#Printed lawn shirts

[0mg-bird]

A Tornado Warning~ T. Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: Domestic life with you isn’t something Tyler could ever get tired of when you’re practically his twin flame.

Warnings: Language, storms, smut 18+

A/n: Inspired by the Turnpike song above. Read as a part 2 to Sunrise.

Laid back in two cheap lawn chairs, both you and Lilly sit in bikinis and jean cut offs, tanning under the Arkansas sun. Sunglasses on, beers in hand, a small radio on the ground next to your feet, the afternoon was coming on just fine.

Inside, Dani is tinkering with something that makes her cuss every ten minutes. You tried to drag her out for some good ol’ sunny D but she fought you on it.

Bringing a cold Coors to your lips, you finish the last few drinks of it and crush the can, tossing it back into the little red cooler before turning the music up.

When the idea was originally brought up that the sum of you should just buy a house and make it the permanent wrangler camp, it was a big uncertainty. Then you came across the charming farm house and all of you were sold.

The barn was the designated research and tinker area, the camper trailer parked in the driveway was where Dexter stayed when he wasn’t home with his family. Other than that, Dani and Lilly shared the large downstairs room, Boone- who would sleep anywhere- finally has his own room upstairs. Tyler and you slept in the upstairs master room at the end of the hall, and to say the least, you were happy it wasn’t a crappy motel.

You still chased, but it wasn’t life on the road anymore. It was a real career now, not just a hobby job. Your crew was a main source of information to local tech businesses that develop advanced warning signals and bunkers. You raise money for cities hit, get hands on when you can.

The viewers love the vlogs.

You settled into the life well.

The rumble of an all too familiar truck doesn’t even make you open your eyes, not until your sunlight is blocked by the form of your boyfriend.

“What are y’all doin’?” Tyler asks with humor in his voice.

You and Lilly pull your sunglasses down to look at both him and Boone who had just gotten back from town.

“Trying to tan before your big head blocked our UV rays.” You answer smartly.

“Why are y’all oily?” Boone asks, swiping his finger down Lilly’s arm, making her smack him.

“It’s tanning oil.” She scoffs.

Boone wipes the grease on his shirt that says ‘Science Is Fun’. “You sit out here and fry like bacon for fun?” He asks.

“Boone, baby, anyone ever tell yuh it’s a good thing you’re pretty?” You ask, confusing him slightly.

“Whatever.” He shrugs and snags the last beer from the cooler.

That leaves Ty.

He wears a stupid smile at the bikini tied around you. It was apart of the new merch line, which meant it had his face printed all over it.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You laugh, leaning your head back, missing the way Tyler pulls his phone out and does just that.

“What’s for supper?” He asks as you wipe sweat from your forehead.

“I don’t know, what’re you cookin’, good lookin’?” You ask, taking your glasses off and checking the time. You’ve been at it for about two and a half hours, it might be time to call it a day.

Tyler hums. “Cowboy chili?”

You frown.

“Burgers?”

You grin. “Great idea.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Go wash up and I’ll get it started.”

You stand, kissing him gently quickly. “You’re perfect. Keep acting like this and I might just marry you.” You tease with a wink.

He leans closer, briefly sniffing you. “You smell like coconuts and Coors Banquets.” He states with a smirk.

“I smell like your dream girl.” You state back, poking his chest before you collapse your chair and grab the speaker while Lilly grabs the cooler.

In the shower, washing oils from your skin and lathering your hair, you have a slight tingle in your gut. When you shut the water off and wrap a towel around you, you go to the window and open it up.

Out in the distance, big thunder heads are forming. You grin like a kid on Christmas and smell the air. It’s damp and tangy, rain should be falling in the next hour or so.

Walking into the connected bedroom, you dress in some shorts and one of Tyler’s college tees. It’s when you comb your hair that you look at the framed photos on the wall of the two of you. Rocky, the dog that is still alive and well, pushes open the cracked door and comes to hop on the bed.

“Did Ty kick you outa the kitchen, buddy?” You pout and scratch his head.

He too pouts and rolls over for you to rub his belly.

“Don’t worry kid, a storms coming, ain’t you excited?” You ask, obviously getting no response.

Trotting down the stairs, your phone buzzes in your hand with the first sever thunderstorm warning.

The weather report is on the living room tv where Boone and Dani sit. You sit on the arm of the chair where Boone is.

“Whatcha’ think about it, Tex?” Dani asks you.

You look at the patterns on the screen. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll get some high winds, maybe a barely registered EF1 at most, but the way the wind is shifting, I think it’ll hit back county roads and dissipate within ten minutes.”

Boone agrees with you. “I say we sit back and enjoy this one.”

“I’m with you there, buddy.” You smile, ruffling his hair before getting up.

You head into the kitchen where Tyler is seasoning the burger patties at the island counter. Your hand runs over his back as you pass behind him to assemble the rest of the things needed for a meal.

“Storm’s rollin’ in.” You say with a smile.

“That explains your good mood.” He chuckles, tossing a towel onto his shoulder.

You lay out burger buns and condiments. “I couldn’t ask for better weather, you know that.” You lightly giggle, opening up the pickle jar and eating one.

Tyler watches you with a look of affection, then kisses the top of your head. “Some might say you’re insane, darlin’.”

You finish up your original task. “Only partially.” You say, going to meet him at the grill on the covered deck outside.

He begins to cook up the burgers while you lean against the banister and look out at the cloud covered sky. A light rain is falling now, getting caught in your hair as it blows in.

Most would be inside to keep dry.

Not Tyler’s girl. No, he knows you’d stand in the flat plains and wait for the lighting to come down.

As he flips the patties, you come lean against his back, your cheek against the fabric of his button down as you take in the scent of him.

“You happy?” You ask, making him reach down and hold one of your hands.

“Like this? Yeah…” He says with a smirk. “But what would make me even happier…”

He guides your hand down past his buckle, and you scoff and pull away, slapping his shoulder as he laughs.

“You pig.” You shake your head. “I meant are you happy with life and how you’re living it.”

Tyler stacks the perfectly grilled burgers back onto the tray. “Of course I’m happy. I’m doing what I love, I have a place of my own and a bed that doesn’t creek. Then, I lay next to you at night and always end up between your legs. Life is great.”

You blush and take the tray from him. “Glad there isn’t anything you’d like to change.” You say, turning for the back door that goes into the kitchen.

“Well, I’d change the fact that the crew sleeps under our roof, but life isn’t fair.” He states, following after you.

“It’s their roof too, you can’t just kick ‘em out. What would Boone do without you tucking him into bed?” You snicker.

“Baby, I’d tell Boone to get lost in a heartbeat if it meant it’d just be you and me, doing it in every single room.” He whispers into your ear, causing you to laugh loudly and shove him back.

“Y’all come eat!” You call out loudly to the cree, then turn back to Tyler. “You behave yourself.”

He pulls the finger you point at him, and tucks you under his arm for a moment.

It’s common for relationships to get slow and boring after being together for a long while. Couples don’t try as hard, the spark isn’t the same.

Tyler can’t imagine that, not when you’re the kerosene to feed the flame. He’s so in love with you, he doesn’t even know a version of life where he doesn’t have the dynamic he has.

Gathered around the wood table, all of you chatter about various things. Lilly frowns as she drips barbecue sauce onto the shirt with your cartoon face on it.

Yet another merch item you designed.

It has the words ‘Tex Knows Her Tornados’ printed on it.

You give Rocky part of your burger and Tyler scolds you, saying you spoil him too much. You just glare and say that Rocky deserves some good food too.

Tyler thinks you’re ridiculous.

Country music is playing in the background as all of you move to the front porch, waiting for the sky to come falling down and watching data streams come in. The house is lit up orange with all the lights on, contrasting against the sky. The rain hits harder now, it’s cold as it blows in, making you curl into Tyler’s side.

“You ain’t gonna go dancing in it?” Boone asks you, camera pointed at your shaking frame.

“Hell naw, I’ll freeze my ass off.” You laugh. “How about you drag your pretty self out there? I’ll record you.”

As you reach for the camera, Boone pulls away and retreats.

Thunder shakes, the pang of the thick rain drops hitting the tin roof is almost its own song.

“Come on, Tex, before you get washed away.” Tyler pulls you back inside with the others.

The crew has a grand time with the music playing loudly and the way you have to yell over the storm. The shadow of you and Tyler two-stepping in the kitchen, moves around the walls like a painting.

You let yourself imagine life further as you follow Tyler’s lead. You’ve been with the crew for so long, would you stay with them forever? Would nights continue to look like this if you and Tyler were married? If you had a kid?

That’s a scary thought.

Marriage and babies.

He looks down at you know when he noticed you stopped giggling. “You tired?” He asks.

You simply nod along, not wanting to yell your thoughts out.

He pulls back, announcing that the two of you were going up to bed. They all shout goodnight and go back to what they were doing before, turning the music down a few notches out of curtesy.

You pass your passed out pup in his bed at the top of the stairs where he likes to guard things. He’s fat and happy, you don’t bother him.

All downstairs sounds are muffled as the bedroom door shuts. Tyler kicks off his boots and watches you pull the covers back on the bed. Shimmying out of your shorts, you fully intend on going to bed.

Tyler doesn’t like that idea.

“Do I dare ask what’s on your pretty mind?” He asks, unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt.

You sigh. “Just thinking about the next five years.”

He shakes his head in confusion. “Why?” He questions.

You just shrug and slide onto the soft mattress. “Why not?”

Once he’s in his boxers, he joins you. “Don’t think of the next five years when we don’t even know what we’re eating for breakfast come morning.” He smiles. Immediately, his hands are pulling you close, his lips are kissing yours smoothly. He pushes your hair out of your face before moving down to your jaw line and neck.

“What has gotten into you?” You laugh as he rolls you onto your back.

“What? Blame the weather.” He grins as he cages you in.

As he kisses you again, hands pushing your t shirt up, you smirk at the need he’s progressing with.

“The crew is still awake.” You remind.

“The storm’s so loud they won’t even know.” Tyler states, moving to kiss your stomach.

Your hands play with his hair, you lay back and listen to the storm crash over the house as he pulls your underwear off and dives between your thighs.

The subtle anxiety of what life can turn in to is gone now as the warm pleasure washes over you from his mouth perfectly against your core. Your head digs into the pillow, you’re biting your lip at the amount of stimulation coursing through you. You pant out, deciding that you weren’t going to be patient all night.

You drag him back up to you, becoming the needy one now. Your shirt is tossed onto the floor, soon accompanied by his boxers. Anywhere you can touch him, that’s where you do. Fingers gripping into his biceps as he pushes into you, you let out a gasp of relief, matching the one he gives.

“Fuck, this feels good.” You praise, hitching your knees up to lock his hips in, pushing him further into you.

As he completely bottoms out, Tyler lets his head drop onto your chest for a moment while he gathers himself. No matter how many time you two do this, it’s still a crazy good feeling.

He slowly kisses your chest, sucking over the curves of your breasts as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back into you swiftly.

Thunder cracks loudly, making you yelp in surprise, then laugh. He looks down at you in humor as he adjusts his pace, making it slow and sweet at first, then moving onto more demanding thrusts that make you moan out loudly. He’s trying to hit as deep as possible, but the way you’re holding him close to you is making it hard to focus.

The way your skin rubs against his makes him feel like he’s on fire.

One hand intertwines with yours and he lays it on the pillow, breathing hard as he thrusts against the walls clenching around him.

You squeeze his hand. “God, I love this.” You say with an open mouth.

He proudly smirks. “Yeah? You love when I fuck you so sweetly?”

You groan out. “I just love when you’re fucking me. Doesn’t matter how…or where.”

“Fuck.” He curses, his dick twitching inside of you. He’s stealing your breath for his own now, you think he might just inhale you if he could, given the way he devours your mouth.

His hips rut against you, the tip of him presses against a sensitive spot inside of you that makes your voice break.

“More.” You beg, letting go of his hand and sitting up.

In an instant, Tyler has you flipped onto your stomach, his hands pulling your ass to him. You look back at him as he slides back into your aching walls, softly whimpering as he hits differently.

He pulls your hair to one shoulder, then leans to kiss the bare skin as he drives into you.

You look to the window, the way rain pours down it.

He’s pulling you back to meet his deep thrusts, his head falls back as he gets lost in the feeling.

“You like it like this?” He asks, making you nod feverishly, voice getting raw from the way he’s drawing moans from you.

“Ty.” You call out, gripping the sheets with a smile as you feel your orgasm building

“Good girl, say my name.” He pants, grip tightening on your hips.

“Tyler.” You breathe, thighs beginning to shake.

