbnb on the lake, but it’s fine. He works hard. It’s good to relax, too. When do moms get to relax? That’s yet to be seen. 😆

We’ll aim to go to a harvest fest tomorrow.. I don’t wanna miss out on all the fun fall festivals just because we’ve got a tiny tot in tow. I’m happy to try and strap him into the baby carrier and do our thing. Can’t wait to do apple picking, too.

Happy fall Friday, friends. Enjoy that cool weather.

[greed-the-dorkalicious]

Ok so I was talking about this on Twitter earlier today BUT. Johnny comes across like a super macho guy, but like, you have to understand that he's a Girldad. He lives in a place that looks like Lisa Frank's take on an aircraft carrier, he has absolutely let the kids give him makeovers before. He loves his daughters VERY deeply and he also has 12 of them (yes I am including Janus, a cat can be a daughter). However, as a certified ladykiller he clearly also knows the importance of skin care and specifically taking care of your lips. Given this and the fact that he has 12 young daughters, he probably buys those big packs of fun flavored lip smacker, in other words

Thank you for understanding.

[miyuhpapayuh]

11. heated.

Fourth of July. 

"Well, I really don't celebrate white man holidays and shit, but if you find something cool for us to do, then I guess I'll come." Stevie shrugs and turns her attention back to the Living Single marathon on tv.

Tyler rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen. "Me either. I just want a plate of food. Find those little sparklers and get drunk, ya know?"

"You like being drunk, huh?"

"Eh, I'd rather be high, but drinking is cool, too."

"Hm, my friends—" Stevie sits up on the couch, and stares through the wall like Tyler can see her.

"Girl, those bitches are not your friend."

Tyler comes around the corner, with a plate of eggs.

"Why you say that?"

Stevie's eyebrows furrow.

"That Melissa girl literally left your ass, the last time y'all went to the club. Amber's ugly ass boyfriend almost fought you over some petty bullshit, and don't even get me started on Lis���"

"Okaaaay! Alright!" She holds her hand up in the air, making Stevie stop.

"Melissa didn't leave me. Aaron was waiting on me—"

"Wasn't he just as drunk as you were? Irresponsible, but go on." She folds her leg over the other.

"Whatever. Amber's boyfriend is a bitch. I coulda taken his ass." Stevie places her fingers on the bridge of her nose, listening to her ridiculous excuses.

"That's not the point—"

"He's no John. I woulda handled it." Tyler rolls her eyes, watching Stevie's facial expression change.

"And, Lisa never did anything to me, Stevie. I told you that."

"Right. It's not like she hasn't lied to you before, or anything." Stevie shrugs and gets up from the couch.

"Just.... let me know if you find something. Without them being involved." Tyler raises an eyebrow. Stevie walks towards the steps.

"You know, cause I hate to go to jail on a holiday."

Standing in front of her full length mirror, Tyler messes with the frayed ends of her homemade, blue jean shorts. Her red halter crop top stops just above her belly button, and her hair is pulled up into a messy bun.

Stevie struts into her room, with a smidgen of attitude still evident on her face. Her gray striped dress hugs her figure, her light purple toes sit pretty in her black sandals.

"What are you doing to your hair?" Tyler says, not looking her way.

"What's wrong with my hair?” She asks, turning back toward the mirror to look at her messy bun.

"You're gonna leave it like that?" Stevie rolls her eyes.

"Yes. It’s like ninety-seven degrees outside."

Turning around on her heels, she leaves out and heads downstairs.

Stevie's irritation is stemming from many things. For starters, her cycle came yesterday, throwing her attitude into the pits of hell and making her hornier than ever, with no solution. On top of that, it's hot as hell outside and all she wants to do is stay inside, but both Rod and Tyler are making her leave her air conditioned house for a party at Tyler's cousins' house. And last but definitely not least, the argument that her and Tyler had earlier didn't help a thing.

"Rod's here," she yells, before opening the door and heading down the steps.

He looks up and blows out a rough breath. Between the scowl on her face and the switch of her hips, he's conflicted on giving her a compliment.

He steps out of the car and walks around to greet her. She wraps her arms around his torso, burying her face into his warm chest.

"Hey baby," he runs a hand down her back, "you look good."

"Thank you," she murmurs, "you smell good."

Moving away from his chest, she pokes her glossy lips out, pecking his juicy ones twice.

"Does your stomach still hurt?" She pouts and nods her head.

"I'm sorry, babygirl. I know this heat isn't making anything better, but I want you to have a good day." She pulls away and opens up the back door.

"It's cool. I took some medicine and I've got extra products, just in case. I just need a blunt or something." She sits down on the seat, watching Tyler come out of the house with two small carrier bags and a bottle of Bourbon.

Waving the bottle in front of her face, Stevie snatches it and knocks half of it back.

"Damn!" Tyler laughs and pulls the passenger door open, while Rod moves to where Stevie is.

