#all my homies hate laura

[widowshill]

pot kettle black my good man

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug watches 'The Bad Batch': The Outpost

As per many people's requests, I've collected a series of texts and Facebook messages from Doug when he watched certain episodes of everyone's favorite Copy Paste Boi show.

Some he was quite pithy on ('Ryan-from-Accounting goes fast but not fast enough to get away from the Bitch Wife Laura'), and others...well, he got excitable, to put it mildly.

Here's one of the more deranged ones, Season 2, Episode 12, 'The Outpost'. Or as Doug calls it: "The Daddy Warcrimes Christmas Special."

CW for Language like you wouldn't believe. Doug says "you'll need a permission slip from your momma to read this, I guess."

-----

Daddy Warcrimes is waiting by the Empire's equivalent of a windowless van, because comfort is just not his thing and he really wants the experience of smuggling cocaine across the border one of these days.

Some bitch who looks like she works at a bank is telling these clones that their extended warranty is up. I wanna bring her a bag of pennies and make her count it before I deposit it because I'm sick like that.

So here comes in SOME BLOND JACKASS. Mother of Hell do I hate this guy. Can I just tell you how much I hate him? I hate him like I hate the Crimson Tide, like I hate February, like I hate my mother-in-law. Hate hate hate. 

So Daddy Warcrimes, SOME BLOND JACKASS, and some homies get into Floating Probable Cause to lay waste to an unsuspecting Third World country or whatever.

Well, I was wrong! Looks like Elsa and her frozen fingers took over this dump. Disney owns both, so why not. The cold never bothered them anyway. Nope, they’re at somebody’s nasty old storage shed. Why does this remind me of visiting my sister in Wyoming?

Oh, who is this no-frills, salt-of-the-earth, son-of-a-bitch? Is that tanned Kurt Russell? No? It’s Sassy Park Ranger! I like him already. If he was my boss I’d actually show up to work on time and sober, or late and hung over, either way, it’d be a good time with the man. He just seems cool and chill and a nice dude. I bet he’s got homemade beef jerky in his locker and his beard always smells like cigar smoke. 

OH SHUT UP STUPID BLOND JACKASS, Jesus Christ I’ve never wanted to hit someone with a folding chair so hard in my life. CALL HIM COMMANDER.

Aw, Sassy Park Ranger’s being nice to Daddy Warcrimes, maybe Daddy Warcrimes will share the Columbian nose candy in the back of the van with Sassy Park Ranger, and Sassy Park Ranger won’t ask about the sobbing family Daddy Warcrimes is probably holding for ransom in the back. It’s all about understanding each other. 

This is truly the Daddy Warcrimes Christmas special, snow and friendship and stuff. I hope this doesn’t end up with Daddy Warcrimes 86’ing Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer from the sky, that would traumatize the children. But this is the same studio that produced Bambi so who knows. Didn't he try killing a kid the first episode?

Oh man, Sassy Park Ranger’s lost a lot of his men, that’s real sad. Only two left, Jesus. SHUT UP BLOND JACKASS SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

(I won’t repeat it, but the amount of times that SHUT UP was texted was….something else- Dr. MM)

Sassy Park Ranger’s taking Daddy Warcrimes on a hike around the place in the middle of a blizzard, probably going to say hi to the yeti hooker they all frequent and show him how to write his name in the snow with pee. He’s such a good guy. If they go sledding I’d be so happy.

Oh, shit! Daddy Warcrimes remembers that he has a job and proceeds to cop some poor bastard in the leg so he can follow the trail of blood in the snow. What in the Fargo am I watching here, does Steve Buschemi show up at one point now. No sledding in this one, I guess.

Well there goes Sassy Park Ranger and Daddy Warcrimes on a heartwarming romp following a crippled burglar in the snow as he bleeds to death. Kevin McCallister would be so proud. Well, now, they found a dead body already. You know, at this point, if Daddy Warcrimes capped Santa in the head this show wouldn’t be less wholesome. 

Aw shit Daddy Warcrimes stepped on a landmine, but Sassy Park Ranger watched his training videos that HR made them sit through and disarms it. They’re having a nice convo, I really, really like Sassy Park Ranger. If he dies I’ll be so freaking mad. 

(I said nothing, FYI - Dr. MM)

Aw shit, they found the bunker of crazy white people with guns in the snow. It’s confirmed: the Daddy Warcrimes Christmas Special takes place in Wyoming. Are Daddy Warcrimes and Sassy Park Ranger facing off my brother-in-law and his branch of the VFW near Laramie? Those guys need hobbies besides doomsday prepping and getting drunk in the snow. It ain’t right. 

“After all we sacrificed”…man. I feel right here. Is this the child friendly version of Enemy at the Gate? Shit. Please these two bastards need to survive. I need a beer and I wanna hug my wife.  

Dr. Meat Muffin, please don't tell me you're letting your babies watch this show. They need that dog from Australia who has fun with her daddy, not this.

Oh shit, avalanche! 

Oh no, Sassy Park Ranger. Oh no, oh no. Oh, Daddy Warcrimes.

Thank Christ they made it! They’re gonna save him! They’re gonna save him.

Wait. What. 

WHAT THE FUCK, BLOND ASSHOLE. 

I HATE THIS JACKASS SO GODDAMNED MUCH, SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE, I WANNER SHOVE MY SOLDIER UP YOUR EMPIRE YOU STUPID DICK. 

FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

Yay! Daddy Warcrimes finally took out his gun and 86’d that FUCK. CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY!! YAAAAAAY!!!!!

Man...I hope this ends okay for Daddy Warcrimes. I hope his brothers aren't just dicking around somewhere warm while he and the other bros are out dying.

Guess that'll be next episode?"

....Doug snapped SO HARD watching 'Pabu'. Brace yourselves.

[schismusic]

The Discography Principle - Prologue, or: "All My Homies Hate Dividing by Zero"

The discography principle may be defined as an objective way to determine whether or not you're worthy of calling a band or artist "your favorite" or "one of your favorites". A possible enunciation of it goes as follows:

"Let u ≝ some asshole, B ≝ {b|b is a band}, n ≝ #({x|x is a record by b}); let p = #({y|y is a record by b in u's possession}) = p1 + p2 wherein p1 ≝ number of physical records by b you own in any format and p2 ≝ number of records by b you have downloaded. If p ≥ n ∨ p2 = n (for n → +∞), then ∃b∈B such that b is one of u's favorite bands."

When u = me, this subset of B (which we might call Bf) is comprised of six bands, off the top of my head: Autechre, Godflesh, Shellac, Kraftwerk, Fugazi and Coil, listed in no particular order.

To download a record, especially in high-quality formats, is no small thing because - in an era of 24/7 online access to all sorts of music, provided you know where to look for it - it takes commitment. Regardless of whether or not you actually get to listen to a particular record, it's safe to assume that you would never work your way through Soulseek or Sophie's Floorboard or Systems of Romance or what have you to get all the others if you haven't already listened to (and loved) enough of their stuff to know that yes, it is worth the effort and the gigabytes (and the money, if you know about Bandcamp and you're so inclined. I am so inclined, most of the time; unfortunately, my finances usually don't agree with me). To buy a record is relatively easy: Soulseek is a bitch to set up, MediaFire and MEGA can backfire (no pun intended) horribly and leave you hanging when the link is inevitably copyright-struck, or give you a digital STD in particularly unfortunate cases. Anyway, downloading a whole discography potentially gives you a veritable goldmine of stuff that you are, at this point, left to your own devices to explore at your earliest convenience, whatever that may be, and provided you walk around with you HDD constantly on you - there's no way in hell you're ever fitting that stuff on your phone, I don't believe you, fuck you. Six bands are more than enough to smoke your memory space completely, trust me.

Anyway, the more perceptive among you might have noticed (as usual in many of my posts: like Twin Peaks does with Laura Palmer - and, later, Dale Cooper - I thrive in dancing around the space where something is evidently missing, and gesture very obviously to what should be there but isn't) a pretty big elephant in the room which is time to address.

If we define Bf(u) ≝ {Autechre; Coil; Fugazi; Godflesh; Kraftwerk; Shellac}, some of you OGs might remember there's at least one obvious element number zero that's missing here. Let's talk about it right away.

Element #0: SWANS

Like every annoying music rat bastard on the Internet, my ever-growing and (once) wide choice of band shirts includes a Swans t-shirt. Specifically, I have a Filth album cover t-shirt, because it stands as one of the most accurate and starkly beautiful album covers of all time. A discarded X-ray photograph of some patient's admittedly very nicely-kept teeth, kept bare by a dentist's mechanical contraption has become the official insignia for everything grimy, sludgy, fucked up, antihuman, urban-in-the-uncomfortable-way in Swans' music. Early Swans truly had a magic that is hard to replicate to this day (to this day I believe only one band might actually have made it if to a smaller extent, and they're featured later on this list precisely because they chose to leave that behind at one point) and it resides in the absolute absence of magic that transpires from their music: it's so stark, bare-boned and brutal in a profoundly dehumanizing way that it really leaves nothing left of who made it, or so it would seem.