He knows your body as well as he knows his own, he knows the way your lower lip quivers and the way you get pulses through you that you’re getting close.

He lets out a whine, a childish grunt when he determines he wants to see your face when you cum.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, barely coherent.

He doesn’t answer with words, just pulls out of you and flips you back over so fast, your head spins. Within a second, he’s already back inside of you where he should be, grasping your thigh as he coaxes you further and further to your finish.

“I need to see you when you cum for me, sweetheart. I need it.” He pants, sucking at your neck, hitting all the spots he knows makes your throat go dry.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” You heave, breathing hard into his hair.

Your toes curl, your hands getting a death grip on his skin. Tyler pulls back to gaze down at you, eyes lit up wide, knowing your orgasm is going to wreck you.

“Come on, cum for me, beautiful. I got you.” He soothes.

One hand on his bicep, the other on his jaw line, you try to ground yourself but the way you’re swept away is out of your control.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” He pants, voice gravely and raw.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the knot in your stomach tight as you finally fall over the edge.

“Ty!” You cry out, the waves of hot arousal finally washing over you.

He strokes your hair out of your face, so close to his own release but guiding you through your own.

You’re coming down with a sob, your bottom lip quivering and your chest heaving as he buries his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you through his own release.

Your head pounds at the overstimulation for a moment, but you’re coherent enough to whisper to him as he comes down from the high.

“I love you so much.” You remind, shaky hands smoothing his crazed hair.

Your swollen lips kiss the side of his head before he turns to meet with his.

“Shit.” He pants into your skin, slowly adjusting his weight on top of you.

Tyler wears the same smile you do, trying to get his muscles to stop buzzing before he slowly lifts off of you.

He looks down, watching as he slowly pulls out of you and sees the mess between your legs. He’s dripping down your thighs, and you’re whimpering that he’s not inside of you anymore.

Pressing a kiss to your knee, he promises to be back in just a second. He cleans himself up, then comes back from the bathroom with a warm washcloth.

Your arm lays over your wide eyes as he cleans the mess gently, the storm isn’t so violent now, it’s settled on a steady rain and softer thunder.

Ty helps you to the bathroom and back, then pulls the covers over the two of you back in bed.

Arm around his middle, head on his chest, you fall into a comfortable silence. His thumb rubs your shoulder, eyes about to shut from the way your warm hand moves to slide up and down his stomach. Then, your loss for words passes you and you’re back to being your normal self.

“You ever scared that you’ll get me pregnant?” You ask, making Tyler’s eyes snap back open.

“What?” He clears his throat.

“You ever scared that you’ll get me pregnant?” You repeat your words.

He tries to find an answer that won’t piss you off, but he isn’t sure what will and what won’t. You know his silence well, so you add onto the question.

“There’s no right or wrong answer, cowboy.”

Ty wraps his arm around a little tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah, sometimes. When we were on the road, I was terrified of it, actually.”

“Really?” You hum. “And what about now?”

He takes in a breath. “Now, I don’t really think about it…I mean, we aren’t doing a lot of things to prevent it.”

You laugh. “The pill thing isn’t important when you have life saving research to do.”

Tyler shakes his head at you. “It made you kind of moody anyway.”

You smack his chest, making him claim he was kidding.

“I guess I could ask you the same question.” He says. “You scared I’ll get you pregnant?”

You move your hand back to its original place on his stomach. “I really don’t know. I mean, we aren’t kids anymore so I guess it wouldn’t be horrible if it happened but…we’re just so busy.”

He agrees. “And we aren’t really married.”

You strain your neck to look at him. “Does that matter to you?”

He looks down at you. “Does it matter to you?”

You hold his gaze, then look away. “I don’t know that either…”

Silence between you, rain above you.

Tyler sighs, letting his thumbs motion on your skin continue despite your goosebumps. “I’m not scared of commitment if that’s what you’re wondering. You want me to marry you? We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow. You want babies, I’ll give them to you. Anything you want, I promise I’ll give it to you.” He says in such a serious tone, you feel your throat start to swell and your eyes burn.

You smile then kiss his chest. “You’re sweet on me like a bear to a beehive.”

Tyler grins. “I still have no clue what’s coming out of your mouth.”

“That’s okay, cowboy, as long as you can understand me saying I love you, we’re fine.” You say softly.

And you two fall asleep like that, tangled up together. Any movement you make throughout the night, you don’t get too far before Tyler’s gripping you warmly and dragging you back to his skin.

Come morning, birds are singing praise and the wind is gentle. You wake on your side, facing him, legs tangled together. He looks like a puppy when he’s asleep, all calm and soft. The broken morning light paints him a warm golden color, you reach out and push his hair away gently. He stirs slightly, his eyes drag open to see you against a backdrop of a simple shade of blue.

The sky outside the window is clear, you’re looking at him with affection, he wouldn’t want anything else.

“Mornin’.” You smile.

“Good morning.” He says with sleep still in his voice.

[veritas-scribblings]

stay - @jegulus-microfic - words: 658

The black cat shows up on James’s doorstep one winter’s night. It’s snowing that night. There’s tiny little paw prints interspersed with droplets of blood dotted across James’s lawn, and the black cat is laying in the corner of the veranda shivering, twitching, grey eyes blinking suspiciously at James. It’s a small thing, delicate and lithe in the way that most cats are. No collar to speak of, but too well-kept to be a stray.

So, James supposes, a neglectful owner, perhaps?

James tugs his robe tighter around him and kneels down, and creeps over. The cat’s fur—long and black and silky—is matted with blood, long gashes like claw marks across its body. It’s managed to get itself into a fight, James reckons, with someone bigger and tougher and nastier than itself. The cat (a boy, James notes) meows and swipes at James, disgruntled at being manhandled against his will.

‘Come on,’ James says gently. ‘You’ll catch your death out here. It’s warm inside, I have a fire going.’ 

James calls the cat Dew Claw for his tendency to swipe angrily at James as he walks past. He learns quickly that Dew Claw is a spicy little creature with a nasty attitude and a proclivity for sitting on his makeshift bed, judging James with an intensity that’s almost human. It’s the way he watches James, tracking James’s movements across the room, meowing disparagingly every time James does so much as anything.

Almost two days pass before the Dew Claw is up and about, awkwardly so with healing wounds, and this is where the real problems begin. With the freedom to move comes free-reign of the house, and with free-reign of the house comes a tiny little invader getting into every room, nook and cranny. James starts to find black hair on all of his clothes, t-shirts with holes chewed into them, little glass ornaments and photo frames and figurines shoved off shelves. 

By the second week of Dew Claw’s residence in James Potter’s home, Dew Claw’s wounds have mostly healed. And James finds himself with a nightly companion. True to his nature, Dew Claw sleeps directly in the centre of his bed, forcing James to try and position himself so as to not crush the cat. On the first night, James sleeps so awkwardly he tumbles out of bed (an event Dew Claw peacefully sleeps through). By the second night, James figures out his sleeping position (curved into almost a U-shape), but he wakes up with a sore neck and a sore back that doesn’t go away for days.

They fall into a lovely little rhythm, James and Dew Claw. Though Dew Claw remains a spicy little creature, he seems to come to trust James more. James learns that Dew Claw loves to be stroked, but must instigate it for the contact to be acceptable (he gained many scratches learning this lesson). He learns that Dew Claw loves bread (many loaves were sacrificed to this lesson) but hates jam with a passion. He learns that Dew Claw seems to have this bizarre ability to read. This learning, James cannot seem to explain or reason away. Even for a magical cat.

They have a comfortable little life together. James buys fish from the local market and fries it up, because Dew Claw is suspicious of anything raw. They read together; sometimes novels, sometimes poetry, often the Daily Prophet, particularly the quidditch section. Dew Claw sleeps on his pillow now, by James head, sometimes tucked under the covers by James’s stomach and James fears rolling over and accidentally crushing his little body.

‘You live with me now,’ James whispers to the cat one night while he’s curled up by the fireplace, Dew Claw sleeping on his lap, kneading his thigh and purring almost aggressively.

When James wakes up on the third morning of the fourth week, he wakes up next to one Regulus Black, and suddenly, everything changes.

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 1

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: When you try to surprise your brother with a visit in the hopes of mending your strained relationship, it does not go as planned. Rudely dismissed by Scott, you decide to get a little revenge. And who better to do it with than the head Tornado Wrangler himself... Word Count: 3509 TW: Family Conflict, Brief Mention of Reader's Clothes/Breasts, Unsucessful Flirting, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Grabbing your backpack off the seat beside you, you stood and joined the crowd of passengers making their way to the front of the bus. You stopped to let an elderly couple join the line in front of you and used the momentary pause to glance out the window at your destination. A small diner in need of a fresh coat of paint and a good window washing sat off to the left while several rows of gas pumps were lined up on the right. Trucks, vans, campers, and SUVs filled almost every parking spot and spilled into the grassy field around the lot. Some vehicles were ancient, rusted machines that barely looked driveable while others were so fresh and high-tech they could have just been driven off a lot. Those were the vehicles you were looking for.

Stepping off the bus, you headed towards the group of four shiny new vehicles on the other end of the parking lot. On the way, your head was on a constant swivel as you took in everything around you: a middle-aged couple arguing loudly about who forgot to tie down the lawn chairs the last time they stopped, a somewhat familiar-looking man in a cowboy hat unloading a piece of equipment from his huge red truck while another long-haired man filmed him, a woman with dreadlocks fiddling with a remote control only for a large drone to drop out of the sky a moment later and land at her feet, a few children racing towards the diner with their exasperated mother trailing behind yelling at them to watch where they were going. 

It was utter chaos and you loved it already. 

As you approached the vehicles, you saw the Storm PAR logos printed on the sides and breathed a sigh of relief that after this sixth bus stop, you had finally tracked them down. You still didn’t see who you were looking for, so you walked up to a man with dark curly hair wearing a white button-down Storm PAR shirt who was currently crouched down examining a weird solar panel-looking piece of equipment set up next to one of the vans. As you cleared your throat, he looked up from the machine and blinked, as if he was shocked to see someone standing there despite the crowds of people around him. Glancing around, he asked, “Um…can I help you?”

You guess you shouldn’t be too surprised by his reaction. In your cut-off shorts, boots, and halter top, you looked like you should be hanging out one of the trucks you passed when you first got off the bus, not the polished, company polo shirt-wearing tech heads milling around the Storm PAR vehicles. And you didn’t even want to know what your hair and makeup looked like after four hours on that poorly air-conditioned packed bus. 

So, instead of taking offense at this guy’s slightly dismissive tone, you smiled as you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for Scott.”

The man glanced over his shoulder but made no move to stand up. “He’s here but he’s in the middle of some data calculations. Can I help you with something?”

“Not really. I had time off college and he mentioned you guys were having a really active season so I figured why not come out and see all this in action.” The man was still looking at you like he couldn’t understand why you were talking to him and you suddenly realized you hadn’t explained the most important detail. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I should have mentioned, Scotty’s my older brother.”

Instantly, the man’s demeanor shifted and a huge toothy smile spread across his face. “Oh! You should have led with that. Nice to meet you.”

Rising to his feet, he stuck out his hand and you shook it, officially introducing yourself. When he said his name was Javi Rivera and it was your turn for things to click into place. “Javi! You’re Scotty’s business partner, right? He’s told me about you.”

Javi let your hand drop and his eyes shifted towards his equipment once more. “Really? Well, um, you know, I’ve, uh, heard great things about you too.”

You grinned, grabbing onto the straps of your backpack. “Scotty never even mentioned he had a sister, did he?” Javi gave a slight shrug, still not looking directly at you and you laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Never wants to get personal, everything’s about business with him. To be honest, I don’t see or hear from him that much which is just another reason I figured I’d come surprise him when I had the chance. Plus, I read some research Scotty left lying around last time he came home and it was really interesting. I’m excited to be able to see what you guys do firsthand.” 

“Well, I’m sure Scotty will be glad to see you. Let me go grab him.”

Javi turned and disappeared into one of the vans. A moment later, he returned with your brother following closely behind. “Javi, I was in the middle of some important calculations. Why did I have to–” Scott stumbled to a stop as he saw you standing there.

Since he was a teenager, Scott had mastered the art of keeping his emotions hidden. He could be fuming mad, joyously happy, or heartbrokenly sad, and in each case keep the same perfect mask on his face. However, you knew his one tell. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his eyes. And right now, you could practically see flames burning within them. 

For the first time, you wondered if coming to see him had been such a good idea. Shifting from one foot to the other, you tried to force a smile as you half-heartedly held out your arms. “Surprise.”