"Why you sittin' in the back?"

"I'm gonna lay down. My head is pounding and there's more room to get comfortable, back here." Tyler tosses Stevie's bag in the back.

Stevie reaches inside and grabs her red sunglasses, sliding them over her eyes.

"Aight. I got you about that blunt, too." He winks at her, before closing the door. She smiles to herself, before a cramp comes and knocks it right off her face.

Pushing the bag to the other side of the seat, Stevie lays down and places her head in the middle of it. The car starts and they head towards their destination.

"So," Tyler starts, "this party is supposed to be fun. My cousins always know how to have a good time. Stevie can vouch for me."

"Yeah, she's right. They're the reason I started drinking before I was legally allowed to." She hums and rubs her stomach.

"Sounds like a good time. Is the house big?" Rod asks.

"Hell yeah!" They reply in unison. He laughs.

"Do y’all want me to stop and get some water or something? Chips? Water?"

"Yes, please." Rod pulls into the parking lot of a convenient store. He takes his seatbelt off and turns sideways in the seat, looking at Stevie.

"The salt and vinegar ones?" She nods, reaching inside her bag for her wallet.

"Uh uh, I got it. Put that back."

"How you know what I was reaching for?" He smirks.

"Cause, I know you. You want water or a soda?"

"Soda. I need a rush of caffeine through my system." He nods and looks over at Tyler.

"You want anything?"

"A water is fine, thank you." She stuffs a dollar in his hand, before he can protest.

"Alright," he chuckles, "I'll be right back."

"Thank you." They say in unison, again.

The door shuts and the mess starts.

"You love that boy, don't you?" Stevie blows out a breath.

"Tyler, can we please—"

"I just wanna know! At this point, you have to. I see how y'all be talking to each other. How y'all look at each other. Girl, if you don't be straight up and tell me."

"Okay!" Stevie starts laughing, sitting up in the seat. "I do."

Tyler squeals and swats her leg. She flinches.

"But, we've only been dating for a few months! I feel like that might be a little too fast." She shakes her head.

"Girl, life is too damn short to be putting timelines on shit. So what, y'all only been together for three months? You know what's happened in those three months? He killed a mothafucka for you. He's been your first every-fucking-thing. You've met his mom. He's met both your parents. He knows how ridiculous they are, and still comes around. He's dealt with your bratty ass, this long and still comes around. He's so sweet to you. I think it's totally okay that you love him. You'd be crazy to not have feelings for him." Stevie playfully rolls her eyes.

"I guess you're right. I'll tell him. Just not right now." 

Tyler starts to say something else, but Rod opens the door. Tyler turns around her seat, while Stevie stares out the window.

"Y'all alright?" He hands Tyler her water. She nods, sending a thank you his way. He pats Stevie's leg, making her look in his direction and grab the bag from him.

"Thank you, baby." He smiles and puts his seatbelt back on, starting the car back up. Stevie opens her bag and begins stuffing her mouth with the salty goodness.

On the way there, she dozes off. Tyler laughs and gets out of the car. Rod turns the car off and walks around to her side.

"Go ahead, I'll get her up." Tyler pulls her bag up on her shoulder and heads down the crowded block a little to find her cousins.

Opening the door, Rod gently shakes Stevie from her short slumber. She reaches for her shades, pulling them from her face.

"We're here, babe." She sits up and fixes her dress, before stretching a little and getting out. She grabs her bag and he helps her up on the sidewalk.

Locking the car, he grabs her hand and they head down the block to find Tyler.

"You're gonna love 'em. Watch out for Tasha, though." He looks down at her. She just laughs.

"Oh my gosh, Stevie!"

"Hey!" Two girls, about five foot seven, stand in front of Stevie. One has the same complexion as Tyler, while the other has an olive undertone.

"You look so good! We haven't seen you in forever! Where have you been hiding?"

"More like who has she been hiding." One of them points at Rod. Stevie tightens her grip on his hand.

"Who's the cutie?"

"Oh, isn't he? This is my boyfriend, Roderick." Stevie looks up at him, "that's Tasha and that's Tia."

He waves. "It's nice to meet you, ladies."

Tasha plays with the ends of her red hair, staring him up and down.

"Quit looking at him, like that." She thumps Tasha's arm, bringing her out of her trance.

"Oh calm down, girl. I ain't gon steal him." She scoffs and pulls Rod deeper into the crowd, introducing more of her extended family.

They find a couple of chairs in the shade. Stevie sits down, pulling her bag onto her lap.

"Can I ask you a question?" She nods her head, beginning to rummage through her bag. He sits down beside her.

"Have these past couple months been what you wanted?" She looks up from the bag, giving him her attention.

"Baby, they've been the best three months of my life." He grabs her hand and squeezes it.

"Why... is there something wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nah. I just wanted to ask. I know we get kinda ambushed from time to time, so I just wanted to make sure you were loving this just as much as I am." She cracks a smile.

