#i see way more baseball caps than cowboy hats

[brightlotusmoon]

That just reminded me.

(I met him many many years ago and he was really sweet)

Americans don’t wear cowboy hats all the time? What’s the point then?

[writing-until-i-drop]

Car Sex | Tyler Owens x reader | wc: 779

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! fingering, dirty talk, Tyler's got a dirty mouth, unprotected p in v (don't forget the condom), lmk if I missed anything

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Tyler had to laugh at the change in you over the last year. The first time you had driven into a tornado with him, you had been scared shitless, your nails scratching the leather of the seats from how hard you hand dug them in. That video was still one of the most popular on the channel, at first you had been embarrassed but now you wore it like a badge of honor, of how far you’d come. Now it seemed every time you drove into a tornado with him, it made you hornier than sin. You’d even tried to have sex in a tornado once but Tyler had shot down the suggestion, citing the dangers of being that distracted when there was debris flying around.

Thankfully for his sanity, the team wasn’t riding with you two today, but the second the truck stopped rocking, you were unbuckling your harness. Tyler adjusted the driver’s seat all the way back, preparing for you, before working on his own harness. You were on him the second it was undone.

“Sweetheart, you are insatiable,” 

“Are you complaining, Cowboy?” His baseball cap landed in the backseat, Tyler groaned as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Because it doesn’t feel like you are,” You ground down against him.

“Never complaining, Sweetheart,” Your shirt joined his hat in the backseat. Tyler ran his hands over the smooth skin of your back, unclipping your bra. God, the sight of you naked in front of him would never get old. Tyler loved everything about you, your sense of humor, the way you smiled at him, how you interacted with the fans, and he even loved the way you put your cold feet against him just for giggles. 

“Are you sure we can’t do this in a tornado?” You fumbled with his belt buckle, “Just a teeny, tiny, EF-1?” 

“I made a mistake turning you into an adrenaline junkie,” Tyler helped you with his jeans, pushing them down to his knees, then pulling down your shorts. Next to go was his shirt.

“I’ll win you over one day,” You kissed him hungrily. Tyler was sure you’d try to convince him but he would always put your safety first. He reached between you, pushing aside your underwear, finding you already wet for him. He closed his eyes, slipping a finger inside of you. Fuck, he loved how turned on you got after a tornado, but he’d never tell you that. It would just encourage you. “Tyler,” You moaned, resting your head on his shoulder, grinding yourself down on his hand.

“That’s it, pretty girl, cum for me,” You shook your head, whining. Tyler smirked, knowing exactly what that meant. “Need a little more? Yeah, you always need more of me. Don’t you, baby?” He added a second finger, swallowing your mons with a kiss as your first orgasm washed over you. He’d be damned if you only came once when you were with him. Twice was the minimum. 

“Need you,” You whined when he removed his fingers but he didn’t leave you wanting for long, guiding you down on his cock. “So good,” You buried your face in his neck, letting Tyler do all the work. Not that he was complaining. 

“Taking me so well,” He thrust upwards, burying himself inside of you. “You’re so fucking good for me.” 

“Love you so much,” You kissed Tyler, moaning into his mouth as he set as fast as of a pace as the cramped space would let him.

“I love you too baby,” He wasn’t going to last long with you squeezing him like a vice. “Cum with me, get yourself there.” It didn’t take long for you to have worked yourself up, you head thrown back, the perfect position for Tyler to add to the collection of fading hickeys on your neck. He loved seeing you with his marks on your neck, a clear sign to other chasers and to everyone on the internet that you were his. 

“Gonna cum,” You moaned, stroking Tyler’s ego with how fucking hot you sounded. He wasn’t far behind you.

“Cum for me, baby. Want to feel you cumming on my cock,” His words sent you over the edge, Tyler following right after you, spilling inside of you as he continued to move you up and down on him, squeezing your hips tight. 

After a few minutes, sitting in silence, trading soft kisses and I love yous, you grinned at him, biting your bottom lip.

“You sure we can’t do round two in a tornado?” Tyler groaned, head dropping onto your shoulder. He blamed the post-orgasm brain rot for even considering the idea.

Taglist: @wanderingsoul6261 @halflifejess @kyemna @alipap3 @yutangwl @teacupsandtopgun @glenpowellluver @closetspngirl @that-one-fangirl69 @starshinegrl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @sarah-bear706318 @shanimallina87 @atuman @carolina-on-my-mind03 @winelover27 @cherrycola27 @cevansbaby-dove

[bigfan-fanfic]

Building Bridges (Male!Reader x Jason Grace)

Any domestic headcannons for Jason Grace? Just general cute and romantic stuff when deeper into a relationship with the guy.