Scott remained rooted to the spot, his only movement the constant forceful chewing of his gum. Javi glanced back and forth between the two of you, the smile slowly draining from his face. Hesitantly, he explained, “She said she was your sister so I figured…”

A cultivated smile spread across Scott’s lips but it didn’t reach his eyes as they continued to burn into yours. “No, it’s all good. I’m just surprised to see her.” Without breaking eye contact, he held his tablet out to Javi who took it from him. “Give me a few minutes to talk to her and then I’ll get back to those numbers.”

Javi started to protest, assuring him there was no rush and he could take his time, but Scott had already closed the distance between you. Grabbing your arm tightly to the point of slight painfulness, he guided you past the rest of the Storm PAR vehicles and into the empty field. 

Once you were far enough away that you knew none of his co-workers could hear you, you wrenched your arm from his grasp, snapping, “Get off of me!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his mask finally slipping as his nostrils flared and lips curled into a snarl.

“Well, hello to you too!” You examined your arm where he had grabbed you, massaging it gently. “Can’t a girl come visit her big brother?”

“Not when she wasn’t invited or even asked if she could come beforehand! What were you thinking? This isn’t one of your wild party vacations. This is my job!”

“I know that. I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and take me sightseeing. I just thought I could hang around and watch you guys in action. I’ve read some of the research you left at Christmas and I was hoping maybe I could learn a little more about it.”

Scott shook his head, his hands on his hips. “This is our busiest time of the season. I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“What do you think I am? Eight? I don’t need you to babysit me. I told you, I’m interested in what you do and thought I could just hang around and see how it all works.” You shrugged, “Maybe you could even take me on a chase or two.”

“Hell no. I won’t have you getting scared and causing us to have to turn around in the middle of a storm run. Javi and I have worked too hard to get this company to where it is and I’m not going to let you ruin that because, on a whim, you thought it would be fun to see a storm.” Scott scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “It’s so typical of you to still think that just because you want something or because Mom and Dad will pay for it, everyone else will bend over backward to accommodate you. Well, I don’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”

You took several deep breaths and tried to keep your anger in check. This was not at all how you thought this would go, but lashing out right now would only make things worse. So, in a calm, steady voice, you tried to shift approaches. “Scotty, we haven’t spent any real time together since you left for MIT. And back then…I’m not proud of the person I was and I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. But I was a kid who didn’t know any better! I’ve grown up since you left. And this trip isn’t just something I thought would be fun to do ‘on a whim’. I worked hard to save up the money to come here because I wanted to see you and spend time with you—however little time you may be able to work into your schedule. And I promise I won’t get scared or make you stop your chase. If I don’t like it, I’ll suck it up until it’s over then not ask to go again.” Taking a step forward, you gently placed your hand on his arm and gave him a timid smile. “Let me show you who I am now…how much I’ve changed. Please, Scotty.”

But Scott yanked his arm away and took a step back. “I don’t care where you go, but you need to stay away from me and Storm PAR. Now, I have work to do.” He took one last look at you, and, for just a moment, you thought maybe he felt bad for what he said and was reconsidering things. But then, he blew a small bubble with his gum and popped it loudly in your face. You jumped slightly, the sound sharp and startling, before glaring at him. He had been doing that since you were kids and he knew how much you absolutely despised it. Shooting you one last smug smirk, Scott turned and walked off towards the cluster of Storm PAR vehicles. 

You turned to look out into the open field, lip quivering, as you fought against the tears that were burning your eyes. Things between you and Scott had been pretty bad when he left for college, but you hadn’t realized he still really thought so poorly of you. The last few holidays or family events he had been forced to come to, things seemed to be getting a little better. You thought that maybe you had reached a turning point in your relationship. But now it was clear you had been very wrong.

Looking back at the diner and overflow of vehicles, you wondered what you should do now. You had no idea when the next bus came by or how to get a ticket home or if there was a motel nearby you could stay in for the night or how you would even get there if there was or what you would do in the morning or—

UGH! The longer you stared at the Storm PAR logo on the side of the van Scott had disappeared into, the less hurt you felt. Instead, the pain began to shift into outrage. How dare Scott treat you like this? You had spent a lot of money and wasted two weeks of your summer vacation to take this trip to see him. You knew it would involve listening to him drone on about numbers and graphs you could barely comprehend for most of the time, but you were willing to smile, nod, and seem interested to show you cared about what he did. But no! He didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself or prove that you weren’t here to interfere with his work. He had just torn you down before turning his back on you and walking away. That asshole!

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky and you realized standing here fuming about Scott wasn’t going to help your situation. You could do that once you found a bus schedule or a place to stay for the night. However, as you stormed back through the parking lot, something caught your eye. 

When you had come through the first time and passed the familiar-looking man and the long-haired guy with the camera, you had only seen their truck from behind. But now that you were looking at the front, you noticed the distinctive metal logo attached to the front of the truck’s grille: a tornado with horns jutting out the top of the vortex. And you realized why the man in the cowboy hat looked familiar. 

Scott might not talk to you very often, but during the instances that he had, you had heard plenty of complaints about Tyler Owens and his group of Tornado Wranglers. Everything they did was the complete opposite of how Storm PAR operated and it drove Scott crazy that while he was out there doing the “real work”, this group of amateur YouTube chasers were the ones getting all the attention and acclaim when all they were really doing was getting in Storm PAR’s way. 

And Scott seemed to have another level of hatred for Owens himself.    

Out of curiosity, you had looked up the Wranglers’ YouTube channel and found it pretty entertaining. While Scott viewed every aspect of his work with complete seriousness and professionalism, these guys tackled the same work like they were having the time of their lives. They were still informative, explaining to their viewers how tornadoes formed and the types of destruction they can cause, but they would then drive straight into the center of a funnel or take chat requests of crazy things to do in the storm. It honestly seemed like a great way to get people excited about learning about tornadoes while also keeping them entertained. And it seemed like their nearly 850,000 followers would agree. No wonder Scott hated them so much. 

Suddenly, you had an idea—the perfect little act of revenge.

Changing directions, you made your way over to Owens’s truck. You could see he was now alone, tinkering with the equipment attached to the bed of his truck. He had traded his white cowboy hat for a faded backward cap and had pushed his sleeves up above his elbows as he worked, his sun-bronzed skin on full display in the dying light.

Though you had only watched a handful of the Tornado Wranglers’ videos, you had a pretty good idea of the kind of man Tyler Owens was and how you could persuade him to help you. After all, these narcissistic, jacked-up truck-driving, overcompensating pretty boys were all the same. The kind who had been fawned and swooned over their entire adult lives just because they flashed a charming smile or a playful wink in the right direction. However, with just a little stroking of their ego or a bat of your eyes, they could become putty in your hands. All you had to do was introduce yourself.

Reaching the side of the truck, you tucked your hands into your back pockets so it thrust your chest forward and, biting your lip, called out coyly, “Hey there, cowboy.”

Owens glanced up, a curious smile curling across his lips as he saw you, his eyes traveling from your head to boot and back up. “Well, hello there.”

Giggling softly as you placed your hand on the side railing, you asked in a sing-songy voice, “You’re Tyler, right? The big...bad…tornado wrangler?” With each word, you walked your fingers across the railing, your eyes locked on his.

He leaned back, wiped his hands on his jeans, and said, “I might be. Depends on who’s asking.” He was still looking at you but his smile had slipped slightly and you realized you might not have grabbed his attention as well as you thought.

Placing both hands on the railing now, you pushed yourself up slightly, your chest pressed together, and you looked up at him from under your lashes. “What if I’m asking?”

Owens stared at you for a long moment, his eyes still examining you thoughtfully, though you were shocked to see they stayed locked on your face and didn’t dip down to your breast like you had expected. Then, finally, he said, “You seem like a nice girl, sweetheart, but I don't think I'm what you're looking for. Good luck though.” He gave you a kind, yet dismissive nod, and went back to whatever he had been working on.

Your jaw dropped, lips moving silently as you tried to figure out what just happened. This kind of thing always worked on guys like him in the past. Show a little skin, stroke their egos a little, and they would be wrapped around your finger in no time. But he hadn’t even given your act more than a passing glance. It was possible you weren’t his type or maybe he was in a committed relationship, but neither of those things had exactly deterred guys in the past. 

You turned around—properly dismissed—and were just about to walk away when another thought crossed your mind. What if…what if you had misjudged him? What if he wasn’t the kind of guy you assumed he was? From what you had seen in his videos, he was cocky and overconfident and a huge flirt, but what if that was all for the cameras? During your very brief interaction, he seemed polite and respectful even as you tried to throw yourself at him, something no other guy had ever done in that situation. 

Maybe you had gone about this all wrong. Maybe you needed a different approach. A more honest one…

You hurried around the other side of the truck so you were in front of him once more. Dropping all the over-the-top flirtatiousness from your voice, you said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought, but the point is I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve had a really shitty day and approached this situation all wrong.”

Owens didn’t raise his head, but his eyes drifted back in your direction. Feeling like he was offering you a chance, you explained, “Listen, the deal is I came here to surprise my brother with a visit, and as soon as he saw me, he told me he doesn’t want me here and I should fuck off out of his way.”

That got his attention. Looking up, his brow furrowed, Owens asked, “Your brother said that to you?”

You rolled your eyes and hit the heel of your palm against the side of the truck. “Well, not in those exact words but the sentiment was there. The point is, he told me he didn’t care where I went as long as I left him and his team alone. So, I plan on respecting his wishes…and wondered if I could hang out with your team instead.”

“Well–” He leaned back, clearly not interested in your request, but you cut him off before he could turn you down.

“Please! It’ll just be for a day or two. I promise not to get in the way or mess with any of your work. I just know he has a problem with you guys and seeing me with you will drive him insane.” 

Putting down the wrench he was holding, Owens shook his head. “Back up…who are we talking about now? Who’s your brother?”

You realized you needed to get better at introducing people into a conversation before jumping right in. “Scott? He works for Storm PAR?” He hesitated so you sighed and turned towards the other group of storm chasers at the other end of the lot. With one hand on your hip, you pointed lazily with the other, “The surly tall one who never takes off his stupid baseball cap?”

Instantly, Owens straightened up and you knew you had piqued his interest. Chuckling, he asked, “Wait, so you’re telling me Mr. Clipboard and Chewing Gum is your brother?” You nodded. “And you want my help messing with him?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. So, will you do it?”

The cowboy leaned over the side of the truck and gave you a wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve come to the right place.”

Part 2 coming 8/19!

[d0youc0py]

“Her and Soap would make a good couple, no?” Alejandro smirked, watching as you and the Scot took turns drowning each other in the pool.

“No they wouldn’t.” Ghost said quickly. A little too quick. Price chuckled knowing exactly what was running through his head.

“Why not? I don’t think I’ve seen Soap laugh so much and they seem pretty affectionate with each other.” Alejandro continued. It’s true, you and Soap were a bit touchy touchy but in a headlock and kick each other type of way.

“They’re friends- nothin’ more.” Ghost was growing annoyed of this conversation. He couldn’t blame Alejandro though. From outside eyes you and Soap could be seen as a good pair. Simon hated the thought of anyone thinking you were with anyone but him- yet he did almost nothing to make it seem like you were with him. Only the most observant people- such as Price- noticed the little things Ghost did for you. The way he always carried extra of your ammo in case you ran out. The way he always made extra of his breakfast for you to have some too. The way he would put up a fight when Price wanted to send you on a mission without him.

“I’d have to agree with Ghost on this one.” Captain sighed, standing up from his chair. He patted Ghost on the shoulder. “I’m gonna get started on lunch.”

“I’ll go with you!” Alejandro and Rudy were quick to stand up.

“What you don’t trust me?” Price raised a brow.

“Well I don’t know if you brits are very well known for you food.” Alejandro chuckled, wrapping an arm around Prices shoulder.

“You kiddin’? You know how many cooking show take place in England?”

Ghost sunk down in his seat and tugged at his balaclava. The heat was getting to him. Plus the way you, Soap and Gaz splashed around in the pool looked so refreshing.

“Hey Lieu?” You swam up to the side of the pool, resting your arms on the hot surface. “You sure you don’t want to come in the pool? I could use some back up in here.” God how he loved your smile. It was almost enough for him to rip his clothes off and hop in. It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen his face before. You were a jack of all trades- one of the trades being medicine. You had treated him for a head injury a while back and the way you accidentally called him handsome made it easy for him to take his mask off in front of you. It was the rest of him he was worried about. The bullet wounds on his abdomen. The burn mark across his chest. The deep angry scars all over his back- and all over him really. He wasn’t ready for you to know how fucked up he really was. He didn’t- couldn’t scare you off. So here he was. Sitting in a lawn chair, drinking a bourbon, in a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt.