"You don't ever have to worry about that." Tyler walks up with two red cups, filled to brim with some kind of red and blue mixture.

"What's that?" She hands Stevie one and hands Rod the other. Stevie sniffs hers and immediately jerks her head back.

"Woah! How much alcohol is in this?"

"It's probably more than fifty percent. I made it special, just for you. It has strawberries, blue raspberry kool aid and Smirnoff in it."

She bravely puts it up to her lips and takes a sip, utterly surprised at how good it tastes.

Tyler giggles and sticks her blue tongue out at her. Stevie shakes her head.

"Wow... I was expecting it to be very strong." She looks over at Rod, who's still inspecting his.

"Try it! It's good!" Tyler slurs.

"We just got here, and you're already tipsy." Stevie points out. Tyler just shrugs.

"I never waste time, you know that."

Rod shrugs and knocks the drink back, licking the access off his bottom lip.

"See! It's just you who's being a party pooper."

"Well excuse me for having cramps!"

"You're excused, bitch." Tyler quips. Stevie brings her shades back down over her eyes.

"This why I hate when you drink." She finishes off her drink, sinks down in her chair and crosses her legs.

"Whatever. Try to enjoy yourself for God's sake!" With that, she stomps off.

"I don't mean to pry, but is she always like that?" Stevie sighs.

"Unfortunately. It only helps that she's under the influence and around her friends." She made sure to put air quotes around the word.

"Huh... does she know how you feel about them?" Stevie sits her empty cup in the grass and turns toward him.

"Yes. We actually had an argument about it, earlier. I told her that I didn't wanna be around them, because of x, y, and z, but she always makes excuses for them. I'm already in a bad mood as is, and I made it clear to her that if something jumps off, I'm going to jail."

Starting to say something else, he hears the song that was playing in the club on their first date. Stevie, however, is too heated to realize.

"Come dance with me." He stands up and holds his hand out. She grabs it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

"I also got a stress reliever for you, back in the car." She lets out a satisfied hum, trying to suppress her smile.

"You're my ladyyyy..."

His hands find her hips, running soothing circles into her skin. Her arms drape over his shoulders.

"You feelin' any better?"

"Yeah, the cramps are finally going away."

"I'm glad, babe."

She lays her head on his shoulder, watching people interact. Some are smoking, drinking or dancing, while others are huddled in groups.

She leans up and pulls his face down to her level to place a juicy kiss on his lips.

He comes back in for another one, before pulling away with a smirk on his face.

She stifled a giggle, while he gently swats her ass.

"Hey! If I didn't think you were so dreamy, I'd smack the shit outta you." He chuckles and rubs his hand over her warm cheek.

"My bad, baby."

"Yeah, yeah,” she lets out another giggle.

"Back the fuck up, Amberrr!" Tyler slurs from wherever she's standing.

Stevie sucks her teeth and starts scanning the crowd for her drunk friend.

"I can't leave that girl alone for one— oh no."

Before Rod can question her, she's zooming through the crowd.

He chases after her, nearly knocking people over to try and catch up with her crazed pace.

"What the fuck? Get off of her!" Stevie grips Amber's arm, pulling her away from Tyler. Amber hauls off and smacks Stevie across her face, knocking her shades off.

Rod stops dead in his tracks at the sight, insanely baffled. He's conflicted, knowing she can handle her own but also not wanting anybody to hit his girl.

Stevie briefly touches her stinging cheek, before lunging at Amber, knocking them both to the ground.

Amber scratches at Stevie's face, making it bleed. The ring on Stevie's finger connects with Amber's left eyelid, slicing it. She grips her hair and punches her in the face, over and over again.

"Stupid bitch! I told Tyler, I don't like your ass! Then you wanna hit me?!" She continues to assault her face, until Rod forcefully pulls her away.

"Get off me!" She swings her legs, trying to make contact with her before she's completely pulled away.

"Stevie, what the fuck?!" Tyler appears in front of her with a crazed look on her face.

"You can not be serious, right now." Stevie looks her over. Her crop top dirtied up with grass stains, arms and knees skinned and hair all over her head.

"I am serious!" She hiccups. "Why'd you do that? I had it under control! You just gotta save everybody, don't you?!" 

Stevie tries to break away from Rod's hold, but he doesn't budge.

"Why are you talking to me, like I did something wrong? What the hell did I tell you, before we got here? Huh? I told you that if them bitches started something, I was gonna finish it. I was helping you out—"

"Oh, big and bad Stevie has come out to play, everybody!" She waves her hands in the air, causing everybody to look at her. She even starts laughing, infuriating Stevie even more.

"You're such a pest, you know that? I can't handle myself, so you're always right there to 'make everything better', right?! Leave me the fuck alone! I can handle myself, Stevie! You're not my mom!" She pushes her chest, roughly.

Stevie pulls an arm free and punches her in the nose, sending her to the ground.