Unfortunately, Swans being horrifying testaments to humanity's curse of resilience lasted relatively little, specifically about ten years if we wanna stretch it all the way to Soundtracks for the Blind - but I would argue that stuff had already given way by the time The Great Annihilator dropped in 1995. As a disclaimer, The Great Annihilator and Swans Are Dead are actually great and Soundtracks for the Blind is an extremely compelling snapshot of things that Swans were and/or could have been, just so we're all on the same page. But I guess most will agree when I say that while The Seer and To Be Kind are pretty good in their own, entirely different way, The Glowing Man began showing signs of wear and tear in the formula that they seem to have been unable to leave behind even when leaving meaning dropped, to a point where I listened to like five minutes of The Beggar before giving up, possibly forever, on the idea of modern Swans being somehow relevant. It's mostly a case of common over-exposure, plain and simple. I had a friend who simply could never listen to the Doors because he'd basically worn the records out by the time he was 16 and even hearing one note of any song of theirs sent him into a fucked up blathering rage.

Ironically enough what got Swans fucked was this tension to imbue themselves with psychedelic techniques and therefore moving into "becoming the new Doors" or - like a Tumblr post I read back in 2016 said - turning into "a batshit insane King Crimson". Not even discussing how frankly debatable this description is, it does turn out to be pretty useful, because it very directly leads us to:

Element #0, again: KING CRIMSON (hear me out folks, this is not what it looks like)

First things first: Robert Fripp is my favorite guitarist of all time and his and Adrian Belew's guitar styles on Discipline remain among the most influential things I have ever heard to me. I only have one guitarist in my current band (and that would be me) but I have never stopped attempting to replicate the dizzying guitar figures that Fripp and Belew intertwine, counterphase, overlap. One could even argue that the lack of intertwining, counterphasing and overlapping guitar parts is in itself a distinctive feature of my guitar style, in that I force myself into a dichotomy: giving the track body, oomph, presence versus making the part spidery, nimble, unsafe to walk over.

Anyway, put it simply, too many people like King Crimson here, and worst of all too many people like them for the right reasons. You don't have a Oneohtrix Point Never situation wherein a shitton of people think Age of and Magic Oneohtrix Point Never are "masterpieces" in lieu of "perfectly serviceable electronic art-pop records that scratch the mid-period Arca itch without you having to bust out Arca's 2017 self-titled from the recesses of your memory (both objectivized into digital information and embodied within your brain's storage)". As a side note, Arca's 2017 album may stand as her best full-length altogether, on par with Xen, but since y'all are too busy thinking the KiCK series did anything new or interesting with it, that is clearly a conversation we are not ready for.

The right reasons to like King Crimson are, to be fair, very visible: they are in just about all of their incarnations a great band with lineups consistently featuring great musical performers, stylish wordsmiths and adequate-to-excellent singers/songwriters who produce an output exclusively comprised of records at the very least pleasantly (?) listenable and at the very best life-changing and/or history-altering. Unfortunately that exact problem makes it very easy to be overexposed to their stuff: see the borderline cult that has emerged around In the Court of the Crimson King in people who, sometimes, aren't even that interested in music per se and just sort of stumbled across it via JoJo's Bizarre Adventure. Both JoJo's and In the Court I love, rationally, but it has become very hard for me to listen to that part of their discography that's already somewhat sedimented in the public consciousness because you simply hear nothing new, nothing different come out in the discussion of it - if there even is discussion left to do on the matter.

Anyway, both Swans and King Crimson suffer from the same issue to me, i.e. as I said to Dog the other night "I did not gatekeep them enough". Quite the opposite, actually: I spread them around like wildfire and linked the shit out of (what little, at the time, could be found of) their music to any and everyone and it feels absolutely wrong in retrospect. It's obvious that the high school kid who exclusively likes rock music from the '70s and believes Pink Floyd is the pinnacle of recorded history would vibe with a record like To Be Kind which essentially does nothing but weaponise those referents. And both bands' juiciest bits get ignored in favor of a couple moments which may be good or even great, but by now have become essentially sterile. "Dai diamanti non nasce niente…". Most of the bands I actually will discuss over the other parts of this series, on the other hand, have something in common: basically no one I've ever shown them too vibe with them the same way that I do, they don't feel their music deep within their heart of hearts, sometimes they don't even care to give it an actual fair shot.

A number of them also have another thing in common: they didn't immediately click, but in a way they did. When I first listened to (just to name names) Oversteps, or 13 Songs, I was like "this could be awesome" and yet never quite got to the end of the record right away. It was always closer to "eh, I'll check this out later when I'm more attentive" and yet I didn't until I very consciously brought myself to do it, smacking my head against the side of those records or maybe picking a different record from that same artist until all of a sudden I finally got it. Conscious choice makes these bands feel more rewarding. As much as I love, I don't know, the Mars Volta or Aphex Twin, I never felt that I was making an intellectual or even just conscious attempt at getting into them - and discography size doesn't count, it's not a factor as we've already previously discussed, unless it is (i.e. a band has three records out, like for instance Nirvana, whom I really like, too) - whereas it was always more of a really natural thing, as natural as putting my headphones on and vibing. Simple as.

Not all music should be a slog to get through, but by the same logic not all music should be mindless or mindlessly listened to and appreciated. And I tend to favor music that rewards multiple listens, which by nature are never gonna be always as attentive or active as they would be ideally, but it still gives you something to think of, and it's not just background noise even when you want it to be (see Coil's drone records). I will try to detail my relationship with these six bands that I have isolated, trying to stay on topic and not swerve too hard into autobiography, over the course of I suppose an entry each (worst that could happen, two bands might be crushed into the same post like what happened today, if I feel like it makes sense to do so from the standpoint of themes and length).

Re-reading the post after being done with it, I just realized both numbers 0 have one thing in common: they are, or could be seen as, almost an extended solo project of their respective de facto leaders, despite what the two of them have to say. The same could potentially be said of a couple of the bands I've mentioned up above, but I will try to prove that that is very much not the case if we don't impose a very capitalistic/brand-oriented logic that I think is fundamentally at odds with at least three of those six names. I could careen into an autobiographical story specifically about this, but I believe it'd be best kept for one of these other articles. Until then, I will be writing these when I get around to it, no pressure, no big deal.

The idea is as follows: one piece per element in the Bf set, no regular times or days for it. I do it when I want/can, or when something good comes out of me. Deal?

[corazondebeskar-reads]

I started to read the latest chapter and realized I had missed something 🤦‍♀️😭

I... I have so many feelings. SO many feelings. oh my god. I might cry?? from too many feelings??

He rolls his eyes and tries to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Get your tight little ass over here or watch what happens.”

sir, yes, sir. fuck, he's too much.

He releases your tit with a pop when he’s had his fill, but not before biting down on your nipple harshly. “Ow, Joel!” you cry out and shove at his chest, but he just smirks at your adorable tantrum, pressing your hands against the wall over your head, his intense gaze locking with yours. 

oh mY GOD??? a fucking MENACE

fucking outside the gas station... he is not beating the sleazy allegations but also... ok I'm down

“I’m, uh,” he clears his throat, “I’m actually going on a date.”

NO.

NO NO NO. what the FUCK joel.

ugh fuck laura. all my homies hate laura. what a fuckin' gallstone of a human being.

“You’re broken, darlin’,” he says softly, his eyes showing genuine pity. “I could never love you.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead.

ok like. you didn't have to come at us like this. dream sequence or not I'm gonna fucking cry

TOMMY. I love their friendship so much. I love Tommy so much. I love her so much.

No broken hearts

8.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 6

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, public sex, fingering, choking, unprotected p in v, creampie, Joel being a menace, pet names, degradation/praise, pregnancy (not reader), heavy drinking, reader hurts her hand, blood, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: After Joel fucks you against a gas station wall, you run into an old friend. A bottle of wine and a smashed mirror later, you make a late-night call from your bathroom floor. A/N: I'm so excited about this part!! There's so much going on in this one: kinky sex, wine, reader confronting her past, Tommy, and some good old angst (I had to, okay?). Not to worry though, reader laughs through the tears...kind of. Enjoy and let me know me what you think! 🖤

more public sex ・Laura ・last part・ masterlist ・ AO3

It’s Saturday, the heat’s cranked up to ‘inferno’ and you’re so prepared to just kick back and have a relaxed, blissfully lazy night in.

Your day so far has unfolded in a symphony of self-indulgence: finally tackling that book that’s been giving you the side-eye for a year, getting green with some new kitchen herbs, and breaking a sweat with yoga in front of the TV. Your soul feels rejuvenated already. 

The only thing missing now is the perfect dinner to munch on while you sink into your sofa, get comfy, and dive into a Netflix marathon. You already have all the ingredients for your favorite pasta dish at home, you just need to get the essential partners in crime: a nice red—or three—and some snacks. Lucky for you, there’s a gas station a few minutes down the block from your place and the weather’s all sunny.

So, you throw on a comfy shirt, some shorts, your trusty worn-out sneakers, grab your bag, and head out.