“Lieu?” You repeated. He knocked himself out of his trance.

“No, I’m alright.” He took another swig of his drink trying to drown out your pouty lip.

“Alright.” You sighed. “I was hoping we could’ve formed an alliance. I’m getting tired of Bubble Boy and his attitude!” You yelled the last part, causing Soap to shoot you in the head with a water gun.

“You’re just mad cause I’m winning!” Soap yelled.

“She’s kicking your arse.” Ghost shouted. His comment caused a whole new wave of competitiveness between you and the Scot- so much so that Gaz stepped out not wanting to get a black eye.

“I feel like we should be filming this.” Gaz chuckled, pulling out his phone. It was quite entertaining watching two highly trained soldier go after each other with water guns.

About an hour later Alejandro announced lunch.

“Thank god! I’m starving!” You groaned, pulling yourself out of the pool. Ghost suddenly decided the sky was much more interesting to look at than your dripping body. When he looked back down, he had to stop a groan from leaving his lips. There you were- wearing his shirt. His shirt. It was plain black- but had L.T Ghost printed on the back. His insides were swarming, and he barely had any time to process as you ran inside to start eating. He needed to stay there for a moment. He needed to calm down. He wasn’t use to this. Such little things completely throwing him off. He looked down, noticing how his bag and your bag were so close, that’s when he noticed another black clothing item. He grabbed it, holding it up. It was another entirely too big for you black shirt. The one that was probably suppose to be your cover up. So it was a mistake. You meant to grab yours but instead you grabbed his extra shirt. That helped ease the tension in his eyes. He should’ve known you were too good of a girl to be such a tease.

••••••••

The sun had finally started to set. All of you were still coming out of your food coma, and spread all over the house to digest. Times like this were your favorite. Eating delicious food. Hearing and sharing stories with your almost chosen family. Now here you were sprawled out on the tile, your feet dangling in the water as you stared at the pink sky.

“You against company?” Simon asked. You lifted your head to see him sticking his head out the door. You quickly shook your head, giving him a smile. He grabbed a chair and sat down next to you. He followed your gaze and looked up at the sky. Your eyes left the sky in favor of his jawline. He had taken off his mask to eat and couldn’t be bothered to put it back on.

Feeling your eyes on him he looked down to meet your gaze. The mask wasn’t able to hide his emotions anymore- not that you caught the obvious adoration across his face. Your eyes traced over the scar that extended from his cheekbone down to the corner of his lip. He watched you watch him- knowing exactly what you were looking at. Yet he didn’t feel insecure. You had a glint in your eye, it wasn’t judgement or pity. The closest thing he could compare it to was understanding. You didn’t feel sorry for him. You didn’t look at him with any disgust. You just admired it. Like people would a painting that they couldn’t quite understand but enjoyed the feeling it gave them nonetheless. You enjoyed the feelings he gave you. The security you felt with him. You knew instinctually that he would always be there. Guiding you. Watching you. Protecting you. Making your day better- even in the smallest ways. His scars were assurance of that. He’d always fight his way out to be there.

The look in your eyes made it possible for him to say something he’d wanted to all day.

“Wanna go for a swim?” He asked.

[forthelostones]

♡ black female reader x ellie williams (part one) ♡

synopsis: ellie is your TA for your english lecture at university and she pulls you aside for revision.

warnings. 18+ (mdni); switch!reader x switch!ellie, teasing, fingering, female cunnilingus, degradation, small boob appreciation, and n!pple play.

an: hi everyone! this is my first idek what this is called when i was coming up "one shot".... (is that even a thing anymore?). i am super nervous about this! but please enjoy x.

wc: 2.2k

PART TWO

It was the last few months at university and you were getting entirely tired of your English lecture. Your professor talked slowly, and quietly, and pointed out the obvious connections within the simple texts. You felt as if you were far too advanced for this 300-level college course. You answered all the questions, understood what the “deep” metaphors were, and made A’s on every paper. The only thing that kept you interested was the TA who graded all those papers. Ellie Williams was a senior English major with a specialty in Print Media. You heard stories about her, glanced at her from a distance, and saw her around but you could never gain the courage to speak to her outside of class. 

She sat in the corner, near the lecture podium, with her auburn hair pulled back, and a pencil tucked behind her ear as she looked out onto the hall. She sat slouched with her legs spread open, one foot taping the ground slowly, and the occasional eye roll at a stupid question. 

As you sat listening to the room share their perspectives on a Shakespearean text, you took quick glances at her over the corner of your laptop. Today she was wearing a loose, red, long-sleeve shirt, exposing her forearms. Her right arm was adorned with faded black ink that traveled all the way up her shoulder. The warmth that traveled to your cheeks fell between your thighs, as your eyes focused on her fingers that were now swirling that same pencil in a rhythmic motion. 

“Have a great weekend.” Your professor nearly shouted startling you. 

Your chest caved-in and your eyes bugged outward, you felt a nick of embarrassment hoping no one saw your body jolt. You close your laptop and see Ellie crack a smirk as she walks over to you. 

What could she want, you think. 

“Sorry y/n, I couldn’t get around to emailing you last night, but Professor said I should help you with your upcoming essay.”

Her low voice echoed in the now empty hall. 

“Oh? Really? Sure. I thought my draft was pretty good but—”

“It’s not that you’re being singled out, I have to work with everyone on theirs.” She interjected.

That knot of embarrassment in your chest tightened as you saw no sincerity in her sage eyes. 

“It’s last minute but it won’t take long. We can go to the office and work on it a little or we can reschedule, up to you.” She shrugged.

You pause in an attempt to act like you’re thinking. It’s Friday night, you should have something to do, but you don’t. “Sure. Let’s do it.” 

You gather all your things and follow behind her into your professor's office, just across the hall. In front of you were the large floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the crowded quad lawn. Students soaking up the sun and lying in the grass chatting with their friends. The other walls were covered in bookshelves with every academic book you could ever imagine. She sat her bag down and pulled out your pristine rough draft, which was now slightly crumbled. 

“Hm,” slipped out. 

“What?” She asked smugly. 

“It’s just my paper was kind of thrown into your bag like… shit.” 

“Oh, sorry.” She says attempting to smooth it out by placing it on her chest and using her palms. 

She sat next to you in the large armed chair, her knees practically touching yours through her black jeans. Electricity sparked as you came in slight contact with her body. Her hands adjusted to the corners of your paper, her fingers fiddling between each page, spreading them open and moving up and down. You noticed all the notes and corrections she made, the red pen she used scribbled out sentences, rewrote phrases, and small notes on the margins like ‘too wordy’.  

“Are you sure this is my paper?” You asked, snatching it from beneath her hands. 

“Read it. Y/N, How Shakespeare Altered The English Language.” She read. 

“You scribbled out my title too?”

Your hands became damp with nervous anger. You were top of your class, your professors adore your writing and now a TA just a year above tells you how you’re falling short. 

“It was boring.” She said plainly.

“Simple language is good. It’s easier for people like you to understand.” 

You face her and notice how defined her freckles are. How full her lips are and you unfurl your eyebrows as you realize how close you are to her face. 

She snorted. “People like me? You mean the person who grades your shitty papers every other week? Who can absolutely give you any grade I want, that person?” 

You stutter in an attempt to get words out, but you know she’s right. She could tank your grades if she wanted to. Her face turns upwards in a challenge. 

“So now my papers are shitty? They’re shitty now?” 

Your two bodies are now completely turned towards each other, knees touching, and eyes locked. The air becomes thick when she doesn’t reply. Adrenaline rushes to your head quickly, as someone who regularly avoids conflicts this feeling is overwhelming. 

“If you read the notes… maybe you would understand. Clearly you don’t have the capacity to even do that.” She smiled. 

She thought this was funny, seeing you flustered, in a hard spot where you couldn’t comprehend why you were being judged so harshly. 

“I want so see everyone else’s papers.” You asked. 

“What?” 

“I want to see how much editing you did to others.”  

You stand up and grab her bag and run your hands through it, before you could pull anything out, she jumps up and grasps your wrist with surprising strength. Your heart beats violently as her she pulls your hand away from the fabric of her bag. As she shoves you away, the junk falls out onto the floor. 

“Really?” She muttered and stuffed her items back inside. 

She gave you her signature eye roll and huffed as she ‘reorganized’ her stuff. As she stood up she walks towards you without saying a word. Her eye contact burnt you as they became low with anger. 

“Ellie.” You sigh. 

You feared that she’d use her strength against you.

“Y/N, there are no other papers,” She smirked. “For someone so smart you can be so dumb.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard her words. You peered over her shoulder, quickly observing the bright windows, afraid to be seen. 

Her fingertips wrap around your waist softly, pulling your closer to her hips. Your lips pursed tightly together as you fought to speak. 

“So you lied to get me alone?” You asked. 

“Can you keep up?” She tugged at you a little more. Naturally, your body resists her touch, but you became so wet at her criticism of your intelligence. 

“I can.” You reply sorely. 

Her hand slowly rises up your back, tracing your spine. 

“The thing is, you always leave class so fast. Rushing out. I never could catch you even if I tried.”  

Her fingers do a dance under your shirt and the coolness of them startles you. Then bring her palms down to your ass, which made you moan, surprising the both of you. 

“What can I say, I’m busy.” You lie. 

You spent your nights in your apartment reading and watching the same movies. Sometimes you’d think of Ellie and recall her face from class if she saw you laying in bed, practically naked. 

“Busy? I don’t know if I believe that.” She challenged with a grin. 

She unclipped your bra skillfully with one hand. You gasped at the release of tension, you pushed your pelvis against hers, you were so close you felt her chest rise and fall. 

“What’s not to believe? I’m top of my class, President of—“ 

“Don’t care,” She interrupted. 

Her lips came one inch from yours and all you could feel is her breath graze your lips. Her eyes jolt down to the valley of your cupids bow, which made her swipe her lips with her tongue.  

“I love your lips Y/N.” 

“Why don’t you taste them then?” 

She leaned closer but did not come in contact, her hands rubbed up towards your loosened bra and came in contact with your hard, brown nipples. She circled around them gently. 

“And give you the satisfaction after you insulted my intelligence?” She grimaced. 

You pushed her away and clipped your bra back and headed towards the desk to grab your things. She looked surprised as you gather yourself to head for the door. As you bent over the chair, she came behind you and thrust herself onto you. That tattooed hand slithered up your body, to your throat, and pulled you back into her body. 

“Do act so coy Y/N. The way you stare at me when I spread my legs open, when my fingers glide against papers, and when I show my arms you can’t help but stare.” 

Her hand travels to your pants, undos your button, and dips her fingers into your soaked panties. You gasp at the firmness of her calloused fingertips. You push your ass into her hips and feel her pelvis brush against you, she likes to feel you from this angle. 

“So?” You fought to say through moans. 

“So, fuck me Y/N. Why do you have to be so stuck up?” 

Her fingers traced your slit, plunging deeper into the slick she was responsible for. She pulled her hands out, dripping with your desire, and she raised them to your lips. She took her other hand and grabbed your jaw gently causing your mouth to open. She slipped her fingers in your mouth making you taste yourself. You wrapped your tongue around her thick fingers, unafraid of anyone who could see inside, you felt pure ecstasy of hearing her moans as you fulfilled her fantasy. 

You turned around to face her and finally kissed her. Her lips were soft with lust and her tongue slipped quickly into your mouth. She pushed your back into the desk, gripping your thighs to hoist you up on top, her strength shocked you. She wrapped her hands around your hips and pulled you deeper into her mouth. Your hands naturally fell around her waist and unbuckled her belt and desperately reached for her core. 

She pulled her shirt up to reveal her bare chest. You always noticed her perky nipples, wondering about her crude disposition against bras, you weren’t complaining though. She forced a nipple in your mouth and commanded you to suck. She grabs the back of your head and pulls you in more. They were the perfect size, smaller, but perfect to suck hands-free. She restrained her moans as your teeth wrapped around her flesh. You can tell she never could give up being in control, the stories confirm that. Always on top, always servicing others, so your image of her was different than the view here. 

“What if someone sees?” You ask nervously. 

“Windows are shaded from the outside.” She said as she used her arm to clean the desk. 

She pushed you back and began to lay warm kisses on your belly. You tuck your hands in her scalp when she gripped your wrist and slams it into the desk. You groan in pain but it excites you. 

Her fingers hook into the loops of your jeans and pulls them down. Her hand palms your warm panties and brushes upwards, you try not to show how much you need her, but she presses harder. 

“Say it.” She probes. 

“What? That I want you?” You ask. 

“Say it.” 