"Fuck you, Tyler. Find somewhere else to stay, tonight. Maybe your bougie ass friends or your cousins can help you out, cause I'm done." She walks away, Rod in tow.

He allows her to walk ahead, knowing she definitely needs some space. He didn't wanna say anything stupid or anything that would trigger her.

"I've always done right by her stupid ass! She's never even said thank you. It's always about be fucking irresponsible and doing what she wants to do. Fuck me, right? I'm a pest, right?" She furiously wipes the angry tears away.

"Stevie..." she spots the car and walks towards it, yanking at the door handle. He sighs and unlocks the car, watching her climb inside and close the door.

Heading towards the drivers' side, he hops inside and sits sideways, facing her. She looks down at her chipped and broken nails, letting the tears slide down her face.

"None of those bitches are her friends. I've told her than many times, but she won't listen to me. Her cousins don't even like them. Hell, they probably didn't even know they were there."

"Some people just have to realize things on their own, babe. You can't help someone that–"

"Doesn't wanna be helped, I know. But, she's like a sister to me, and for her to treat me like this is beyond me. I never acted like I was her mom. Her own mother doesn't even act like that towards her, I just try and be the best friend I can be. I guess that's not good enough, anymore." She shrugs.

He blows out an exhausted breath, not knowing what else to say. He just starts the car up and starts driving away from the house.

"What about your bag?" She shakes her head.

"It was mostly her stuff. She can have it."

Stevie picks pieces of grass out of her hair, while Rod stitches her face up. She hisses and ashes the blunt in her ashtray.

"Stay still," she leans her head on the mirror, looking at him through her low lids.

"Alright," he closes the small first aid kit and places it back under the sink. "I'm all done."

"How does it look?"

He sighs, placing his hands on either side of her thighs.

"It looks better, now that it's closed."

She pouts and sticks her bottom lip out. He chuckles and pecks it.

"I've got something to tell you."

"Is it good or bad?"

She starts laughing, reaching out for his hand.

"It's great."

"Aight, lay it on me." Intertwining their fingers, he watches her facial expression soften.

"I uh.... I love you."

Stuck in his stance, his eyes dance across her face in shock. She sits up, staring right back at him.

"Babe, say something."

"Wow... you love me."

"Of course, I do. Are you shocked?"

"I'm not— I just.... I guess I underestimated how you felt about me."

"Why? How? I love being around you. I love talking to you. I miss you all the damn time, even when you're right in front of me...You're the best boyfriend a girl could ask for."

"Stevie..."

"I know, this is probably the first time I've told you this stuff, but I was scared. I've never been in a relationship before and I was scared that if I let how I was feeling, that you wouldn't feel the same, but even if you don't, it's okay." She rambles.

"It's a good thing that I do then, huh?"

Her eyes widened. "Huh?"

That boyish grin spreads across his face. He takes her face into his hands, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you, too."

Tyler drags herself downstairs to sit on her cousins' couch. She reaches up to scratch her nose, instantly regretting it.

"Ow, what the fuck!" Tasha comes out of the kitchen with an ice pack.

"Stevie socked your ass, yesterday. Put this on it." Taking the ice pack, she presses it against her swollen face.

"Damn, what the hell happened?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" Tia comes to sit beside her, giving her a disgusted look.

She shakes her head.

"Your stupid ass decided to get drunk, invite those skanky ass bitches that you know don't give a damn about you, and start cursing your best friend out."

"I thought you liked them—"

"No, we don't! We've told you that! Stevie told you that!"

"I'm sor—" Tia shakes her head, holding her hand up.

"Nah, you're irresponsible. You don't give a damn about anybody but yourself. Your best friend took your bratty ass in, cause you hated being around your parents and this is how you repay her? You do know that's her house, right? I wouldn't even let you come back."

"What did I even say that was that bad?" Tasha's eyes widened in disbelief.

"You called her a pest, Tyler. Said that she's always trying to save you from everything, like you can't handle yourself. Well let me tell you something..." Tia stands up from the couch.

"What?"

"You can't! You're a fucking child! You think that because you got a job and you can drink, that you're an adult. Adults take responsibility for their actions. They don't blame shit on other people or push away the people that help them." Tyler pulls the ice away from her face, allowing a tear to fall.

"Tia, I said I was sorry!"

"You really are." She looks between her and Tasha, before walking away.

"Look," Tasha starts, "you can stay here, cause I'm sure Stevie doesn't wanna see you anytime soon, but don't expect us to deal with your bullshit."

Tyler sighs, tossing the pack on the coffee table. In all honesty, she knows that she messed up, but she doesn't wanna admit it.

"You know..." Stevie takes another hit from her second blunt, "it felt good to punch her."

She begins to laugh to herself, while handing the blunt back to Rod. His low and red eyes dance lazily over her face.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've always wanted to hit her. She's always been a fucking basket case. She never took up for me, it was always the other way around. I always dealt with my own problems, on top of hers. It's never been fair.... ever."