Stepping outside, you’re met with a wave of heat that wraps around you like a snug, invisible blanket. The air feels thick and sticky, a relentless sun beating down with an intensity that turns the pavement into a makeshift oven. It’s the kind of hot that makes you think of ice-cold drinks and the cool water in the gym pool.

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips as your mind wanders to the last time you had the ingenious idea to cool off in there, but just ended up hotter and more sweaty. 

The entrance bell jingles lightly as you push open the gas station door, a subtle melody signaling your arrival to the air-conditioned oasis, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. Fluorescent lights hum above, casting a cool, artificial glow on the neatly arranged shelves. You catch the clerk’s eye, a charismatic smile on his face as he takes you in. His gaze, appreciative and lingering, meets yours with a playful spark.

You offer a polite smile in acknowledgment as you make a beeline for the wine section. The cool chill of the fridge greets you, and after a contemplative moment, you choose a robust red with an intriguing label. You always choose your wine depending on the aesthetic of the label. Bonus points if it contains an animal. 

With the wine securely in hand, you turn your attention to the snack aisle, your eyes scanning the colorful array of options. The shelves are stacked with a tempting variety of chips, candies, and treats. You settle on a mix of savory and sweet delights after evaluating your options carefully. If there’s one thing you take seriously, it’s your snacks. 

Wine? Check. Snacks? Check. More wine for good measure? Check. Approaching the counter, you’re met with a friendly grin from the clerk, a handsome face with a name tag that reads “Chris”.

“You find everything alright?” he asks, his tone dipped in a hint of flirtation.

“Yeah, I think I got everything I need,” you say, putting everything on the counter for him to scan.

“Good choices. Looks like you’re in for a great night.”

You chuckle, handing over the cash and putting everything in your bag. “You gotta treat yourself sometimes, you know?”

Chris hands you your change, his eyes holding yours for a moment longer. “Well, if you ever need someone to share that wine with, you know where to find me.”

You offer a nonchalant smile, shrugging off his subtle advance. If you weren’t set on being alone tonight, you’d entertain the idea, but alas, you stay the course. And yes, that’s the only reason. You’re not still thinking about the polaroid or Joel’s words — If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you — and why would you? It doesn’t mean anything. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good one!”

Exiting the gas station, the door closes behind you with a jingle, and the oppressive heat engulfs you once again. The air is thick with humidity, and despite the forecast promising rain, the sky stretches above in a flawless canvas of unbroken blue. It’s a serene sight, almost too serene, leaving a lingering sense of anticipation, as if something is about to shift. 

Shrugging off the uneasy feeling, you prepare to walk back home, reaching for your sunglasses to shield your eyes from the unrelenting sun. But just as you’re about to put them on, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Need help with those, gorgeous?”

How?

How does he manage to appear seemingly out of thin air wherever you go?

“As if there weren’t enough sleazy guys hanging around gas station parking lots already,” you sigh deeply and turn around to find Joel leaning casually against the weathered brick wall, arms crossed, biceps bulging, his face bathed in the warm glow of the afternoon sun.

An amused grin spreads across his face as your eyes meet. He looks effortlessly handsome in his jeans and brown t-shirt, his dark hair perfectly framing his face, the grays in his beard illuminated by the sunlight.

“You think I’m sleazy?” he flashes his irresistible smile and tilts his head in curiosity.

“I dunno, Joel,” you scoff and shake your head in mock annoyance. “Some people might consider lurking behind a run-down gas station to pounce on the next best woman that steps out pretty sleazy, you know? Just a heads-up in case you’re planning on spending the night here. I hear mace is pretty unpleasant.”

Joel snorts, his eyes lighting up and crinkling at the corners. “Hey now, I’m not after the next best woman,” he tuts, the look in his eyes changing subtly as his gaze lingers on yours. “But you already know that.”

His tone of voice catches you off guard. Your face heats up and you look away bashfully, unsure how to respond. 

Joel eyes you curiously, expecting your trademark smart response, but you stay uncharacteristically quiet. He takes you in carefully, appreciating your side profile and the way your shorts hug your thighs. You look so beautiful in your casual outfit, so beautiful without even trying. Always.

The unbearable urge to hold you close, to feel you, to smell you, to show you how beautiful you are to him, takes over his body and mind within a split second.

“C’mere, darlin’.” 

“Why?” 

He rolls his eyes and tries to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. “Get your tight little ass over here or watch what happens.”

You sigh deeply and shuffle towards him, acting like it’s the most inconvenient thing in the world, like your panties aren’t already damp from his command alone. 

As soon as you’re within reaching distance, Joel grabs you by the arms and pushes you against the wall on the back of the gas station, caging you in with his body.

“Careful, fuck,” you hiss when you hear the wine bottles hit the wall, but Joel ignores you, too busy kissing your neck greedily while groping your chest.

You let your bag slide down onto the floor as carefully as possible, trying to take advantage of the last few seconds of clarity you have left before Joel’s touch shuts your brain off completely. 

“How do you always smell so good?” he mumbles more to himself than to you, his lips trailing sloppy kisses up and down your neck, and along your jaw. You shudder at the sensation, surrendering to the heat of his breath, the electrifying caress of his scruffy beard, and his rough hand massaging your breast. You’re putty in this man’s hands and you love it. 

“You know there’s a—mmm, that feels so good—there’s a security cam pointed directly at us?” you whisper between soft moans.

The parking lot is all fenced in by hedges, but you’re still outside in broad daylight. Plus, the camera.

“Don’t care,” Joel whispers into your neck, then pulls up your shirt without skipping a beat. You laugh at his nonchalance and just hope that there’s no live feed broadcasting your…impropriety. There probably is though. 

Coming here for late-night snacks or tampons when you ran out was super convenient, but what can you do.

Your pussy wants what it wants.

“God, I love your perfect tits,” Joel leans down to suck one into his mouth while massaging the other with his calloused hand. You bite your lip to hold back a moan, running your hands through his soft hair and arching your back as he licks and sucks on your soft skin. 

He releases your tit with a pop when he’s had his fill, but not before biting down on your nipple harshly. “Ow, Joel!” you cry out and shove at his chest, but he just smirks at your adorable tantrum, pressing your hands against the wall over your head, his intense gaze locking with yours. 

“Such a delicate little princess,” he taunts you with a chuckle, pressing his bulge against your core so the rough fabric of his jeans rubs your clit perfectly. You furrow your brow and whimper at the feeling, instinctively moving your hips to get the most friction. 

“You like that, baby?” he rasps before pressing his lips on yours in a messy, needy kiss — the type of kiss that leaves you breathless and lets you forget who you are. 

“Uh-huh,” you moan into his mouth, swirling your tongue around his, so far gone already that you’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you right now. As if reading your mind, Joel lets go of your wrist to slide one of his hands down the inside of your shorts and panties, groaning against your lips when he can feel how wet you are.

“Goddamn, angel,” he chuckles, leaning his forehead against yours. “I’ll never get tired of you being a complete whore in public.” 

Joel lets go of your other wrist, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, tilting your head up, so he can look into your glazed-over eyes. “You keep those beautiful eyes on me,” he orders as he starts drawing tight circles on your clit with his fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure. You nod and can’t hold back your moans this time, feeling your muscles tense and your thighs tremble with every movement of Joel’s hand. 

“You want more, baby?” he asks, eager to feel your pussy around his fingers, and to prepare you for his cock as well as possible given your time-sensitive situation. 

“Please Joel,” you moan, your breath quickening, “I want you.”

Satisfied with your answer, the pleading look in your eyes and the wetness seeping out of you, he slides two fingers inside your warm cunt, curling and pumping them while continuously stimulating your clit with the heel of his palm. You dig your fingers into his broad shoulders in response, needing an outlet for the pleasure building up inside you since you can’t moan as loud as you want. His dark eyes never leave yours, reveling in the facial expressions and noises he can draw out of you.

One of your hands wanders from grasping his shoulder to gripping his bare arm. You let your nails dig into him, not caring that you’re leaving marks. Joel doesn’t seem to mind either as he keeps going, his eyes locked on yours. 

“God, you’re gorgeous, baby,” he whispers, upping the pace and adding a third finger to work you open some more. “Fuck, that’s it,” you groan as you feel yourself getting close already, your walls constricting around Joel’s fingers, making it hard for him to move. 

“You better not come until I tell you to,” he growls, wrapping his hand around your neck and squeezing just the right amount. You’re so close that you almost come instantly when the diminishing flow of oxygen to your brain intensifies every sensation.

Joel can see the desperation in your eyes, can feel the pure need in your quivering body, can smell your arousal on your skin. His cock is straining painfully in his jeans and grinding against your hip only relieves so much tension.

He needs to fuck you – badly. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises you, the vein on his neck pulsating. “Come all over my hand, baby, let me feel you.” He keeps his eyes on yours as he feels you tensing even more, trying your hardest to keep quiet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you choke out as the tension finally snaps and your pulsating walls clamp down around Joel’s fingers. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re so fucking hot,” he pants before loosening the grip on your neck and pressing his lips on yours in a hungry kiss, absorbing all of your moans while you ride out your high on his hand. Your hips stutter as you try to draw out your orgasm for as long as possible, and you grip Joel’s hand in your pants to hold it in place while you do so. When you feel yourself come down again, you release his hand and let your head fall back onto the wall, your chest heaving.