You don’t reply and she pulls your panties off aggressively and brings her lips to yours. She starts kissing your pussy so passionately you imagine you could cum from that. 

She lifts her head, “Watch me.” 

The tip of her tongue and dipped it into your crease, searching for your clit. Once she finds it, she takes her fingers and spreads you wide open. Her tongue enters inside of you and your back arches into her. Your body waves up and down from desperation, you know she posses more than she’s leading on. She gets a good rhythm going and feels you dripping down her chin, she stops. Leaving your body twitching from frustration. 

You stood up dripping, reaching for her. 

“Y/N, say you need me.” She commanded as she was reaching to slip her shirt back on. 

“I need you Ellie.” You break. 

You dropped to your knees tugging at the waistline of her jeans, pulling them down with her underwear. She was drenched too, so turned on from touching you. You dug your face into her wetness, your tongue meeting her delicious taste, sweet and warm, sliding down your throat. You bring your middle and ring finger to her entrance and she sighs out of pure passion. As you entered her, you felt her fingers gripping your shoulder, and her grunts tickled your brain. You arched your fingers inside of her and worked your tongue around her clit in circles. 

“Fuck.” She moaned. 

Her panting got deeper, faster, and her nails pinched into your skin. You sucked at her clit to bring her to a climax. As you pulled your fingers out her stickiness strung from her core and straight into your mouth. 

[gxdsfavgal]

Step Aside

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Kook!fem!Reader

Warning: arguing, just a very short blurb that could potentially be a short series, not edited

Part 2

-

-

There was a party happening this afternoon, I didn’t know who’s it was but everyone knows I’m up for anything.

I got invited by Kelce, my first friend on the island. He taught me the in’s and out’s of the island, in his words I am basically a native now.

But all I know is Pogues and Kooks is a thing here. I’m still not used to it, not used to how Kooks looks down on Pogues.

Anyways, I had a busy day with helping my parents with some paperwork and meetings but I definitely needed a break from reading fine print.

I got ready for the party at Cannyhill? Someplace that ended in ‘hill’. I just knew it wasn’t that far, and that it was definitely a Kook party.

The sun was still beaming even though it was late afternoon, so I decided that shorts and a regular top was the way to go. People here dress differently for these types of parties, designer all around even though they know it’s going to be covered in vomit later on in the night.

I quickly grabbed my things, spraying myself with my signature scent, and left in my car that I always dreamt of when I was younger. 

I sped down the streets with the salty wind in my face as I followed the GPS to the address Kelce sent me. 

As I arrived, I immediately could tell the vibe of this party. It was Kook Central, filled with expensive jungle juice and collared shirts. The loud music was definitely found through social media, because they definitely did not grow up around trap music.

I parked my car on the side of the road for easy access if this party turns out a bust. I walked through the pathway and into the grassy lawn where everyone was at. The music was loud and so was people’s cheers once they saw me.

“Heyyy! Look who’s here!” Kelce and his friends crowded me.

“Finally got out of that damn office.” I joked to them as one of the girls handed me a red solo cup, which I accepted and chugged.

Everyone else waved at me and said their ‘hellos’. 

I began to walk around and talk to the others there, creating conversation about parents and the beach club. Normal “Kook” things I guess that’s what they call it here in the OBX.

“So yeah, my dad got me Hermes sandals from his trip to New York but I hated the color so I just gave them to some lady on the main land.” a random girl whined about to me and her boyfriend ignoring the repetitive story.

“Oh wow. That is so sweet of you.” sarcasm flowed out with my words as my smile didn’t drop once.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” Kelce apologized to the couple I was talking to as I pulled me away. “Forgot to introduce you to the host.”

“Lead me to it” I followed behind him as he led me throughout the house, up until I reached the balcony that looked over the party.

There was only a few people up here, exclusive, seemed like you needed to be on the guest list to be up above everyone else.

“Rafe.” Kelce hollered.

A tan and tall body turned towards me, his arm around a shorter girl. Once both of them turned around I was able to see who the girl was.

“Sofia.” I nodded towards her with a friendly smile, and she nodded back with a awkward one.

“Who are you?” Rafe snapped. 

First red flag, having an attitude in the first interaction.

“Y/N Y/L/N” I held out my hand with a smile, hoping to change his tone.

He scoffed and ignored my handshake.

“So what’s got everyone hooting and hollering for you?” he twisted his neck, arm falling off of Sofia’s shoulder.

“That’s a good question. It’s weird, people call me the Kook Queen? I’m new so I do-”

“Kook Queen?” he laughed out loud, clutching his chest as if he was going into a heart attack.

“I mean she basically is the Kook Queen.” Sofia said softly with a chuckle from beside Rafe, which earned a hard stare.

His face was in shock, his eyebrows furrowed, and neck tilted.

“Dude. Her like great great great grandfather-

“I am a descendant of founder of the Outerbanks. It’s nice to see that you guys know your history here.” I laughed to his face while lightly smacking Kelce’s shoulder.

“Hey! Kook Queen has arrived!” I heard from behind me.

“Barry!” I walked up to him to give a light hug.

“How the fuck do you know her?” Rafe asked harshly.

“Calm down Country Club, she lives at Corolla.” Barry laughs as his hand rested on my shoulder. “A lot has changed when you went on your little vacay.”

“Holy shit.” Rafe mumbled under his breath.

“Big ass house ain’t it. Rich ass mofos.” Barry clapped as he left to go back inside Tannyhill.

My head turned quickly at the shadow in the corner of my eye, Rafe’s shadow that was very quick and heavy.

He cleared his throat and bent down to my level. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Rafe Cameron.” he put on a fake friendly smile as his hand was reached out for me to shake.

I happily took his hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to finally meet you Mister Cameron, it seems we have a scheduled meeting coming up soon.” I gave him a smile and a pat on his back. His eyes seemed to almost bulge out of his skull.

[drakewyne]

a supercut:

"in june of this year, patient made a self endangering attempt while under the influence of several prescription drugs. patient is emotionally alienated almost entirely from a world of other human beings, and exhibits a psychotic dissonance from reality. subject to delusions and obsessive compulsivity, patient's fantasy life is preempted by primitive, regressive libidinal preoccupations many of which are distorted and bizarre. somatization has developed a false reality of incomprehensible intent for all others. fundamentally doomist, catastrophist, and pessimistic, patient is categorized by a high intellect but an intense compulsivity and behavior coupled with delusions of aggrandizement that tend to revolve around highly sexual or anatomical themes . . . "

tests were administered privately in an inpatient clinic with a fountain in delaware in the summer of 2023. by the way, these notes did not appear to nancy as an inappropriate response to the summer of 2023 at all.

.・゜゜・

before that, nancy was living in a large and very generational estate in crest hill. it was a lovely white proto - gothic with wide lush lawns. it once had children. now she describes it as a "mostly deco, senseless killing neighborhood."

she remembers ' visions of johanna ' on a record player, and a new housekeeper telling her that she saw death in her aura. nancy remembers chatting with her about why this might be so, paying her, opening every french window, unlocking every door and sleeping in the living room.

.・゜゜・

it was hard to surprise her then.

it was hard to even get her attention.

she was absorbed in her intellectualism, her bleak metal heart, her obsessive devices, her somatization, her shitty coffees and bad cigarettes, and the scientologist who routinely called her to tell her of e - meters and how she could become a clear because she continuously indulged the conversation.

she recalled to him a blue light that filled her room when she was young.

"huh?"

"so i was almost abducted."

"oh . . . uh, well—"

"what's clearer than that?"

he didn't call back. she walked around barefoot, considered getting abducted by aliens on the new tennis court near her house — another senseless killing.

.・゜゜・

nancy van der huis felt herself a missionary of apocalyptic sex. and a martyr for the adhd.

.・゜゜・

TO PACK:

- skirts

- shirts

- extra pair of shoes

- socks

- cigarettes

- bag with: hair care, toothbrush and paste, deodorant, prescriptions, tampons, skin care

TO CARRY:

- mohair jacket

- tablet

- keys

- glasses

- gum

this is a list printed loopy and drunk on a sticky note and slammed to her closet door. the list enables her to keep a keen focus — notice the cigarettes, for the thumbnails, and the gum, for the thumbnails and the cigarettes.

as clear as her starry eyes were beckoned to be, this is a list of someone who prizes self control, yearns for momentum, is determined to play vaguely and spectacularly on script. it is versatile and ambiguous. her performance shifts like water current.

there is one significant omission, an article she needs and rarely has: a timepiece. she typically didn't need one in the day, but alone, she often lost track of time and made it all up in her head. she slowly grew dissonant with the potential difference on her phone, and finally, would call tim and ask him what time it was.

she had an ambiguous and fluid identity, nearly missing if not for a tendency toward catastrophe and coronaries in a super snatched sick pleasure — going big, so to say, touching like an angel — but she didn't really know what time it was.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

things that happened at today’s market-

- they played will wood over the speakers and me and my vending partner just. looked at each other

- I sold/traded TWO caligari prints (!!)

- ran into someone who said their friend liked “metropolis,” which I had a piece for, and asked if they could send them a picture of the art. I said yes, and it turned out their friend was my tumblr mutual in another state

- someone brought a giant goblin shaped puppet

- a group told me they were playing “count the straights” at the market and only found one person

- someone with a shirt that said “I got pegged at cracker barrel” came up to my booth and I got so distracted laughing at it I forgot to tell them about my sales

- someone had crocs with shrek horns, which they called “shrocs”

- long discussion with someone as to why eraserhead baby deserved better

- the wind blew one of my beetlejuice prints away and it smacked one of my vending partners in the face

- as we were striking the tent, one of the poles got stuck, and they put megalovania on the speakers. and so you had like four or five people angrily assailing a tent pole as megalovania was playing. shit’s wild

- I got free fries from the food truck next to us :D

- traded some buttons for a frog-shaped lawn ornament, which I used to hold down the prints to keep them from blowing away. we decided to name it frodger

overall 10/10 experience. signed up for the next one

[paisholotus]

ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ TᕼᖇEE

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ Gₑₜₜᵢₙg ₜₒ ₖₙₒw ₜₕₑ ᵤₙfₐₘᵢₗᵢₐr ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

Percy's Pov

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you." He said, leaning back. "Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the black girl with brown and blonde braids. She came forward, and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. And I see you've met Selene, daughter of Clio, the Sun Goddess. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." He said, pointing down the cabins.

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep brown skin and her long blond/brown braids, she was beautiful too, I've never seen girls like Selene and Annabeth from my school. Annabeth's eyes were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. While Selene's eyes were a light brown color, with a hint of gold shimmering, they reminded me of pools of honey.

Annabeth glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, "You killed a mino-taur! or Wow, you're so awesome! or something like that. Instead, she said, "You drool when you sleep." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her braids flying behind her. "So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?" I laughed awkwardly.

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." He said, smiling. "Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?" I asked, looking him up and down. Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are power-ful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason." He said blankly. "Oh. Right. Sorry." I apologized. "I must say, Percy," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time." He said, biting into an apple.

"House call?" I asked, confused. "My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a look out. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence." He said lowly.

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared, and Mr. Brunner had taken the class ."You came to Yancy just to teach me?" I asked. Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother and let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test." He said proudly.

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "Are you playing or not?" He asked. "Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. "You do know how to play pinochle? Annabeth and Selene are my best players." Mr. D said, looking at Selene proudly. "I'm afraid not," I said. "Well, Selene, do you mind teaching Percy?" He asked her. I looked over at her, watching her give him a big smile and nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Sir." She then turned to look at me, smiling softly.

"it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules." He explained what the game was. "I'm sure the boy can learn. Plus, Selene is a great teacher, " Chiron said. "Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun-Chiron-why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" I asked, desperately trying to understand his reasoning. Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question." He said, chuckling.

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer. "Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?" He asked me. "She said ..." I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her." I told him, sadly.

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?" He asked me.

"What?" I asked. He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient." He said.

"Orientation film?" I asked. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"-he pointed to the horn in the shoe box -"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods-the forces you call the Greek gods-are very much alive." He said.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that when I saw Selene's mom. I mean, my best friend has furry legs and hooves." I said, glaring down at the floor. I stared at the others around the table. I waited for somebody to yell, not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?" He asked. "Eh? Oh, all right." He said, rolling his eyes, and handed him the can. Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"I just can't believe GOD'S are real. Are they like the same thing as....like...Jesus..that type of GOD?" I asked. "Well, now," Chiron said. "God-capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical." "Metaphysical? But you were just talking about -" "Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter." He said, matter factly.

"Smaller?" I asked. "Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." He said. "Zeus," I said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them." He nodded. And there it was again-distant thunder on cloud-less day. "Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you." He said sternly.