"So.... what are you gonna do?"

"I don't want her coming back here. I don't wanna see her. That's where I'm at right now."

She places the blunt back between her lips, and runs her hands through her tangled hair.

Sitting upright, he watches her inhale the smoke through her nose and close her heavy eyes. He sighs.

"I know you don't wanna hear this, but at some point, y'all have to talk this out. You gotta tell her how you feel and make a decision on whether y'all separate or whatever." He stands up from the bed and leaves the room.

She stares at the ceiling, letting her thoughts drown out the sound of any and everything else.

Do I want her to leave? Do we really need to talk this out? Is she sorry?

"She's not sorry. I know she isn't."

"I meant— everything I said. I don't need to fuckin' apologize." Tyler turns up her third bottle of Scotch.

"If anybody should apologize... it should be her! She caused a scene!" She screams, tossing the now empty bottle on the floor.

"Tyler, shut the fuck up! It's your fault! You fucked up!" The door swings open and Tasha walks in with two duffle bags, tossing them on the bed.

"Stevie doesn't want you coming back for a while, so you'll be staying here. You have to work tomorrow, so you gotta sober up and shit. If I catch you going anywhere near that house, I'm beating your ass. Got it?" Tyler waves her hand and hops off the bed, stumbling around to pick up her mess.

"Ain't nobody worried about that girl. I'll go back, if I wanna go back." Tasha grabs her by the front of her shirt.

"Tyler, I'm not playin' with you. Leave her alone." Yanking away from her, Tyler sucks her teeth and tosses a bottle cap at her.

"I heard you!" She sits down on the floor and palms her pounding head.

"Stop drinking this shit." Grabbing the bottles off the floor, she leaves out.

"Mgh," she grabs a hold of the door and pulls herself up. Sitting back on the bed, she stares at a blank spot on the wall.

The next day.

Heading into the work was a disaster for both Stevie and Tyler. 

Stevie's tire went flat, which made her late for work and she ended up having to drive fifteen minutes in the opposite direction to put air in it.

Thank God for forgiving bosses.

Tyler still refuses to admit that she's wrong.

She ended up being an hour late, due to her hangover and stubbornness. Tia had to unwillingly drive her to work, since she was already headed that way.

"I wish you'd stop being stupid, and just apologize." Jetting into the parking lot, she unlocks the door and looks at Tyler.

"I don't feel like I've done anything wrong."

"Well kiss your friendship goodbye, then." Tyler scoffs and gets out, slamming the door behind herself.

"Screw you, Tia!"

“Slam my door again. It'll be me and you!” Tia yells through the window.

Heading inside, she storms behind the counter and pulls her apron on. A woman walks up to the counter and snaps in her face.

"Excuse me, can I get some service over here?" Tyler stares at her through her thick lashes.

"If you could give me a second and stop snapping at me, I'll be right with you." The woman rolls her eyes, but keeps quiet.

"I swear..." she mumbles to herself, before motioning the woman to come forward. "What can I get for you, today?"

"I want the French toast special, with scrambled eggs and bacon. For the drink, I want a black coffee." Tyler scribbles the order down on the pad, before handing it to the cook.

"Alright, that'll be $12.41." The woman pulls out a $20 bill. Tyler opens the register and gives her the correct change.

"Here's your change and your receipt. Can you sign this copy for me?" Printing her signature at the bottom, she gives Tyler the copy and stuffs hers in her pocketbook.

"How long will it take?"

"About fifteen minutes. Do you want your coffee now?" She shakes her head and walks toward the bench by the door.

"I can take who's next!"

Meanwhile...

"I don't know.... I'm just done." Claire rubs Stevie's shoulder, while she fills her in.

"Have y'all talked?"

"No, and I don't want to. If she's sorry, she knows where I am. She has my number."

"Well—"

"No well. It's been three days and I haven't gotten an I'm sorry, yet. She can keep it, at this point." She stands up and dusts off her skirt, heading back to her station.

Stevie, you've got a phone call." She huffs and grabs the phone from Alex, the only guy that works at the coffeehouse.

"This better be Tyler." She mumbles, before putting it up to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Stevie, dear!" Her eyes pop out of her head.

"Joe?! Oh my God!" She covers her mouth and walks back towards the hallway.

"It's been quite some time since I've heard from you dear. How have you been?"

"I— I've been good. How have you been? How's everything?"

"Well, my daughter was able to take me in after I had to sell the house. Even though that was painful, I thank God for her."

"I'm sorry that I haven't kept in touch. So much has been going on—"

"Ah, don't apologize. Life has a way of doing that. I'm just glad you're doing good. I see you found a job!"

"I did! Can I call you, when I get off? We gotta have a heart to heart.”

"Of course, doll. I'll talk to you later."

They hang up and she walks back, putting the phone back on the hook.