“Still think I’m sleazy, hm?” Joel nudges your nose with his, the grin on his face too wide, too cocky, too irritatingly beautiful. 

“You’re such a dork,” you chuckle breathlessly, wiping away sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. “And yes, very much yes.”

“Oh, really?” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his wet hand, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb slowly. “Says a lot about you then, doesn’t it, angel? Getting off on some sleazy guy’s hand behind a gas station.” 

You can’t stop the grin spreading on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck, your gaze dropping from his eyes to his lips and back again. You’re whole body’s aching for him to finally fill you up. 

Joel takes you in for a moment, a tender smile on his lips, loving how you look at him with your big, needy, glazed-over eyes, like he’s the only thing that matters to you — like he makes you happy. He knows this moment is fleeting, delicate, precious, so he holds onto it for as long and as tightly as he can.   

He kisses you, hard, desperate, pressing you against the wall with his body, moaning into your mouth. Your hands explore each other’s bodies feverishly, grabbing, pulling, mapping the contours of shoulders, necks, backs, while stealing each other’s breath. 

When you can’t take it anymore, your aching pussy screaming at you for relief, you move your hands down Joel’s belly hastily until you arrive at the waistband of his jeans. You look into his eyes as if asking for permission and he nods quickly, his cock twitching at the thought of finally being inside you.

He helps you open the button and zipper of his jeans before quickly pulling them down together with his boxer briefs to free his cock and balls. He lets out a labored breath when you spit on your hand and start jerking his cock, your left hand massaging his balls a little harsher than you usually would.

Joel’s strangled groans let you know that he’s loving every bit of it.

“You keep that up—fuck, that feels good—and I’m gonna come all over your shirt,” he chuckles against your lips, grunting when you increase the speed of your strokes. “Turn—oh shit—turn around for me, baby.”

You do so eagerly, and Joel loses no time pulling your shorts and panties down in one swift motion, exposing your ass and pussy to the light breeze that’s dancing through the air. You lean against the wall on your forearms, arching your back a bit, and wiggling your ass in anticipation. 

With one hand guiding his cock through your wet folds a few times before nudging your entrance, Joel presses his other hand against the wall to better brace himself. When he’s sufficiently coated in your juices, he pushes into you slowly, watching in awe how your body swallows his cock inch by inch. You whimper a little too loudly at the delicious stretch, unable to keep quiet now that you’re feeling him inside you. 

“Shh, I’m not even halfway in, angel,” he purrs, tracing your neck with his lips. “Be a good girl and shut the fuck up.”

He then pushes all the way into you in one harsh thrust, immediately clasping his hand over your mouth to muffle your scream. You ball your hands into fists and close your eyes, getting lost in feeling him deep inside of you. 

You moan softly into his hand as Joel keeps thrusting up into you, his strokes rough and desperate. “Feel so fucking good, baby,” he groans, leaning back a bit to watch your ass jiggle with every snap of his hips.

You whimper and clench around him as a particularly deep stroke brings about a more intense wave of pleasure than before. Joel smirks and leans his head in closer to you, his lips grazing your ear. He removes his hand from your mouth, wanting nothing more than to hear your pretty little noises unfiltered. 

“You liked that one, huh?” he growls into your ear, his husky voice making you shudder. “Uh-huh,” you nod eagerly, desperate for more.

He adjusts his grip on your waist and uses his new leverage to pull you back onto his cock harshly, allowing himself even deeper access to you. You respond immediately, the frequency of your whimpers and restrained moans increasing.

“Faster,” you gasp.

Joel responds with a groan, but he obeys happily, picking up the pace. You hum contentedly as you can feel your second argasm building deep inside you, the tension winding tighter and tighter, climbing higher and higher with every calculated movement of Joel’s hips. You bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out in pleasure and reach back to grip his forearm.

Beads of sweat run down his face and back as he tries to hold off until he’s gotten you there again. Luckily, he doesn’t have to hold out too much longer, as it only takes a few more hits to your G-spot to send you over the edge. 

“Let go, baby, I got you,” he rasps into your ear, desperate to feel you fall apart one more time. “Thaaat’s it. Fuck, you’re such a good girl.”

He talks you through your high, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as your walls clamp down on him, and waves of pleasure course through your trembling body. A cry begins to wrest itself from your throat, but Joel turns your head and presses his lips on yours just in time to keep you from being too loud. You kiss him back feverishly, the taste of him an intoxicating blend of urgency and tenderness.

He lets out a low, guttural groan against your lips as he finally lets himself go, hips stuttering as he fills you with his warm cum.

“Fuck me,” he pants breathlessly as he lowers his head, nestling it between your shoulder blades, soaking up the feeling of being this close to. He trails the nape of your neck with his nose, taking in your scent, and pressing a few soft kisses on your hot skin before pulling out of you.

You both lean against the wall with your backs, still gasping for breath as you continue to come down from your highs. Joel’s the first to break the silence, turning his head and gently rubbing your arm.

“You’re seriously gonna kill me one of these days.” 

You giggle and lift his hand to press a kiss on the back of his hand. “There’s worse ways to die. Plus, I’d give a helluva eulogy.” 

“Oh yeah?” he gives you a soft smile before taking some tissues out of his back pocket and handing them to you.

“Mhm,” you nod while cleaning yourself haphazardly. “The title: Eight firm reasons why I was happy to know Joel Miller.”

He snorts and looks at you with his jaw dropped in mock offense. “Why are you the way you are?”

“What? It’s gonna be cute and I’m gonna do a whole powerpoint presentation and everything,” you say as you pull your pants and panties back up.

He sighs deeply and pulls you closer by your waist. “I’ll take it. If you promise to wear that little dress you wore when we met.” 

You put your hands on his chest and look into his eyes, his heart beating steadily under your palm. “Its a deal. Now, will you finally tell me what you’re really doing here? Or was I right all along?” 

“I’m actually working today,” he chuckles, clasping his hands behind your back. “We’re remodeling a guy’s house a few blocks down the street, and I just came here to fill up the gas tank, not thinking about anything until I saw my favorite pair of legs.”

“Charming,” you scoff, cocking an eyebrow. “What a gentleman you are.”

“Would it help if I said that I also saw my favorite smile?” 

“Well, yes. But it’s okay,” you smirk. “Can’t blame you for noticing these babies. They’re pretty great.” 

Joel nods in agreement, leaning in to draw you closer and slowly kiss up and down your neck, his hands flattening against your spine. You close your eyes and hum at the sensation of his soft lips meeting your sensitive skin, letting yourself sink into his embrace and feel the reassuring touch of his hands.

He smells like home.

“You wanna come over later?” you ask while softly scratching his scalp. “I got some primo wine that I’d graciously share with you and I don’t wanna toot my own horn, but my pasta’ll knock your socks off.”

“Hmm, that sounds wonderful, darlin’,” he murmurs into your skin without stopping his kisses. “But I can’t tonight.”

“Oh?” you pull away from him far enough to look into his eyes. “What important business does Mr. Miller have on a beautiful Saturday night? No, wait, don’t tell me. You’re gonna play bingo at the senior center. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Very funny, you little brat,” he rolls his eyes and pinches your butt playfully. You grin at him, but furrow your brow slightly when you notice a subtle change in his eyes. 

“What?” 

“I’m, uh,” he clears his throat, “I’m actually going on a date.”

Your face falls. “Oh,” you say quietly.

“It’s not–” he cuts himself off before putting his hands on your arms, squeezing them gently. “We could meet up tomorrow if you want.” He gives you a hopeful smile, but you don’t hear him. 

“Darlin’?” 

“Huh?” you look at him, confused. Your chest feels tight.

“Are you free tomorrow? I could cook for you. And not to toot my own horn, but I look pretty damn good in an apron.” 

“I got plans tomorrow,” you say, taking a step back to pick up your bag. You grip the handles so hard your knuckles turn white. “How did you meet?” 

“Tommy set us up ‘cause he thinks I don’t get out enough,” Joel sighs, shaking his head slightly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Smartass gets married and thinks he suddenly knows everything.”

“Tommy set you up,” you repeat, your left eye twitching. 

“Yeah, and she’s nice, so I figured why not.”

“Yeah, why not,” you say with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“What are your plans, sweet–”

“Are you going out or…?”

“There’s this gin bar she really likes, so we’re going there. Sounds fun from what she described.” 

“Didn’t peg you as a gin drinker,” you scoff, absently kicking the cigarette butt in front of your feet.

“Yeah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck, “trying new things is good sometimes.”

“I bet,” you nod.

“Darlin’, I–” Joel trails off when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He exhales deeply, his brow furrowed. “Tommy. I gotta get back,” he murmurs regretfully. “Can I drive you home first?”

“No, thanks,” you shake your head. “I need to run a few more errands and you surely wanna take a shower before you, uh, before you go out.” 