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. "Ok, sure. But I don't believe in gods." I said, flatly. "Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you." He said, crossing his arms.

"P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock." Grover said, pleading.

Selene nudged me and urged me to stick out my hand. She told me to close my eyes and I looked between Chiron and Mr. D, then back to Selene and hesitantly closed my eyes. I felt both of her hands cup mine, and I felt my hand warmly vibrate. She told me to open my eyes, and I gasped.

There was a glowing golden orb floating in my hand. I looked up at Selene, then back to the floating ball in my hand. "W-what...is that?" I asked her lowly. "It's my powers. I can do more, but I'm still practicing." She said, gigging at my mouth- opened shocked face.

"Well, Percy, do you believe now?" Chiron asked me. I couldn't even process what I was seeing. She carefully took the glowing ball away, and suddenly, everything that had happened the last 24 hours was swirling around in my head, and I suddenly felt light-headed.

"UH OH! HE'S GOING DOWN AGAIN!" I heard someone yell before everything went black.

[undeadremcycle]

Open Starter @lunarcovestarters

Option A: Puck's Luck Casino

It was day three in Lunar Cove, and Remmington was already out on the streets, going from place to place asking if they were hiring security. It was about the only job they had experience for. Ex-military, disabled, and unemployed didn't make for a very long resume. Still, they'd written up a CV after looking up a guide online, printed off a full folder of them, put on their nicest clothes, and hit the downtown street. They figured the best places to hit first would be the ones they knew hired security, like casinos. Despite how surprised they were to find a museum in such a small town, it was kind of a relief to know there were still some familiar landmarks, even in a place like this.

Still, nerves were nerves, and Remmy found themself digging around in their pockets for a cigarette and lighter, stepping aside as they slid the folder of papers under their arm. To their dismay, though, they seemed to have forgotten their lighter. Glancing around, Remmy spotted someone standing near the street and shuffled over, tapping them on the shoulder. "Uh, excuse me-- you don't happen to have a lighter, do you?"

Option B: Town Green, near the Gazebo

"Well, what do you think, bud?" Remmy stood in the middle of the lawn near a large gazebo, dressed in sweatpants and a shirt, while Moose trotted faithfully by their side, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. They couldn't help but smile at him, as his big, brown eyes scanned the lawn. "Big enough for ya?" The large, fluffy dog turned his head to look up at them, as if to say 'It's perfect'. With a chuckle, Remmy bent over to and unclipped the guide from Moose's harness, unbuckled the harness and then stepped back, letting him loose. And the giant dog, happy for his break from "work", took off as fast as possible, running and romping around the gas, turning to look back at Remmy. They held up the old, dirty tennis ball and saw his eyes light up, butt in the air, before winding their arm back and throwing it off towards him.

They did this a few more times before picking up the ball once again and turning to throw it in a different direction. Only, this time, the tennis ball flew directly into someone else, who had previously been in Remmy's blind spot. "Shit!" they cursed, trying to run over and stop Moose before he plowed through said person. "Sorry! I'm sorry! He won't bite! O-or hurt you! He's a good dog!"

[dick-helmet-magneto]

The younger X-Men and brotherhood fighting.

Charles and Erik sitting out in lawn chairs, wearing shorts and tropical print shirts, drinking, watching them like two dads watching their kids playing in the yard.

[catoi-calamari]

I’m dying out here, the gradual enshittification of all products is killing me. Could you please share your knowledge of brands that actually make good, durable clothing items? Tsym!!!

The Big One v3.0:More Boots!

>Blundstone

>Thursday Boot Co

This version is focused mainly on work/masc clothing . If anyone has recommendations for more decorative/femme clothing, please share them with me so I can update the post :)

Make sure to check the version number if you see this in the wild, it may have updated!

Recommendations marked with an asterisk (*) means I have no personal experience with them, but I've heard enough good things that I added them to the list.

1. Shirts/Tops

First of all, I'm a huge whore for 100% cotton, but in theory polyester will last longer. On the other hand, polyester will last forever, seeping into fish and local blood streams for millenia to come. Second of all, if you want cool graphics then I'd highly recommend doing it yourself. I'd say the easiest options for getting reliable, long lasting graphic tees are screen printing, tie dye and vinyl decals, but this depends on what resources you have access to. Keep in mind this is for shirts that you'll (hopefully) be able to wear for over a decade since really any decent cotton tee will last a decent amount of time.

Recommendations

-ASCOLOR

These are the best blank t shirts I've found, period. Stitching is great, the fabric is thick, and from what I can tell they're slightly more inclined to ethical production than your average mass produced T-shirts. They also sell nice jackets and coats as well!

I might try out a couple of pairs of pants from them to see what's up.

Band Tees

For some reason these tend to be really solid, depending on how big the artist in question is. Usually printed on Gildan, which ain't bad. They are expensive though, which means they may not be as great of a deal

This would be the section where I talked about stuff that isn't just t shirts but idk any brands that make consistently durable examples for a good price.

2. Pants

I would recommend a maximum of 1-2% elastane if you're getting skinny jeans, otherwise it's 100% cotton denim baby. Durability decrease exponentially the higher percentage of non-denim there is.

Also, I highly recommend selvage jeans if you can afford them. They use a tighter knit and are made to be worn in.

For cargo pants, get something that's thick and has ripstip material.

Recommendations

-Levi's

The lowest in price I would go tbh. I recommend the 502s since they're 100% cotton but 511s have been a staple of the street fashion world for a while. They're skinnier jeans ain't bad either, but I feel like they're starting to hit the edge of being too thin.

-The Unbranded Brand

Focused solely on getting the price of selvage jeans down to affordable levels. Fair warning, I bought a pair of black jeans (with 1% elastane) and the formaldehyde smell still hasn't gone away. I have an indigo pair that smell fine though, and besides that they're my favorite pairs of jeans.

5.11

Now most """Tactical Apparel""" stores tend to be a bit...off, but since this is a post about durable clothing, I gotta mention the probably undiagnosed autistic guys with a special interest in manly man pants. I have a pair of 5.11 Canvas Cargo Pants and I've taken these things camping, through outdoor airsoft fields, and underground deathcore moshpits. The bastards still looked mint when I finally handed them off to my partner because my ass got too juicy to wear them and gave me a blister when I spent all morning working for a landscaper. (That job was the final straw in my anti-lawn radicalization arc btw.)

To reiterate, I would look for anything that's ripstip and not paper thin. Nylon also works but the texture sucks.

Duluth Trading Co.*

Carhartt if they didn't sell out, from what I've heard

Insert Mid Level Selvage Jean brand that's about $150-$250 a pair*

3. Shoes

Always invest in whatever goes between you and the ground. This goes for mattresses and chairs as well. And for fucks sake get something that can be resoled, and find a cobbler near you. Also look up the Sam Vines Boot Theory of Economics.

Recommendations

Vans

Unlike converse, I've only ever bought one pair. The problem with Vans is the lack of impact absorption, something that can be fixed with aftermarket inserts in theory. Old-Skools take insoles fairly well. Their ComfyCush line is aimed at fixing this problem but I haven't tried any of them. I did get a pair of Ultraranges recently and they seem decently durable, but I've yet to really start wearing into them.

Any skate shoes in general*

Theyre made to be dragged across concrete at relatively high speeds. Try to go for suede.

Solovair*

Now, I have beef with Doc Martens since they sold out, but they're still cheap, comfortable, and made out of leather, which is all you need. Anything lower and I would argue that it's too cheap. However, they can't be resoled, they're leather is kind of thin, and they definitely have a fast fashion mindset.

Solovair is a company that uses the original factories in England to make their own line of lookalikes, for a slightly higher price and slightly higher quality. I've heard their customer service is shit.

Redwing*

I have heard nothing but praise for these. I'm going to buy a pair of Supersole 2.0s once my current pair (which didn't make the list since they kinda went downhill) finally bite it.

Danner*

Another popular recommendation for leather boots.

There is a queer owned boot brand that has canvas and leather boots that are relatively cheap and have cool art but I forgot the name

3. Socks

Blundstones*

Chelsea boots but austrialian

Basically either get Darn Tough* or Point6 some decent socks from whatever brand works for you. I highly recommend merino wool hiking socks, and I just wear cotton socks during the summer.

4. Underwear

You do wear underwear, right?

Recommendations

TomboyX

Queer-owned business catered towards gnc people. Their stuff is dope, high quality, and made in the US with livable wages for their employees. Highly recommend.

5. Specialty

From cold weather gear to military surplus, this section covers everything else.

Recommendations

Patagonia*

I'm still amazed they're this popular and have this much of a focus on sustainability and longevity. Their sibling, North Face, definitely fell into the consumerism pit years ago but Patagonia has still been chugging along.

Military Surplus

I feel a bit guilty for gatekeeping the specific companies I like, but if you go to the right places (eBay) you can get durable clothing for SUPER cheap. It's usually not the highest quality, but it's better than the same thing from an outlet mall.

Chrome

Mainly a bicycling brand, their bags are the kind of things that last a stupidly long time. The internals of them aren't amazing, mainly just an empty main cavity with a laptop sleeve and a smaller separate pocket, but all of their stuff is rock solid. They also have a solid warranty as well.

Swiss Army

Yes, the knife guys. They haven't changed their looks since the late 90s but their backpacks are designed amazingly well. They also have a limited lifetime warranty. I've noticed some cosmetic wear on mine after a few months of using it pretty roughly, thankfully it's just skin-deep stuff but it's also different to older examples I've seen. Definitely more suited towards carrying books and folders.

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Or, a post which is so terrible, so full of atrocity that it would be best if you averted your eyes. To take this post and print it only to shred it, lest all innocence in the world be lost. We again advise you to please, turn of the computer now and run from it as fast as you are able to and enjoy the great outdoors instead. Perhaps a spot of hiking, which will do you much more good than this meandering misery.

Y'know, I was barely a kid anymore when I read these the first time. My father was actually the one who collected the entire set, the new book on each release and read them through right away. And then he pushed them onto me when he was done. He did that a lot, pushing me toward books he liked and I don't think I ever showed the appreciation I should have at the time.

But this post is more about revisiting them recently and finding out how strongly they aged. I mean certain things and details definitely got caught up in cultural changes, as they are wont to do, but the core idea there?

A Series of Unfortunate Events is about how much people can suck. It's about good intentions always getting run aground by politeness. It's about how a paper thin veneer will stop justice, if not outright use it to its own advantage. Like the maddening marriage scene. All of the adults sitting around going, "Well, it's all legal! There's nothing we could possibly do about this! Oh damn we've been had, we'll be sure to be very cross about this when we read about it in the paper." Like... What the fuck do you mean there's noting you can do go up on the stage and introduce the Count's face to your fist! You heard him say "drop the baby"! There have to be laws about this but no one knows any?

Of course they don't, because an adult is constantly stepping around the carefully-cared-for grass of their neighbor, while a child only sees the cannon pointed at them from the window and wants to hurry.

"But it's such a nice lawn and look, there's a window! He wouldn't break his window to shoot us!" The adult says, noticing and not caring about the lit match in the cannoneer's hand. Or the "I hate windows" shirt.

The metaphor ran wild with me for a moment but I'm not going to apologize for overuse of metaphor when it comes to these books.

And I think that's really the core of what the series is. It's one that remembers how arbitrary and ridiculous people seemed when one was young. And hell, it remembers how ridiculous people still are. It's an endlessly frustrating work where you wish just one person would just listen to (which used here means believe in) you. That something was wrong, or that life doesn't have t o be this miserable. Or that yes we can do something I just need you to volunteer a little of your time and goodwill. But volunteers are few and far between. And so very often put in harm's way.

But, way back when. When Dad first put that book in front of me and said "I think it'll help you." That was the most lifelike depiction of doing good I'd ever seen. It's not a heroic and splendored thing celebrated by parades. It's quiet and tricksy and enjoys spending time in dark alleys and secret tunnels. Where its shadow looks suspiciously like evil and you have to try really hard if you want to separate the two or else get led astray.

In reality, "doing good" is just "doing your best".