"Why is it so slow today?" Alex asks. Stevie shrugs.

"A storm's supposed to be coming. I guess people wanna chill at home and make their own coffee, today." She jokes.

Claire comes out of the office and starts stacking the chairs up on empty tables. Stevie and Alex look at each other.

"Claire, what's wrong?"

"There's a storm coming in like an hour. We gotta close up early."

"It's that bad?"

She nods, still pulling chairs up. They shrug and start helping out.

"Said it's supposed to knock the power out and shit. I don't know about y'all, but I'd rather be at home instead of stuck at work."

"Yeah, we fell out over the weekend. She's just too pigheaded for me, ya know? Like, everything has to revolve around her." Stevie sits on top of some blankets by the window, watching the heavy rainfall on the street below, while Rod raids her fridge.

"I know, dear, but you girls have to talk about this. Even if you don't continue being friends."

She mentally cringes at the thought.

"Mhm... terrible thought, right?"

She sighs. "Yeah, but I don't know if I can continue to put up with this mess, Joe. She's become too much!" Running her hands through her hair, she grumbles to herself.

"It'll all come to you in due time, honey. Whatever's supposed to happen, will happen. Now, who's this young man that your mother has been telling me about?"

"Why is she spreading my business—"

"Hey, hey... all she told me was that you met someone, he's very sweet on you and you seem very happy. I just wanted you to confirm it, so I can ask where the wedding invitation is!" She laughs, feeling the blush rush to her cheeks.

"Yeah, I have a boyfriend. He's the sweetest guy I've ever met." She looks behind her to see him at her counter, chewing on an apple. She laughs and shakes her head.

"Where'd you two meet?"

"We met at school. He almost wiped me out and asked me for my number, and since he was so fine, I gave it to him."

"Ah, my baby's growing up. Tell him that I'm a black belt." She cackles.

"Cut it out!" He laughs, too.

"How long has it been for you two?"

"Three beautiful months."

"Oh, you sound like you're in love." Rod kneels down beside her, placing his elbows on the ledge.

"I just might be, Joe."

"Well, I've gotta get going. Sarah's taking me grocery shopping with her, before the storm starts over here. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay, tell her I said hi. I love you, old man."

"And, I love you, dear." Hanging up the phone, she wraps her arms around herself and stares at the rain.

"You alright?" Rod asks, rubbing her back.

"Yeah, I just miss him. He's like a second grandpa to me." She sighs and pulls herself up.

"I'm not sure if we should be sitting here, like this. Let's sit on the couch." She helps him up and they fall back onto the comfy cushions.

The phone rings again. Stevie sighs and drags herself to grab it off the blankets, pulling them up as well.

"Hello?"

"Stevie, just listen to me, okay?" Stevie purses her lips, but rolls her eyes at the sound of Tyler's voice.

"Okay."

"I— I'm sorry, okay? I know I did you wrong and I said some shit that I can't take back. I just wanted to call you and let you know that, cause it's been beating me up and I know better. You're not a pest. You make me a better person and I hate you for it," She lets out a laugh, "listen... you don't ever have to forgive me, but I just wanna say that I lo—"

"Tyler? Hello?"

The line cuts out and Stevie pulls the phone away from her ear. She sits the blankets down.

"Hello?! Tyler!" She tries to call back, catching the dial tone. She frowns and walks back to the couch.

"Fucking storm knocked the line out!" She sits down and places her head in her hands.

"I'm sure she's fine. The storm's knocking the power out, all over the city."

Before she can nod, something hard hits the door making them both jump.

"Fuck was that?" It sounds again, this time harder.

"Open up, bitch!" A woman's voice comes from the other side of the door.

"You've got the wrong house!" Stevie yells.

"Nah, I got the right one! Where's my boyfriend?" She yells.

A confused expression finds its way into both of their faces.

"The hell? Who are you looking for?" Obnoxious knocking begins.

"I'm looking for Roderick! I know he's in there, his car is out here!" Looking over at Rod, she gives him a hard glare.

"Who the fuck is that?”

“Open this motherfucking door, before I blow it down!” She yells, clueing him in instantly.

“My psycho ex-girlfriend.” He sighs, standing from the couch.

Stevie scoffs.