His gaze lingers on you for a few seconds before he nods, “Okay, sweetheart. But promise to call me if you need anything, hm?”

“Will do, Joel,” you close your eyes when he cups your face and kisses your forehead. 

“Be good, okay?”

“You know me.”

He winks at you, gets in his car, and you watch him drive away.

-----

With your sunglasses on, you put one foot in front of the other as you make your way down the street. Going straight back home isn’t an option, so you decide to stroll around and indulge in a bit of window shopping until you don’t feel your heart in your throat anymore. It’s annoying as fuck.

Feeling Joel’s cum pooling in your panties isn’t helping either. 

“What did you expect,” you murmur to yourself as you come to a halt in front of your favorite antique shop. Opening a bag of chips, you start eating one after the other while perusing the pieces on display. Kind of like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s — just much less classy, and much more covered in crumbs. 

You exhale deeply and let your thoughts wander.

This shop means a lot to you. You got the lamp on your nightstand from here a few days after moving into your apartment. It was expensive, but Tommy encouraged you to get something special, something that would remind you of how far you’ve come and how this was your start into a new life. He was right. You love your lamp and what it stands for. 

Maybe, one day, you’ll finally splurge on that one little glass figurine of a sleeping fox you’ve been eyeing for so long. It’s pretty pricey and, at this point, you appreciate that it remains a special treat, something to anticipate and savor when the right moment comes.

You put the half-eaten bag of chips back and haphazardly wipe your fingers on your shorts before deciding to move on. There’s a thrift shop you’ve wanted to check out for a few months now, so you quickly check in Google Maps where it is, then walk in that direction.

You don’t get too far, though. 

Just as you turn the corner, you hear a voice call your name. It slices through you, sending a chill down your spine, stopping you dead in your tracks. You never expected to hear that voice again. Paralyzed, unable to run away, you gather your courage and take a deep breath before slowly turning around.

Your heart stops when you see her. She looks…different.

She walks towards you briskly, her dress billowing and fluttering with each step, a nervous energy evident in her movements and her smile. 

“Laura.”

“I, uh– hi” she says, her voice slightly shaky. “Would you, um, wanna grab a cup of coffee?”

There’s a dark cloud in the sky.

-----

“I’m visiting a friend for the weekend,” she tells you, deftly adding creamer to her coffee. “It’s so nice here. Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“I do, yeah,” you say, your hand planted firmly on the wooden table next to your cup.

The gentle hum of conversations in the small coffee shop blends with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee — an atmosphere that you’d usually enjoy, but feels claustrophobic right now. You feel like you can’t get enough air into your lungs.

“It’s such a lucky coincidence that we ran into each other,” Laura continues, a soft smile on her lips. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your new hair.” 

“I’ve had it for a while,” you respond curtly, avoiding direct eye contact. 

“Well, it suits you,” she says softly. As she absentmindedly caresses her little bump, your eyes fixate on the subtle movement.

“How far along are you?” you ask with a tight-lipped smile, still unable to meet her gaze. 

Laura’s features soften further, grateful for your question about her pregnancy. “I’m eighteen weeks and thr– no, four days today.” 

“How are you feeling?” you circle the rim of your cup with your finger, your leg bouncing continually. 

“Oh, um, I’ve had pretty awful morning sickness up until a few weeks ago. It’s, uh, it’s been fine apart from that. I’ve had lots of help, thankfully,” she tells you, taking a sip of her coffee. “My mom got clean about a year ago—unbelievable, I know—and Simon’s been doing good as well. He, um, he got a job at his dad’s firm and we’ve moved into a house with a garden. There’s a forest nearby and I’ve seen all sorts of animals already. You’d absolutely love it.”

She reaches out to you, her hand gently touching your arm as she notices your grip tightening around the cup. “Beanie?” The nickname and the warmth of her touch make you flinch.

“Please look at me,” she whispers, her request carrying a weight of emotion that transcends the simple act of looking at her.

You bite your lip and reluctantly meet her watery eyes — eyes that were once the embodiment of home for you. You’ve tried so hard to let go, to get over your pain, to heal. But now that you’re looking into Laura’s pleading eyes, it feels like you’re right back where you started, the pain in your chest resurfacing like an old wound, a dull ache that intensifies with every beat of your heart. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say quietly, shaking your head.

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” she chokes out, reaching across the table again to take your hand in hers.

“Laura–”

“I’m sorry every day, Beanie. I can’t take back what I did and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I–I just miss you so much.” She wipes away her tears with the napkin on the table. “I miss you.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this right now?” you ask with raised eyebrows, searching her face and pulling your hand out of hers. 

“I–yes,” she sniffles into her napkin. “I’m so happy I ran into you, I really think it was meant to–”

“You know what, Laura?” you sigh, fed up with this charade. “Just spare me, okay? I’m over you pretending that you care even the least bit about me. This,” you gesture with your hand around her face, “this whole innocent act you’re putting on right now, it got old three years ago. I was blinded enough to believe it back then, but that version of me is long gone, dead. So, if you’re just here to try and manipulate me into feeling sorry for you, I got bad news for you.”

“That’s not–I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m so incredibly so–”

“How dare you even say that you’re sorry?” you hiss, unable to grasp how a person can be this deceitful. “You’re not sorry for what you did, Laura. Come on, admit that it was the best thing you ever did and that you go to bed every night being proud of yourself for it.”

“Beanie, please,” she whispers. “I am sorry and not one day goes by that I don’t regret what I did. I–” she cuts herself off and takes a sip of her coffee, her hand trembling terribly as she sets it back down. “I know I was a horrible friend to you and that I hurt you, I do. Please believe me.” 

You turn your face away and exhale deeply. Why is this happening? 

“You were more than my friend, Laura,” you say quietly. “You were my sister. The only person I confided in, the one I fully trusted.” You ball your fist on your thigh, the physical pain of your nails digging into the flesh of your palm helping a little. “To this day, I haven’t told anyone else why I cut ties with my family or how I broke my hand. I only ever told you. Because you were there for me. Because that’s what we did — be there for each other.” 

You hear Laura sniffle, but she’s seemingly got enough decency not to interrupt you. 

“I told you what was going on with me and Simon and you fucking took that and jumped into bed with him. You broke my trust and lied to my face for months.”

You rub your temple, closing your eyes for a few seconds.

Laura says your name gently and you reluctantly turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are red and tearful, her hand trembling as she tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I should have told you what was going on, I know I should have. I was such a coward and then–then I just didn’t have the guts to do it after you told me you were–”

“Don’t,” you sharply lift your index finger and glare at her. 

“Look,” she exhales, a pained expression etched on her face. “I can’t take back what I–what we did. It wasn’t fair to you and I can assure you that Simon feels bad about it, too. Especially for not being there, you know, in the hospital.”

Is she for fucking real right now?

“How do you still think this has anything to do with Simon? I don’t give a shit about what he did or didn’t do. I didn’t trust him for a second while we were together. He’s an asshole who’s never gonna change, but you–“

You’re startled by the tears running down your cheeks, wiping them away quickly with your hands. You hate her for making you cry. And you hate her for giving you this pretentious empathetic look. 

“I was bleeding to death and couldn’t reach you,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anger as your eyes pierce hers. “I tried Simon, too, but deep down I expected him not to care about me actually dying. I was just surprised that you didn’t care either. Don’t you dare look away right now. You need to hear this. I–I saw my life flash before my eyes before they put me under and the only thing I saw was you. You, Laura. My body was dying and the only thing my stupid heart cared about was to see you one last time.” 

A hiccup interrupts you, momentarily breaking the flow of your words. 

“I was scared to death and you weren’t there. I fucking needed you and you weren’t fucking there,” you whisper. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am for not being there that day. Please, believe me, I am. It just–” she runs her hands through her hair, a new set of tears rolling down her wet cheeks. “I was so fucked up back then. I–I tried to get love from wherever I could and then I saw all your texts and calls too late and I didn’t know what to do. I was so overwhelmed with everything and didn’t know how to be better or how to help you. I’d give anything to be able to go back and change that,” Laura sobs, her voice barely intelligible.

Pathetic. 

“Why didn’t you reach out to me once in the past three years, then?” 

She takes in a deep breath through her nose, then exhales through her mouth before wiping her nose with her wet napkin. “I had to get my own shit together,” she murmurs defeatedly, “and that wasn’t easy. I dunno what to tell you other than I’m sorry that I fucked your life u–”

You abruptly get up from your seat, the chair protesting with a loud creak against the floor. You pay it no mind, nor the heads turning to look at you. All you can hear is your blood rushing in your ears, and all you can see is the woman who broke your heart. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you spit at her, leaning on the table and glaring into her eyes. “You don’t have the power to fuck my life up. My life’s been fucking great since I got rid of all the people trying to drag me down with them. I’ve never been this fucking happy before, so fuck you and your sorry apology. I don’t fucking want it or need it.”

You grab your bag and rummage through it for cash. “I feel sorry for you, Laura,” you murmur before walking past her and tossing a twenty-dollar bill onto the table in front of her. 

“Why?” She doesn’t look at you. 