[mightyflamethrower]

Once, years ago, Milltown was a fishing village and a lumber town. There was a tribe of Natives just outside the city limits. Years went by and the place changed and grew. It never lost that western waterfront feeling though. Salt water and trees and a college. That’s what I have heard. I wasn’t born until 2010. Lou emerged into the kitchen in her current fave outfit. She looked a little like a scarecrow. Extremely distressed jeans, no hem just shreds. One of dad’s hoodies with some kind of hoohah printed on it about a tractor company, over a plaid man’s shirt and all covered in one of Mom’s weird fleece jackets. Shoes were Keds. OK. She had jammed her curls into a scrunchie hair thing, had on some vintage shades and was ready to go. I don’t scare easily so I was fine with it. I had on my battle dress uniform. Jeans, no holes. A big grey sweatshirt and over that a pea coat, old white trainers. Hair up in a ponytail. I stuffed four of those pink boiled eggs in my pockets. Ready to roll. I locked the back door, pulled the kitchen curtains closed. I glanced around. Home. Hm. Home is where the heart was. My sister and I passed out the front door. I turned and locked the door. I felt like something was changing. I was not sure why. Just shutting the door felt almost final. It was still early in the day, like ten AM. Grey clouds covered the sky. It had been raining during the night. No surprises there. Our lawn was a shaggy mess. No one bothered with lawns anymore. Down the walk. Past the mailbox. We almost never get any mail, but I looked just to make sure. Nothing. Just as we walked out onto the narrow two lane asphalt the sun broke through the clouds, brilliantly, like it does when you are used to the dim light of morning around here. The whole road shone golden. Surely a good sign. Down the golden road we must travel. “Turn your face to the sun.” Two miles is not very far to walk. We passed by our old neighbor’s houses. I recited each name as we came across their places. Erickson’s white house. No one lives there now. Steele’s red house. One old lady is still living there with her dog. She stays home. People bring her supplies. A few more places where we didn’t remember who had lived there. Overgrown lawns. Huge bushes near the houses and unpruned roses surrounded the houses where once people had lived and worked. We passed the Gustafsons two story brick house. The fruit trees had not been tended to for several years. Did I know that it was a gloomy scene? Maybe not really. It was the new normal. Lou piped up, “Jen, there is a dog following us.” Glancing back, I saw that she was correct! There was quite a big dog on the road behind us. He was not familiar to me. He stopped about twenty feet away when we stopped. He appeared to be a German Shepherd mix, mixed with some other really big kind of dog. He had a black muzzle and tan body and one ear up and one ear down. We used to call those Indian dogs because you would see them around the Reservation. The dog sat on the pavement watching me. They sense who is the boss, right? I squatted down on one knee and called to him. “Hey, Buddy, come here…” I noticed that his sides were thin, and his fur looked a bit messy. “Want an egg, Buddy?” I coaxed. I pulled one out of my pocket and started to peel it for him. That got his attention in a big way. He stood and approached 

slowly, tail waving. This was a big dog. He was taller than a regular German Shepherd. The pink eggshell bits lay scattered on the wet asphalt. The bright light of the sun was shining into his 

very aware looking brown eyes. I was not fearful of this big dog at all. He came to me then and took the egg. He didn’t mind the shell that I hadn’t peeled off yet. He put it on the road surface, looked up at me, then carefully ate it. I peeled him another egg then. I guessed that his name was Buddy now. I guessed we had a friend for now. Lou walked over and stood with us and patted his head. I did too. He seemed to like the attention. “OK, Buddy”, I said. “We have to keep going.” Lou smiled then, like I had not seen her smile in quite a long time.

Hi This Is LouJen was strutting along up there like she was on a mission from God. She had these long spidery legs like a boy. Her ponytail was almost swinging in complete circles! That’s how crazy she was. The sun was in my eyes, and I was hungry. She always said I was fat. She treated me like I was retarded. I was not fat, I had a waist and looked more like a woman than she did. Ha. You can’t believe everything she tells you!

Someone had trained Buddy. I wished I knew his real name. I bet it wasn’t Buddy. Hopefully not King or Rex. He stayed right at my left side. Sometimes he would stuff his big black muzzle in my hand, reassuringly. Sometimes he would glance back to make sure that Lou was still back there. He would stop and I would stop, and we would wait for her to catch up. I knew she didn’t like walking very much. She was a tired looking small figure in funny clothes. I loved her so much. Except for Buddy, she was it, all I had. We had to cross a bridge over the river, and it was pretty steep. Our trip into Milltown was because we had to pick up our funny money. The State gives unemployed people a little money. It doesn’t look real. It comes in little books. To use a bill, you tear it out of the book. If there is change due, we get it in old coins. They were still in circulation. There isn’t any record keeping really. We weren’t important enough to keep track of much. They hand these out at the Post Office. Our names were on a list. We could buy a few things to carry home then. The river is cleaner than it used to be. There was no industry left making it dirty. It was about thirty feet down to the water. Looking over, we could see one guy fishing a little upstream. I was not sure that I would want to eat whatever he was catching. I waved; Lou smiled. We didn’t see many young guys. Now the sidewalk began. Power poles and streetlights. Stapled onto one of the power poles was large sheet of red paper with the word “NO” spray painted on it, in white. We looked at each other and laughed. NO, what? Might have had something to do with the news yesterday. Next, we noticed stenciled words on the sidewalks. Somebody had been making a trail of these stencils. They said “Follow Me” in more white spray paint. We started to look for them all the way to the Post Office. On every block, there were two or three of these stenciled messages. Things were starting to get interesting. Who did this? The Post Office was one street over from Main. I went in and gave our names, leaving Lou outside leaning on the window, watching the street, hanging out with Buddy. Walking back out, I carefully put our little books of funny money in the inside pocket of my pea coat. Some Kind of Shopping Lou was tired, I could see that. She was crouched down, resting, and leaning on Buddy who braced, sitting under the load. “Come on you two, we have to go to the so called store”

pBird (aka kabukinoir@tumblr)

More to come.

[hersweetrevenge]

corey cunningham x roger allen: relationship headcanons

i've become unreasonably invested in this pairing, and feel the need to explain myself lol. i think a relationship between corey and mr allen is fundamentally very complex and problematic, while also being an all american story of infidelity and youth.

WARNING for corey cunningham x mr allen, age gap relationship, smut, unprotected sex, infidelity/cheating, implied sex work, mildly implied child abuse (corey and his mom), murder, violence and child death. 3.8k word count.

pre-accident

their relationship is sort of like a subversion of the "lonely wife has an affair with the pool boy", but instead it's the "white collar husband has an affair with the boy who mows their lawn".

no matter how many times roger tells corey to call him roger, corey pretty much always says mr allen.

when corey first starts doing yard work, he put flyers (printed at the library) in the letterboxes through the nicer neighbourhoods in haddonfield.

joan is not happy about it. she wants corey at home, with her, always. but he's been getting a lot of big idead lately about college and independence and she is not happy. not one bit.

he meets the allens when they call the number he left and ask if he can come by at the weekend to talk about what he can help with.

corey got a crush first, almost as soon as he first met the allens, but roger was the one to instigate the affair, after a couple of months.

to begin with, roger thinks corey is a well-meaning but awkward kid, clearly not used to speaking to people that much. there's a sort of boyish confidence that comes through now and then, when he's talking about something he knows well. as time goes by roger starts to wonder -- when corey takes his shirt off in the heat, he must know what he's doing, right?

both of them are bisexual. roger experimented in college and was comfortable in his identity, but isn't really open about it since he got married. corey is still figuring himself out when the affair starts, but he's had a lot of crushes on both men, especially older men, and women.

[contrary to my original fic] i actually think corey was 20 when he starts working for the allens, while roger is in his mid 40s.

roger starts an affair for the classic, all american reason: his marriage has gotten boring. he wants an affair with someone younger and more exciting who will let him play out his fantasy of still being in his prime.

i don't think he has sinister or malicious intentions when he "seduces" corey. maybe he's just defending his own actions, but corey is an adult, if he didn't want to do anything then he wouldn't, right? corey clearly has a crush, right?

corey really, genuinely respects the allens' marriage.

not only does corey respect the allens as a couple (the ideal american marriage when compared with his mom and ronald), but he also really respects roger. i don't think (at that point) corey would "whore himself out" for a man he didn't respect.

deep down, corey is aware of how this all looks. he knows he's being a homewrecker.

but another part of him feels like he's doing something good. if roger was going to cheat, surely it's better that he does it with corey, than with someone else who doesn't care about his marriage.

another motivation for why corey gives in so easily is that his life is so controlled and there is so much pressure on him, he just wants an outlet to forget about everything. think gifted kid to dumbification kink pipeline.

he doesn't want to think about anything at all, and roger makes it so he doesn't have to. makes it so that his mind is empty and all he has to do is lie there and let himself feel good. it's an offer he won't can't pass up.

roger used to watch corey do yard work from the kitchen window, when he was at home. the sight made him stay home on the weekend a lot more.

even though a lot of their affair is based on convenience, roger can very much see how handsome corey is.

roger loves making corey laugh, because his laugh loud and childish. and he means it to, roger can tell he isn't faking.

mrs allen is rarely mentioned, beyond whether she is home or not, and where she is if she isn't home. both of them have a guilty conscience about her.

roger starts to wonder, is corey like this with everyone he works for? does he put on an elaborate act of "awkward, blushing virgin" -- is he actually sleeping with all the people he does yard work for? and he acts all innocent because he knows it gets people going?

corey understands he's being used. he knows this isn't a "relationship" and roger definitely isn't going to leave his family for him or anything like that, they're not going to be together, so he tells himself that he's just going to enjoy it while it lasts.

but in saying that, corey definitely fell in love a little bit.

corey's isn't your "classic" attention whore, but he is one all the same. he never had a dad and now this older man is showing him a lot of (special) attention? he'll do anything to keep it.

what can he say, he has some intense daddy issues. being wanted by an older man satiates that for a while.

plus it makes him feel like he has some control in his life. and makes him feel like an adult where he doesn't at home. it feels so grown up to have an affair.

roger doesn't know everything about corey's home life, but he thinks he understands, from what corey tells him when he's feeling vulnerable. he knows corey is lonely and stressed; a resentful momma's boy.

corey tells him about his college plans; he wants to be an engineer, wants to go to a school in chicago. if anything, roger feels an affection for him. he wants corey to find a better life for himself.

in all honesty, corey doesn't really know much about roger either. he sees him as this ideal family man, father figure and partner. he's so caught up in that, and so validated by his attention, that he forget he doesn't really know him. he knows one side of him.

roger still pays corey money for doing "yard work". corey does still do that, to keep up appearances, but he's less thorough than he used to be. they both know what the money is really for.

corey tells himself he doesn't care about the money. he needs it, but that's not what he's having this affair for.

he's selling himself (or letting himself be bought) for affection more than money.

subconsciously, it does mess him up a little bit though.

roger's thoughts about corey possibly putting on an act lose all their credit after the first few times they do anything. there's no way corey is faking this sort of earnest inexperience.

because corey is very nervous and shy at first. he's so inexperienced and he doesn't want to embarrass himself. mostly he just let's roger do whatever he wants to him.

they always have their trysts at the allen house.

at first it's at the weekend when corey is there to do the yard and mrs allen and jeremy aren't at home, but then roger starts inviting corey around more, still when mrs allen and jeremy are out (lucky for them, his wife and child have busy social lives).

roger starts finding more time to be at home when corey can be there, working from home when he can. think blow jobs while on a zoom meeting.

roger drinks heineken, pretty much all of their hook ups begin with them having a drink, even before corey hits 21.

corey's about to get a pavlov response to the sound of beer bottles clinking together.

the first few times, they only kiss. then it gets more hot and heavy, dry humping and grinding, a hand job here and there. roger teaches corey how to give head. he fingers him to get him used to the feeling because he's never done this before. they stay in the kitchen or on the couch.

the first time corey ever sucked dick, it took him a while to take it down all the way, even with roger guiding him through it.

his eyes water and roger wipes away the tears that spill over, his other hand always in his hair.

he gets good though, very good, even though he's nervous every time. roger secretly likes that nervous look, it's such a contrast to how he actually takes it like a champ. call him the king of sloppy toppy. and he always swallows.

the first time corey got a blow job he cried. just like he did with all of his other firsts. it's actually kind of rare that roger gives corey head. corey'd rather give than receive with oral, he thinks, but really roger is just kind of selfish.

roger took corey's virginity. sometimes he even feels guilty about it.

corey cried. he tried not to, he really did, but he couldn't help it. the stretch was more than he expected, even with a lot of prep and he'd never felt so full before.

("just the tip," roger had promised, to see if he could take it. it felt okay, corey had nodded to keep going but didn't realise how overwhelming it'd be)

roger pets his hair, kisses his temple, strokes his dick to try and and calm him down. it starts feeling good, really good and too much all at once.

condoms? never heard if them. it's not like roger can knock him up and they're both clean so roger never even suggests it.

corey loses his virginity in the allens' bed. after that, they pretty much always do it in the bedroom.

missionary is their usual position, though sometimes corey rides cowgirl because roger likes seeing him do all the work to get himself there.

roger doesn't really do dirty talk, corey seems too innocent for that sort of thing (in the beginning anyway). he does dole out the praise though.