"So, I gotta fight a bitch in the middle of a storm, is what you're telling me?"

tbc…

@soufcakmistress @thegifstories @blackerthings @cocoa-puffs @chaneajoyyy @abeautifulmindexposed @twistedcharismaaa @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @sheabuttahwrites @blackpinup22

[moyvv6cymi6hun]

*while Lisa is crying in Rogers arms about her brother Andrew pops up to try to lighten the mood*

Andrew: all this talk about Arthur has given me an idea for a game the how is Roger the new Arthur game I'll start blue eyes too smart for their own good and gay

Roger: shut up you patchwork poodle or I'll lock you in a soundproof pet carrier and throw away the key

*Andrew throws Roger a picture of Arthur*

Andrew: see you Queens even look alike

Did this happen?I wasn't paying attention. Don't worry I have plans for that's little Poodle ( I'm gonna lock him in the vent

[sarkos]

Many of the College’s most radical views target transgender people, and in particular, transgender youth. The leak, which had been indexed by Google, includes volumes of literature crafted specifically to influence relationships between practicing pediatricians, parents, and their children. It includes reams of marketing material the College aims to distribute widely among public school officials. This includes pushing schools to adopt junk science painting transgender youth as carriers of a pathological disorder, one that’s capable of spontaneously causing others–à la the dancing plague–to adopt similar thoughts and behaviors. This is one of the group’s most dubious claims. While unsupported by medical science, it is routinely and incuriously propagated through literature targeted at schools and medical offices around the US. The primary source for this claim is a research paper drafted in 2017 by Lisa Littman, a Brown University scholar who, while a medical doctor, was not specialized in mental health. The goal of the paper was to introduce, conceptually, “rapid onset gender dysphoria”—a hypothetical disorder, as was later clarified by the journal that published it. Littman would also clarify personally that her research “does not validate the phenomenon” she’d hypothesized, since no clinicians, nor individuals identifying as trans, had participated in the study. The paper explains that its subjects were instead all parents who had been recruited from a handful of websites known for opposing gender-affirmative care and “telling parents not to believe their child is transgender.” A review of one of the sites from the period shows parents congregating to foster paranoia about whether there’s a “conspiracy of silence” around “anime culture” brainwashing boys into behaving like girls; insights plucked in some cases straight from another, more insidious forum (widely known for reveling in the suicides of the people it has bullied).

American College of Pediatricians Leak Exposes 10,000 Confidential Files | WIRED

[nightafternightpod]

*** EXPLICIT LANGUAGE & WARNING ***

This podcast video includes discussions of topics which could be triggering for some listeners! CW in effect for r*pe, religious guilt, victim-blaming, and alcohol-induced blackouts. LISTENER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Laverne wakes up from a black-out drunk evening on top of an aircraft carrier with her clothing torn and disheveled. On her way off the boat, she gets saluted by the sailors on board for activities she cannot recall. By the time they "toot the big horn" at her, she suspects the worst has occurred. Running to the nearest church for confession, she asks if she can still make it into heaven in light of her "bad deeds." The priest recommends she take a sabbatical at a nunnery as an act of contrition. But unlike stuffy old monasteries, the silent nuns who worship here break up the monotony with pottery making, football playing, roller skating, and pickle smuggling. Laverne causes chaos at every turn, until she forces one of the nuns (Louise Lasser) to break her vow of silence. Through her connection to this struggling nun, Laverne gets one last try at being a good girl -- if she can contritely ask for forgiveness from the Big Man Upstairs.

Look, we're not going to lie - we rip this episode a new one. On pod, we talk the insanity, Chris goes off on a Dark Souls tangent (and revenge movie recommendation list), Lisa tries not to get flashbacks to Catholic school, and ultimately we give Monastery Story a once-over with a sledgehammer.

Join us in the pain at the usual spots! YouTube Spotify Apple Podcasts Amazon Podcasts

[fredfilmsblog]

Frederator Networks interns, autumn 2015, left to right: Fred, Sam Lee (University of Michigan), Josette Roberts (SVA), Jenny Brent (SUNY Purchase), Judy Tam (SVA), Lisa Franklin (Brown), Liz Chun (RISD), Danielle Ceneta (Syracuse), Peter Carlson (Ringling) Photo by Kirsten Wagstaff

Why I like interns. 

This post is from 2015 when I was running Frederator Networks, a much larger company than FredFilms. But most of the sentiments (we now pay interns, when we have them, which is NOT NOW) continue to be true.

And, I have to say, the part I find most unlikely but most true is... interns are our mentors. Seriously.

There’s been a lot of squabbling in the press this year about interns, especially in the media and technology businesses. And since I’ve had rookie programs in place for several decades, it seemed like a good time to weigh in.

Science? Or The Beatles?

For me, it’s personal. Back in the day (my day, that is), there were no organized apprenticeship programs that I knew of to prepare me for the work life I was seeking. But a lot of helpful people gave me guidance, and I want to pay it forward.

I grew up in a science family, knowing I’d be a scientist too. And then The Beatles came to America, and like a lot of other kids, my world got turned upside down. Eventually, I became determined to be in the recording business as a record producer. The problem was I knew no one who could help. And so I started to make my own way, in what to me was an underground, secret society. As full time, liberal arts college student it the 70s, there was no NYU Clive Davis Institute, Full Sail University. No Mix Magazine, noTape Op. I was totally on my own. I found one class taught by an RCA recording engineer and producer, and one highly technical publication. I stumbled into private recording sessions, asked anyone who knew anything, bullied my way into record companies.