“‘Cause you have no idea what you’re in for,” you laugh mirthlessly and shake your head. “You really believe he’s gonna be there for his kid and stay with you?”

“Yes.” 

“What in the world would make you think that,” you ask incredulously.

“Because we’re married,” she blurts out, turning in her seat to look up at you. 

You feel your soul leaving your body, hovering over you and watching your lifeless body standing there – shocked, paralyzed, heartbroken. 

“What did you just say?” you whisper, your words barely audible.

“We got married after we found out I was pregnant.”

You’re about to say something in response — how can you be so stupid, why would you bind yourself to that man, you know what he did to me — but your eyes fall onto her bump before finding her gaze again, and you decide to keep your mouth shut. It’s no use. She’s made her decision. 

“Good luck, Laura,” you turn around and make for the door. “You’re gonna need it.”

You welcome the rain that pours onto your face, washing away the fresh tears that roll down your cheeks. It doesn’t bother you that a car honks at you when you cross the street without looking. It also doesn’t bother you that your clothes are sopping wet and sticking to your body within a few minutes of your legs carrying you back home. You’re not allowing yourself to feel anything right now.

You’d break if you did, so you keep it together.

Until you walk by the gas station.

-----

“You’re not that trashy,” you murmur to yourself just as you’re about to drink straight out of the wine bottle.

Instead, you shuffle into your kitchen, get out your fanciest wine glass and pour yourself a generous amount. Your drenched clothes cling to you like a second skin. If you cared, you’d take them off to not end up with pneumonia, but the discomfort is soothing somehow.

You eye your sofa, but shake your head. You can’t sit on it like this, especially not with red wine in your shaky hand. You’re still coherent enough to care about materialistic bullshit like your pretty sofa. Priorities, right?

The wine goes down smoothly and the bottle is empty in no time. 

It’s not enough to stop the heaviness in your heart or the suffocating thoughts and images flooding your mind, though. You’re helpless in halting the relentless surge of them as you find yourself bent over the kitchen sink, fingers gripping the cool edge of the countertop, your head bowed low between your tense shoulders. Your eyes are shut, and your breaths come out short and ragged.

You see Joel leaning against a wall, beer in hand, looking a bit lost among the other housewarming guests happily chatting. That is, until you step in and your eyes meet. The spark in his eyes and the soft smile he gives you make your heart flutter. You talk about your lives, you flirt, you laugh, you go outside for fresh air, he lends you his flannel.

Your first kiss feels so familiar it hurts.

He wraps his arms around you and you wrap yours around him, pulling him close, clinging to him as tightly as possible. Your heartbeats synchronize and his warmth envelops you in a soothing embrace. You lean your head against his chest. You feel at peace.  

“I could never be with someone like you,” he whispers, his nose grazing your ear. He kisses your cheek softly, his hands running up and down your back soothingly. 

“What?” You lift your head in shock and look into his eyes. They look different. 

“You’re broken, darlin’,” he says softly, his eyes showing genuine pity. “I could never love you.” He cups your face and kisses your forehead. 

“No one could.”

The mirror shatters, shards of glass scattering like stars across your living room floor.

11:26 p.m.

You sit on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest with your left arm tightly wrapped around them, your head resting on your knees as violent sobs wrack your body. You’re not really sure how it happened, or why, but it did.

The bathroom is filled with beeps as you wait anxiously for the call to connect, blood steadily dripping from your right hand.  

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you whisper desperately.

“Darlin’?” you finally hear a raspy voice respond from the other end of the line.

“She’s fucking pregnant, Tommy,” you sob into the phone, your slurred words barely intelligible.

“Hey, hey,” he says with a soothing voice, laced with concern, “who’s pregnant?”

“She’s fucking pregnant and she ma–married Simon and now they’re the perfect fucking family,” you slur, your sobs making it hard to get out what your jambled brain is telling you to say.

“Where are you, sweetheart?” you hear Tommy’s soothing yet firm voice in your ear.

“Ho–ome,” you sob, “on, um, bath–bathroom floor.”

“Did you take something?”

“Jus’ alco–hol,” you sniffle. “Wanted to, um, stop my stupid brain.”

“Alright, darlin’,” he says calmly. “Can you tell me what you see?” You look around with unfocused and tearful eyes, trying to focus on your spinning surroundings.

“Can see the sink and my, uh—fuck, it’s bleeding,” you hiss as your bleary eyes try to focus on your bloody hand. 

“What’s bleeding?” Tommy asks, his eyes widening in shock, as he immediately sits up straight and quietly exits the bedroom so as to not wake his sleeping wife. 

“Jus’ my, uh, hand I think,” you mumble, moving your injured hand in front of your face, then looking around if you can spot blood coming from anywhere else on your body.

You can’t hold back a chuckle when you remember why you got a bloody hand.

“Listen to me,” you hear Tommy’s uncharacteristically stern voice. Did he sound like this when he was in the army? “I need you to turn on your camera and let me see your hand. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I– wait a sec,” you mumble and finally press the video call button after a few clumsy attempts. 

You change the direction of the camera, so it shows your hand and not your face, and you try your best to hold your phone as steady as possible with your trembling left hand.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy gasps at the picture you’re presenting to him, shock and concern etched on his face. He expected a scrape or maybe even a cut that was bleeding a bit, but he wasn’t expecting this. Your whole hand is stained with dried and fresh blood, your knuckles are bruised, and there’s a two-inch cut on the back of your hand that’s gushing blood.

“What?” you giggle deliriously at his shocked face. “‘S not that bad, issit.” 

“How did it happen?”

“Punched a mirror.”

You don’t tell him you punched it a second time when it was already broken, and that’s why you cut yourself so badly. 

“I’ll send Joel over to help you, okay? He lives closer to you than I do.”

Your brain has never sobered up faster than at the thought of Joel seeing you like this. 

“No,” you shout into the phone, startling Tommy and yourself alike. “Please, please don’t tell Joel, please. I–I’m fine, I’m sorry I called, I’m so fucking sorry, Tommy,” you start sobbing again. “He’s on a date,” you blurt out, “and I– please, Tommy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Tommy tries to calm you, glossing over how you know about the date. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not telling Joel and you don’t need to apologize, sweetheart.” He gives you his signature smile — the smile that made you feel safe the first time you saw it.

“Can you clean the wound yourself if I tell you what to do?”

“Mhm,” you answer, placing your phone on the floor and wiping your nose on your wet shirt.

“Alright, very good,” he coos. “Do you think you can get up and look for a first-aid-kit in your medicine cabinet?” 

His words take a few seconds to register in your brain, but you manage to understand them and get out a quiet “Yeah”. You look up at the mirror cabinet above your sink before shifting your weight to get up. When you automatically put your weight on your right hand, you cry out in pain.

“What happened?” you hear Tommy’s concerned voice. “Talk to me, darlin’.”

“‘S okay,” you groan, clutching your wrist with your left hand, a new set of tears making their way down your cheeks.

“Tell me when you got the kit.”

You get up slowly by pulling yourself up by the rim of your bathtub, then hold on to the sink with your uninjured hand. You take a few deep breaths before opening the cabinet door, looking for the first-aid-kit. Fortunately, it’s bright red, so you see it fairly quickly.

“Got it,” you mumble loud enough for the speaker on the floor to pick it up.

“Okay, darlin’,” Tommy says softly. “Take the kit and open it. Tell me if you can see the gauze.”

“Mhm, can see it.” 

“Alright, now run your hand under cold water first. When most of the blood’s cleaned off, you press the gauze directly onto the cut. You understand?”

“Yeah, got it.” You turn on the faucet, hissing as the cold water irritates your cut and all the scrapes on your fingers and knuckles. Your blood pools in the sink, mingling with the water, creating a macabre dance of crimson tendrils that gradually dissolve and swirl away.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, sitting back down, your left hand firmly pressing the gauze onto the cut. You close your eyes and shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Tommy,” you whisper. “For dragging you into my bullshit. Again.”

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” he coos. “You know I’d always drop everything to help you.”

“But that’s so fucked up, Tommy,” you blurt out. “You shouldn’t have to help me ‘cause I just can’t get my shit together. You got your own life to worry about and you got the most wonderful wife in the whole world and I’m this fucked up little gremlin calling you at night ‘cause I punched a fucking mirror like a kid having a fucking temper tantrum. Why the fuck would you put up with that?” You inhale and exhale deeply. “Sorry for my language.”

He can’t hold back the genuine laugh escaping his lips. 

“What the fuck, Tommy,” you try to say in your most offended voice, but it’s kind of unconvincing since now you can’t hold back your own laugh.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, clearing his throat, “but you’re being ridiculous. Get it through that thick skull of yours that there are people who genuinely love you and care about you. I don’t have to be there for you; I want to.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you murmur, wiping your nose on your shoulder. “For everything.”

“You wanna talk about what happened today?”

“It’s, uh,” you sigh deeply, “it’s been a strange day.” You look at your injured hand and suddenly feel beyond exhausted. “I think the bleeding has stopped.”

“That’s good. Let’s continue, then, hm?”