"good boy" "you're so good for me" "you're taking me so well, look at you" "it's okay, i've got you"

their sex life is pretty vanilla to be honest. roger isn't into anything particularly kinky, and corey hasn't figured himself out that far yet.

the thrill of "we shouldn't be doing this" is enough.

while praise is the main thing corey likes, he's also into overstimulation (once he deals with the actually overwhelming aspect of the first few time), something like dumbification (without the more objectifying aspects), and he is more than willing to do a little bit of begging. roger tries a little bit of teasing degradation on occasion, but corey doesn't like it that much; he doesn't want to feel like he's doing something wrong or he isn't good enough.

the riskiest thing they ever did was have a quickie while jeremy was at home. corey was there to do the yard (and more), but jeremy is unexpectedly at home because his playdate got cancelled. jeremy is playing upstairs in his room and when corey comes back inside from the garden, mr allen corners him in the kitchen.

he nudges corey up onto the counter, a hand going down the front of his shorts.

corey whimpers and shakes his head, "jeremy's --"

"upstairs," mr allen finishes his sentence for him, "he won't be down for a while - kids and their computers- don't worry about it."

slowly corey starts to get more comfortable and confident during their escapades, he leans into what he knows roger wants. someone young and playful who can give him a run for his money, but who will always give in, in the end.

he starts having fun, like he's playing the role of someone more confident and sexy and teasing.

roger sometimes sends him upstairs to get ready while he grabs them some beers and locks the front door. corey does as he's told, stripping off and laying in mr allen's bed and when he walks in, corey smiles at the older man, legs spread wantonly, "see anything you like?"

roger is initially surprised at how malleable and easy corey is to manhandle when he wants to be. roger is taller by a few inches, but corey had broad shoulders and broad hips, he isn't waifish by any means. roger likes how boyishly masculine corey is.

corey is very, very good at keeping secrets. he's so used to his mom's snooping and meddling that he's perfected the art of hiding things from her. and really, who else is he going to tell?

the hardest part is hiding any marks on his skin. corey is carefully not to leave any on roger, but roger doesn't always extend the same courtesy.

joan has an annoying habit of just walking into corey's room, or even the bathroom while he's in the shower, without knocking to collect his washing or talk to him or interrogate him, so he has to be careful she doesn't see anything like a hickey ln his neck or bruises on his hips or else he'll never, ever hear the end of it.

corey is a stickler for punctuality. he is always home in time for dinner. there have been a few close calls where they lost track of time and corey needed to bike hard as hell to get home on time.

a random thing corey was unnecessarily embarrassed about was that he only wears tighty-whiteys, and not even a good brand, they are classic fruit of the loom. roger literally doesn't care, it's even kind of endearing. and the darker part of him gets a thrill out of it, knowing corey's mom still buys and probably washes his underwear while corey is here getting his brains fucked out.

speaking of that darker side of roger. he knows corey is an adult, capable of making his own decisions, but there's something about him being so dependent that does something to him.

[i'm not sure if i really believe they'd go this far, but i don't think it's out of the realm of possibility] roger takes corey out of town for a dirty weekend. corey lies to his mom, roger lies to theresa.

this dirty weekend is a turning point for their sex life.

with no time constraints, they go so many rounds they start losing count.

still nothing particularly wild, but things mrs allen wouldn't do.

corey already fulfilled one of those things for him, of course. theresa would never let him do anal.

the rest are more mundane things, like doggy style and wake up blow jobs and shower sex. even just the sense of free use that means they keep going and going and going.

corey isn't delusional (he swears he isn't), but he turns off his brain for the weekend and imagines this is his real life. with roger spending money like it was nothing, on a fancy as fuck hotel room and hundreds of dollars of room service, and having all the time in the world to laze around in bed watching movies and having zero expectations placed on him.

the boldest and hottest thing corey did on that trip was pull roger's wedding ring off with his teeth when he put his fingers in his mouth to get wet. even corey doesn't know what possessed him to do that, but the way roger practically fold him in half to fuck him afterwards, he's glad for the divine inspiration.

that is also the first time they literally sleep together after having sex, and they end up getting, perhaps dangerously, sentimental. corey just wants to be held and roger is much too gentle with him for someone who claims this is just a casual fling.

in corey's fantasies when he's alone in bed, he gets off on the forbidden nature of the affair, but it never really translates to their actual encounters.

he thinks about how he does things for mr allen that mrs allen wouldn't, thinks about saying it one day because he knows it'd drive roger crazy.

"i bet your wife doesn't feel this good, does she?" "she doesn't moan like i do" "she doesn't let you ruin her".

he'd never say any of that out loud, and it leads to some of his meaner and more delusional daydreams.

selfish. corey knows deep down that he's selfish. He doesn't want to think about mrs allen or jeremy, and he wants to be mr allen's one and only. he'd let mr allen do anything to him and he knows he'd love him so well if he got the chance.

but that is never going to happen, of course. corey knows that.

corey swings between those selfish daydreams and feeling guilty. mrs allen is really nice, he doesn't want to wreck her marriage. but is it really hurting anyone, if no one ever finds out?

the final time they fuck before the accident was on the weekend before halloween.

neither of them showed any indication of wanting to stop anytime soon. if it weren't for the accident, the affair could have gone on for months more, maybe even a year -- until corey went to college.

everything that weekend was normal, their usual routine. corey raked some leaves and then got railed.

if only they knew that would be their last time, maybe they could have savoured it.

roger is the one who suggests calling corey on halloween when their babysitter cancels on them. theresa is sceptical -- she doesn't know corey that well -- but roger makes a convincing case.

he knows corey is a good, responsible kid, and it's only for a few hours. he trusts corey.

post-accident

after the accident, they never speak. roger barely even says anything while they wait for the ambulance and the cops.

the trial is long and roger watches corey but they never interact beyond being in the same courtroom.

theresa had yelled at him outside the courthouse and roger had just held her, watching as ronald acted as a buffer between corey and anyone who tried to get close, mostly the press. he bundles him in the back of their car before they start the long drive back to warren county.

a horrible, selfish part of roger is relieved that corey never told anyone about the affair. no one who mattered anyway. he might of told his therapist, but nothing could would come of it now, he thinks.

as it happens, corey never did tell anyone. not his therapist, not the cops, certainly not his mother.

he doesn't think anyone would believe him, even if he did.

roger sees corey around town. a lot. sometimes he thinks about talking to him, but he holds steady. corey killed his son, he tells himself.

(jeremy's death is the penance he has to pay for his infidelity, he thinks)

corey takes the "break up" really hard. not only is he wracked with guilt over jeremy's death, but in a single moment, his relationship with roger is over. all that attention and affection and comfort, even just having someone to alleviate the physical need of getting off, is gone.

when mrs allen rips into him at the bar, corey's stomach drops thinking she might of found out about the affair in the years since. but no, she just hasn't forgiven him for killing her baby.

the first time they speak in four years is when roger picks corey up the morning after he meets michael.

corey isn't thinking clearly. something happened to him, something that changed everything.

roger hasn't spoken to him in years, but corey knows what he wants. it's the only thing he ever wanted from him.

he's resentful that roger tries to act like he doesn't want sex, then still feels resentful when it turns out he does.

where once corey had been shy and virginal, now he doesn't care. he's not been with anyone for a long time, something is happening to him that he doesn't understand and he wants, just for a while, to have something familiar. so he just lets himself let go.

part of him is trying to process his sudden and dangerous attraction to michael, by going back to his "first love", safe and familiar mr allen.

roger is meaner now. if corey can be -- bringing up theresa in the way he does -- then so can he. he's been through a lot. he deserves to take it out on corey, especially when corey is offering himself up.

it's rough and roger knows it must hurt, at least a little bit, but corey doesn't slow down.

when corey sleeps with allyson, he thinks about how different it is this way around. wonders if this is how it felt for mr allen when he fucked him.

post-michael

corey has absolutely nothing left to lose. a combination of stress and past trauma and an untreated concussion causes him to snap.

after killing those kids -- those fucking kids -- and that dj and his momma, and with michael in tow, he finds mr allen one more time.

(he begs michael to stay outside, he wants to do this one all on his own)

he knocks on the door, "can i talk to you?", roger lets him in, because what's the harm.

corey says everything he wishes he'd said before, that morning when mr allen picked him up and they fucked in that empty lot.

he screams and yells and blames everything on roger. getting more and more nonsensical as he goes on. working himself up to just do it --

"-- it's all your fault, everything that happened is because of you. you only asked me to babysit because you'd been fucking me behind your wife's back and you knew i'd drop everything to help you, you knew i'd do it and - and i did and then everything went wrong and - and it's your fault and you never fucking loved me, you never --"

roger thinks corey is having a mental breakdown (which in a way, he very much is)

so he just stands there and takes it, letting corey get out whatever he needs to before he can take him home to his mom or call the cops or whatever.

corey takes a deep breath and leans forward. pulls roger to him and kisses him. it's messy and desperate. corey's hands twisted in roger's shirt.

then, so much like that first kill, corey stabs him. the blood gushes over his hand and roger gasps like he's been winded.

corey doesn't break the kiss, though roger isn't even an active participant anymore. he pulls his hand back and stabs him again. and again. and again.

he only pulls away when roger crumples, unable to hold his own weight. blood pools around corey's feet on the cream carpet.

corey wipes the tears from his face that he didn't even notice had fallen and goes back outside to find michael.

[vnnmr]

Ocean Vuong, "Amazon History of a Former Nail Salon Worker" [POEM]

Mar.

Advil (ibuprofen), 4 pack

Sally Hansen Pink Nail Polish, 6 pack

Clorox Bleach, industrial size

Diane hair pins, 4 pack

Seafoam handheld mirror

“I Love New York” T-shirt, white, small

Apr.

Nongshim Ramen Noodle Bowl, 24 pack

Cotton Balls, 100 count

“Thank You For Your Loyalty” cards, 30 count

Toluene POR-15 40404 Solvent, 1 quart

UV LED Nail Lamp

Cuticle Oil, value pack

Clear Acrylic Nail Tips, 500 count

May

Advil (ibuprofen), 4 pack

Vicks VapoRub, twin pack

Portable Electric Nail Drill

Salonpas Heat-Activated muscle patch, 40 count

Lipstick, “Night Out Red”

Little Debbie Chocolate Zebra Cakes, 4 boxes

Jun.

Large faux-clay planter pots, value set

Carnation Condensed Milk, 6 pack

Clear Nail Art Acrylic Liquid Powder Dish Bowl, 2 pcs

Birthday Card—Son—Pop-up Mother and Son effect

Nike Elite Basketball Shorts, men’s small

Jul.

Saviland Holographic Gold Nail Powder, 6 colors

Nescafé Taster’s Choice Instant Coffee

Advil (ibuprofen), 4 pack

PIXNOR Pedicure Double-Sided Callus Remover

Bengay Medicated Cream, 3 pack

Aug.

Newchic Ochre Summer Dress Floral Print, sz 6

Wrigley’s Doublemint Gum, 8 pack

Plastic Adirondack Lawn Chair, colonial blue

Sep.

Nail buffers and files, 10 pcs

Coppertone Sunblock, 6 oz

Oct.

CozyNites Fleece Blanket, pink

Sleep-Ease Melatonin caps, 90 count

Icy Hot Maximum Strength pain relief pads

Nov.

Tampax, 24 count

Faux-Resin Hair clips, 3 pack

Dec.

Advil (ibuprofen) Maximum Strength, 4 pack

True-Gro Tulip Bulbs, 24 pcs

Jan.

Feb.

Healthline Compact Trigger Release Folding Walker

Yankee Candle, Midsummer’s Night, large jar

Mar.

Chemo-Glam cotton head scarf, sunrise pink

White Socks, women’s small, 12 pack

Apr.

Chemo-Glam cotton scarf, flower garden print

“Warrior Mom” Breast Cancer awareness T-shirt, pink and white

May

Mueller 255 Lumbar Support Back Brace

Jun.

Birthday Card—“Son, We Will Always Be Together,” Snoopy design

Jul.

Eternity Aluminum Urn, Dove and Rose engraved, small

Perfect Memories picture frame, 8 x 11 in, black

Burt’s Bees lip balm, Honey, 1 pc

Aug.

Sep.

Easy-Grow Windowsill herb garden

Oct.

YourStory Customized Memorial Plaque, 10 x 8 x 4 in

Winter coat, navy blue, x-small

Nov.

Wool socks, grey, 1 pair

- From the collection Time is a Mother