There were no internships. I hadn’t even heard the term.

There were dozens of nice people who helped me and taught me things along the way. I worked in hundreds of circumstances for free, making mistakes and successes along the way, basically creating my own training path. I figured things out, started a record company, got a gig here and there. I rubbed shoulders with enough world class experts to figure out I had staked out the wrong direction for myself, and by the time I was 30, found myself in the television business. It all eventually worked out for me.

But, if there had been someplace for me to start fathoming what was going on, somewhere where I could smell what the scene was, I could have learned things a lot faster, and maybe cordoned off my path into the right direction a little sooner.

Interns aren’t easy.

For years it was hard for us to attract interns. Most of my companies have been startups, or below the radar service organizations, not famous ones at that. We really had to search, reaching out to local colleges and putting our best foot forward, hoping to attract minimally interested candidates. (Things have changed dramatically, ever since we produced Adventure Time and started Cartoon Hangover. Now we have to cut things off when we get 250 applications per semester, for less than 10 spots). Occasionally, an eager high school student would show up and ask to stick around, and despite the anxieties of our lawyers and insurance carriers, we worked things out.

I couldn’t tell you the exact criteria we’ve used to select contenders. But, I must say, our highly subjective process has resulted in some stellar colleagues and often, friends.

And intern programs aren’t easy to administer. We’re not heavily staffed, so whomever is responsible for the program is usually fitting it into an already over packed work day. And frankly, most of the students come into our place eager, but really rough around the edges. Many have no real work ethic, daily discipline, or much of an ability to actually interact with the adults in the workplace. I mean, they’re kids, after all.

On balance though, from my limited perspective, while internships sometimes put a burden on our small staff, our company has come out all the richer. Especially these days, as the way young people set the agenda for technology use and innovation, having the innocent perspective of new faces streaming in and out of our offices makes us sharper, smarter, and fresher.

And based on the long term relationship we have with many of our past candidates, the benefit has definitely been in both directions.

Interns are our mentors.

“No one hires interns,” says a disgruntled one in a recent New York Times story in the aftermath of some of the unpaid intern lawsuits.

I’m of two minds about the discontent. On the one hand, it’s clear that many companies are using interns as unpaid labor. Totally unjust. And, there’s a good argument that unpaid internships often favor well off students. But, it’s also true that internship programs can cost companies in real opportunity cost and productivity losses, as time spent away from daily workflow. Definitely, interns can be a double edged sword.

At my company, we don’t pay interns as a matter of policy. [The policy changed at Frederator, and now at FredFilms, we will pay interns.] As a start up we’re thinly resourced as it is, and any extra dollars are needed to keep the wheels on the bus. But, more importantly to me, I want people who actually want to be at Frederator, not someone who just wanted something cool to do for a while. Not for nothing, it’s the same criteria we use for employees. If someone comes into our offices with no clue about who we are, what we do, and what we stand for, we show them the door. We’re not a place for people who work to live, we live to work.

All that being said, we work super hard to be fair. If there’s an intern job in the house that we would pay a freelancer to do, the intern gets paid. We also limit their time at the office to two or three days a week. That gives a chance for more people to get exposure, and it encourages them to be out in the world rather than cooped up with us old working folk.

At the end of the day, some interns are good, and some are really bad. And, it’s true, not all good interns get hired. However, I can say with great assurance that my companies hired interns 30 years ago, and we hired interns 30 days ago. I think it’s safe to say that fully 25% of our current, full time team started in our internship programs.

And honestly, the former interns are some of my very favorite colleagues.

The interns in my shops remind me of why I wanted to get working the minute I was done with schooling (actually, before I finished, but that’s another essay). They’re intelligent, they’re fun, they know things I’ll never know. Sure, I can give them some benefits too, but the thing they don’t realize is that while we’re mentoring them, they’re actually mentoring us.

Fair trade, in my book. I really like interns.

[nian-7]

Hello! Can i request Lisa imai x reader? Angst fics where they we're breaking up. With throupe "Right person in the wrong time"

(maybe break up bcs their own Carrier? Lisa with Roselia. And reader an actress/actor or an athlete?)

hi! please enjoy.

Right person, Wrong time

Lisa Imai x gn!reader

✧angst

-Both you and Lisa had gotten together and for the time you both have spent together, it felt almost perfect. It was almost like you were made for each other but, there was something... wrong.

-Not with either of you, more like something was wrong with the situation. Lisa was usually busy with Roselia now since you both had graduated and had little time to go out with you. Always at practice or at concerts and touring around Japan.

-Along with Lisa's music career, your career kept you just as busy. Nearly every time she was finally free, you weren't. It was tough, there were only occasional texts even though Lisa used her phone lots.

-The next time you both met up together, finally when you both were free, it was a mutual agreement that you both should take a break. She was visibly sad about it, you couldn't blame her though. You both found your jobs important and couldn't have the busy schedule between work and a lover.

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