He guides you through applying antiseptic to the cut and all the little scrapes on your knuckles and fingers, and through bandaging your hand correctly. 

“Can you move every finger?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you rotate your wrist?”

“Fucking hurts, but yeah.”

“You’ll go see a doctor tomorrow, so they can give you an x-ray and make sure the wound is clean, you hear me?”

“Mhm, will do.” 

“Now, go to bed, sweetheart. Your back’s gonna thank you tomorrow.”

You drag your feet to your bedroom, phone in hand, turn on your bedside lamp, then suddenly hear Tommy say “There she is!” when you accidentally change the camera direction.

You laugh defeatedly and shake your head at his beaming smile as you plop down onto your bed. “Can you believe I punched a mirror? So dramatic, my god.”

Tommy chuckles and looks at you with adoration. You look like a complete mess with your disheveled hair, cracked lips and blood-stained shirt, but all he sees are your eyes and the smile on your lips. He wishes you‘d be kinder to yourself. But he knows better than to push you. He’s confident you’ll find your way. 

“I’m gonna turn the camera off, okay?” you murmur. “Don’t want you to get nightmares.”

“Sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful little gremlin I’ve ever seen.” 

“Hey, you’re supposed to be nice to me right now,” you pout, eliciting a chuckle from Tommy. Turning off the camera, you let your phone fall onto the bed. You strip off your pants, panties and socks, shrug off your shirt and grab a fresh one from your drawer.

“Tommy?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Could you, um, could you stay on the phone with me?” you ask as you put on a new pair of panties. “Just for a bit?” 

“Of course, sweetheart. You just close your eyes and go to sleep. I’m here.” 

You slide under your covers, turn off the lamp and close your eyes. 

“Tommy?” 

“Yes, honey?” 

“Thank you.”

-----

Thanks for reading, guys!! 🤍

tag list: @paleidiot @pattwtf

[daincrediblegg]

DRAG LAURA’S ASS DRAG HER

My man… it’s not even hard to do

Girl… she 1) made them get there a day early neglecting to tell Max they didn’t get a callback to confirm they could come until they were literally in front of the mostly empty lodge 2)out of pure spite being like “lets not go to the fucking motel like the creepy cop suggested” fully knowing all the information from point 1 (and like sure Trav comes off so creepy but you just experienced some creepy shit in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night it’s fucking nap time- not to mention it’s just a good call in general considering CHRIS DIDNT CALL HER BACK) and both these things leading up to 3) forcing her boyfriend to break into a locked storm shelter to investigate some shit she thought she saw leading to him getting bit. Its literally all on her when Max just WANTED TO GO TO THE FUCKING MOTEL.

AND LIKE???? Not to mention that the fucking poem AND Travis BOTH mention the white wolf top dog element of the curse and girl can’t even put it the fuck together that that may NOT mean Chris Hackett??? Shooting Kaylee mistaking her for chris with no regard that it may not even BE Chris??? (Though I grant Travis was cagey about how many werewolves there are she still shows absolutely zero remorse when she DOES learn this information). And like SURE Travis kept her locked up for 2 months but THERE WAS A VERY CLEAR AND BLATANT WAY TO CURE THE CURSE FOR EVERYONE????? GO FOR THAT YOU IDIOT BC ITS LIKELY THAT THEY’RE A VICTIM OF THIS AS MUCH AS YOU!!!!! Lack of fucking empathy??? Eat shit girlie.

AND WITH ALL THAT SHE HAS THE FUCKING G A L L TO GET ON MAX’S ASS ABOUT NOT GETTING INTO THE SAME GRAD SCHOOL??? Like she can be REAL shitty to Max about it if you let her and how condescending she is about it base-line. “we’ve made plans” no YOU made plans and are dragging him like a prop in YOUR life!!!Heaven forbid a situation is out of your control or HIS and that your plans need to change AND THAT HIS MIGHT NOT ALIGN WITH YOURS ANYMORE!!! He deserves better than that and to flourish as an individual (and I’m not saying that just because I think the better he can do is ME. I had all these receipts on lock before he became my babygirl so put that in your pipe and smoke it)

[tauforged]

i think it would be fun if everyone in sh2 was friends and they all hung out together :) except james. idk who that is i can’t read suddenly

[uselessgaywhovian]

top ten critical role moments!

Hoo boy! Let's see...

This conversation between Beau and Caleb. I'm not sure why, this one just lives in my heart. I loved the dynamic between Beau and Caleb most of all.

Also this conversation between Beau and Caleb. "I just put everything on the line—my own survival, all of our survival—on the line because I wanted to see you live. And all of our friends live." I just think they're neat.

Percy mic-dropping on Vex's dad. FUCK Syldor Vessar. All my homies hate Syldor Vessar.

Jester and Fjord's jellyfish conversation. God I love the emotional vulnerability inherent in taking watch together.

"I've seen you a lot." GOD I LOVE THE EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY INHERENT IN TAKING WATCH TOGETHER.

"My heart is someone else's." JUST FUCK ME UP LAURA BAILEY.

The Gem of Byroden Pageant. This was just such a fuckin' treat, i tell y'all what. idk how many times i went back and watched that.

That time when Vox Machina accidentally did some murders in "The Final Ascent". This is why I have trust issues. RIP for those auto-crits with sneak attack damage.

Keyfish. Always Keyfish.

Last but not least: The Cupcake Incident. I mean really that entire interaction with the hag, Beau being ready to sacrifice herself for Nott, Yasha being like lol no, and then Laura hitting us with the "That was sprinkled with the Dust of Deliciousness" and watching the dominoes fall from there. *chef kiss* this is the kind of buck wild D&D nonsense I came here for.

Honorable mention to the bath scene. God I love the bath scene.

[fluoresensitivearchived]

Fuck Laura Purcell, all my homies hate Laura Purcell

[larcher0001]

I watched Yes, God, Yes last week.

I liked it.

I liked all the acting and will only state my opinion on the characters themselves.

I respond out loud when I watch things by myself so for this movie, I was playing Devil's Advocate.

I'm not religious so it was funny that I of all people was going, "Alice no-! Your spirit-! Eternal Damnation-! Alice wait-!" Half-heartedly for an hour and eighteen minutes.

Laura got on my nerves. I like them as a character, but Laura was not a ride-or-die. And I wasn't loving that.

Yes. Alice lied. A real homie would ask why, or just straight up say they shouldn't do that, instead of dogging on our girl and claiming her to be a liar.

Like, when Alice said she saw Nina it wasn't even negative. It was just a fact.

Laura wanted to fit in SO BAD. Like get a life. /hj

.

All the counselors were so... Happy. It made me feel like any moment, they'd switch up and tell me I was watching a horror movie.

Even though I saw the trailer.

.

Nina was cool. Didn't leave a big impression on me except she pissed me off getting Alice in trouble, acted like everything's all fine and dandy, before messing 'wit that boy while Alice has to clean. Wasn't in love with that.

Her sob story didn't help me.

Okay. I lied. I loved Nina for like 5 minutes then she snitched on Alice and lost all my respect because I saw that one trailer and knew too much.

.

Wade was on my last nerve. Like. Leave Alice alone. She didn't ask for this.

.

The dudes that were making fun of Alice were... Indescribably obnoxious. I hated them.

H A T E D T H E M

.

Gina (Motorcycle Chick at the gay bar).

*chef's kiss*

Absolutely wonderful.

.

Chris, I liked his energy. Alice did him wrong though. We can't deny that.

Definitely my 2nd favorite.

.

That girl that wanted to go to Tokyo or something. I wish that proceeded to be Alice's friend. I adored her. They tried to paint her as weird, but I did not care. Her personality was perfect to me. They met and she instantly said, they should hang out sometime. And they should've.

Favorite character. No one can compare.

.

At the end when Chris saw Alice and tried to dive in the Art Room to hide and it was locked was the funniest thing in the movie to me.

Like, what was his plan? The Art Room was empty so if Alice wanted to do whatever Chris thought she was finna do she could just 'trap him.' (If we ignore, he's on the football time, a big strong man, and went just off will power.)

A normal reaction was to keep walking and pretend you don't see 'em.

[glisteningreverie]

PRECURE FOR THE ASK MEME

UHHHH COOKIE RUN AND BEYOND THE Q ARE ALSO VIABLE OPTIONS

What if

All of them

blorbo:

Cure Sword, because she was in one of the first seasons I watched and she’s great. :>

Raspberry Cookie because Sword Cookie go brrrrr

Dejitaru. The fairies’ only braincell. Very important.

scrunkly:

Fuwa! She’s friend-shaped!

Pancake Cookie because he’s small and adorable and the cutest Cookie in existence.

Kaida. Dragon Babey deserves a hug.

scrimblo bimblo:

Cure Lovely! I just think she’s neat :>

Sparkling Cookie is Very Nice(TM)

Faith is pretty great, TBH.

glup shitto:

Komachi Naomi, that one character in TroPre that was Sango’s friend and then got dropped as soon as Sango became a Cure (the redhead). She’s very cute and I wish Sango had hung out with her more.

Trader Touc. Yeah. I like him a lot. I’m Very Proud of him.

Uta Mojika. She was created by @kdotan and we alluded to the club she was a part of, but I don’t think we really used her and it would be nice if she popped up again ^^

poor little meow meow:

Cure Lovely again, I guess. Her season was and still is heavily hated on and I just wanna protect Megumi from all her problems QwQ

I haven’t been in the Cookie Run fandom long enough to know if any of my favourites are highly despised 🤔 So I don’t think I have one here.

I think right now Beyond the Q is completely free of hated characters, mostly because we haven’t received any comments criticizing them. Ammeona is pretty pathetic in-universe though and I say that with all the love in my heart. Because she’s also funny.

horse plinko:

Uhhhhhhhh Blue. Heck Blue. All my homies hate Blue.

Purple Yam Cookie. Horse Plinko for Purple Yam Cookie for a million years.

Rei Mori :>

eeby deeby:

Cure Lamer because I’m petty and resent Laura for hogging the spotlight in TroPre.

Dark Enchantress Cookie because NO ONE CAN TALK TO DARK CHOCO COOKIE THE WAY SHE DID AND BE ALLOWED TO LIVE /hj

Zon. Because he’s the only one I don’t care about as much.

[thelanguageoflovers]

so you’re trying to understand sophia and i’s jatp universe

@localspacelesbian​​ and I never intended for this to get so out of hand, but then it did, so here we are. We’ve got a few wips going, so I figured it was about time to get around to one of these.

it’s okay if you’re lost, because so are we! here’s a little guide to help you out (:

CHARACTERS:

The Lacrosse Team:

Spencer Montgomery-Wright: Our pride and joy. He’s on the lacrosse team, and can be seen being bewildered with Nick when the guys show up during ‘Bright’. Some have referred to him as the guy who is called ‘Letterman Jacket Guy’ on IMDb - these people are wrong. Letterman Jacket Guy is a white blonde guy. Spencer is black. He’s in the design program at their school and designs costumes for all the ballets. 

He and Nick have been best friends since they were little, and have exchanged stuffed animals (Nick gave Spencer a stuffed penguin named Texas, and Spencer returned the favor with a stuffed elephant named Oklahoma). They’re total astronomy dorks (Spencer calls Nick ‘Tor’ after Copernicus, and Nick calls Spencer ‘Cass’ after Cassini). They’re also in love, but they’re still working through that. 

Connor Nesbitt: The aforementioned ‘Letterman Jacket Guy’. He’s the captain of the lacrosse team, the very definition of a himbo. He’s in the cinematic arts program, but, like, really likes history.

Nick Danforth-Evans: Pretty self-explanatory, but the Danforth-Evans theory is canon in the SACU (Sophia and Adalie Cinematic Universe).

Chris McMillan: Chris is a sweetheart. He’s in the theater program but wants to be a farmer and raise sheep when he grows up. He just really likes farm animals, okay?

Barry O’Hara: A good dude! He’s in the dance program, and his Special Interest is linguistics and communication.

Rasheed Bakir: Rasheed!! He’s a bit of a running joke in our work, as he constantly hurts his legs and feet. He’s been known to ride in Connor’s car with a broken ankle hanging out the window. It’s fine. He’s in the theater program, hates Shakespeare more than anything, and is dating Ari Price.

Ari Price: Just a lil visual arts program kid. Constantly so worried about Rasheed. The Ultimate mom friend; his backpack is the equivalent of Alex’s fanny pack, and he makes a very good soup when one of the guys is sick.

Leo Montgomery: He’s Spencer’s cousin! Very buff and a little bit scary but is a whole teddy bear. He’s in the music program, and is so tired of watching Nick and Spencer pine. He’s a science nerd, except for biology. Fuck biology. All his homies hate biology.

Percy Mayer: We love Percy so much. He’s a Ballet Boy, and he’s fake dating a girl in ballet named Constance Hansen. He’s probably aro, but is still a little confused about that.

Oren Summers: Oren is a freshman in the visual arts program. Kind of just one of those nice guys you meet in school who are just cool to be around.

Grayson Radcliffe: Grayson plays the french horn in the music program, and is in our token heterosexual relationship with Jennifer Brickaday.

Dirty Candi

Kayla Lavelle: Y’all know Kayla. We named her ‘Lavelle’ because we went with a color based system and, yk, lavender.

Jennifer Brickaday: Yellow Candi! Dating Grayson, and we just don’t deserve her. Brickaday is a reference to the yellow brick road.

Andrea Turkis: Miss Turquoise Candi! Probably our favorite candi - she’s a lesbian and just gives the best hugs. (Turkis means turquoise in several languages.)

Velma Williams: Orange Candi! Straight up the coolest person alive. She’s aro, and helps Percy sort out his sexuality. Just really likes dinosaurs, you know? (Williams is for William of Orange)

Mary Brooks: Not a member of Dirty Candi, but their manager. Totally not in love with Julie what are you talking about that’s bananas (Mary - marron (brown) and Brooks is just a slightly less on-the-nose version of Brown).

Those Done Dirty:

Flynn Chadwick: Chat means cat in french, but we wanted Chadwick because it sounded neat.

Willie Greenwood: He just gives us green vibes I don’t know what to tell you

The Families:

The Danforth-Evans Family: Nick, Ryan, and Chad are a given. Nick also has a little sister named Phoebe Danforth-Evans. Phoebe is a gymnast and general rascal.

The Montgomery-Wright Family: Buckle up, y’all. Spencer has seven pets. - Laura Montgomery: Mom #1. Very chill, but very protective. - Francesca ‘Franny’ Wright: Mom #2. Just the sweetest, but is willing to cause harm to a bitch if necessary. - Dog: Herbert Fitzhoover (the light of all of our lives) - Cats: Tongs, Spoon, and Spatula. They’re just like old gay men. No further comment. - Bird: Chicken the parakeet. Spencer found him at the airport and just... brought him home. - Roomba: BoBo. Very Good Boy. - Kinda Penguin: Texas (a lesbian icon, married to Oklahoma)

The Chadwick Family:  - Dad: Nico Chadwick. Just, like, a really good dad. Living the life. - Older Brother: Andrew Chadwick. Absolute nerd, away at university, drinks his respecting women juice every day. - Younger Sisters: Rachel & Eliza Chadwick. Twins - they love tormenting Flynn. - Cat: Snoopy. The love of my life.

The Wilson Family:  - Cat: Peanut!! love him

The Mercer Family: - Alex’s Younger Sister: Annabelle ‘Annie’ Mercer. Deaf, has a bright pink hearing aid. Wants to be just like her big brother (is already halfway there, being that she is wildly queer).

RUNNING AND INSIDE JOKES:

Octoslashers III: Octoslashers shows up as some form of media in every fic we write. Every single one.

Twister: Alex is a GOD at Twister, and there’s no debating this.

Rasheed’s Leg: Rasheed breaks his leg, foot, or ankle somehow in every fic. He’s trying.

The Caleb Chew-Out: Let’s just say I’m making it my mission to write a scene into every fic of ours where a character yells at Caleb, and everyone is going to get their turn. 

Oklahomas: Oklahoma and Texas are soulmates in every universe. 

questions? let me know! i’ll add the answers (:

[lozzypoz321]

Characters I want to write for but probably won’t becuase I have about 68 current wips :)

Andy Barber (he’s cool and, me and my homies hate Laura)

Ransom Drysdale (yes. I know I have before but I like him okay?) (and I have a couple requests for him aswell 👀)

Bucky Barnes (sshhhh, we can never have enough Bonky content)

CHRIS BECK (he is literal perfection, I don’t take criticism)

Eduardo Saverin (THIS MAN IS BABY, I LOVE HIM WITH ALL MY HEART) (He’s from ‘the social network’)

The Weasley Twins (🥺🤧)

Sirius Black (that man deserves all the recognition, he is so amazing like. Uwu bitch)

Diego Hargreeves (his stutter is adorable, you literally can’t disagree)

[imaginesbymk]

the walking dead

i’ve finally finished season 9, i’m not caught up because season 10 is not on netflix but at least

i got to catch up somehow

🖕🏼FUCK alpha🖕🏼all my homies hate alpha and the whisperers

judith is so cute :(

i’m soft for connie

DOG.

negan is literally that one kid that catches two teachers kissing

to magna, rosita, laura and yumiko: i am a bottom❤️

[djdeadinsects]

can’t even call laura les a “genius” without feeling guilty anymore; fuck schenker, all my homies hate schenker!

[laurakinney]

3, 20, 32!!

3.  Favourite X-Man?

why would u do this to me. WOERIFJ okay i change my answer every other day but right now its laura and scott

20.  Magic users or scientists?

dude magic users all day fuck scientists all my homies hate scientists

32. Which character has the coolest powers?

okay i think we all agree that telepathy and telekenisis r the best power, especially if its a reality warper whose powers are basically gets to do whatever they want/ whatever the story needs so i think thats kinda cheating so. i really like rictors powers theyre really cool dude imagine if anytime someone made me angry the ground started to shake? 10/10

[sandia-daze]

fuck laura ingalls wilder, all my homies hate laura ingalls wilder