Percy likes to joke that Jason's lucky there hasn't been a Pontifex since the times of ancient Rome, because he basically gets to assign himself his own duties and hours.

It's hard, having resigned the title of praetor and left behind the Legion. No one's really sure where Jason belongs, and after the rigidity of a legionnaire's life, it's unsettling, to say the least.

He ends up getting contacts a few years in after one too many times of losing his glasses on top of his head.

This relieves a lot of his stress, as repeatedly putting on and taking off his glasses tended to give him headaches.

He and Piper drift apart - mainly because they had chased the idea of being together so long that when it came to actually being together, they had no idea of what to do.

Besides, Piper still had to figure out how she felt about Hera's false memories of their relationship she still had, and trying to "get back there"

They remain friends and are in fact much better friends than they were partners. It was Piper that Jason came out to about his own bisexuality later on.

Jason takes his time with things, not rushing into dating because he feels like he has to or needs to fill a void. Instead he tries to learn who he is, establish a support system with Percy, Thalia, Frank, Annabeth, Hazel, and Nico.

He travels often for his duties as pontifex, seeking out gods and spirits to see how they would be honored.

In a lot of ways, he sort of gets to decide what the gods will become.

Since they depend so dearly on human perception of them, and will evolve accordingly, Jason can, by dictating their worship and temples, dictate the path they will follow.

So with a such a heavy and important duty as his main job, he really does like to clearly delineate between his life as pontifex and his time with family, friends, and loved ones.

Jason may not be particularly spontaneous or even exciting, but he is incredibly attentive and reliable.

Jason has worked so hard on his own mental health and well-being that he really does become a safe space for someone he loves.

He's a master at listening without judgment and allowing you to vent.

But he also has a mind like a steel trap, and he will remember things you like, things you want, and your habits.

Definitely the boyfriend who seems to read your mind, simply because he's so observant. He'll automatically have your preferred snacks and drinks in stock.

You'll also find little notes he writes to himself to remind himself of things, like "Pick up snax (for Y/N <3)

Or little lists of your favorite shows you've recommended he watch because otherwise he'll forget.

He lives in a small but really nice little house in New Rome, set up more like a large apartment than a house is.

Basically, it is ready for you to move into like, the moment you stay over the first time.

I think Jason becomes more fond of sturdy clothes as he gets older. Thicker jackets with long sleeves to hide his Legion brand, probably a cowboy hat or baseball cap to hold his longer hair out of his face.

I think he definitely gets hat hair a lot and finds it hilarious and cute when you notice it and ruffle it to get it out of that slicked back shape.

Jason might not always be good at it the first time, but he does like to plan dates and excursions. Organization and chores can be tough for him, but he also has some immense self-discipline.

And then he'll just have the most random moments where he'll act on an impulse without thinking and spend several moments visibly looking disappointed in himself.

Jason is highly physically affectionate, draping himself over you and often times nibbling at your neck or ear.

He also really likes to have you leaning against him or even in his lap, even if you two are doing different things.

It might be a reassurance thing, or a touch-starved thing.

As far as marriage goes, I don't think Jason would propose it but he'd absolutely say yes if proposed to. In New Rome, everyone already knows you two are a couple, and it's not like there are tax or legal benefits to worry about, so it's not something that crosses his mind.

He refers to you as his partner, or when feeling romantic, his "other half."

Jason is actually a really good cook, but he needs something to help him focus, or to keep him on track.

Jason is a snuggler, but ONLY when awake. When he sleeps, he seems to keep some space. Probably because he overheats quickly. Even under a blanket, this man always has a leg out or the blanket pushed down to his hips.

He likes to involve you in his day and thoughts but doesn't push you to do the same. Though he loves being included.

[milk-crater]

Sorry to keep asking request

Diva

Adam Cole/ Adam Page

This fic kind of got away from me ;_;. Adam-squared but Kenny Omega haunts the narrative. Hope you like it.

***

“Oh, and sir, someone left a message for you,” the hotel clerk said after Hanger checked in. Hanger felt a soft ping of dread: who knew he had a reservation here? He’d been lucky and avoided the paparazzi so far. He’d arrived a day early. He wore sunglasses and a surgical mask. He wore a denim baseball cap, eschewing the cowboy hat that so many other country music stars wore. He didn’t even travel with an entourage, feeling it was easier to slip through a crowd incognito that way.   

But someone had left a message for him. Someone who knew he’d come a day early before the Grammy’s, even knew what hotel he’d be staying at.

The clerk slipped a small envelope across the desk. Hanger took out the small note card.

Hey cowboy,

Sorry about what I said before. Let me make it up to you. Room 409, 8PM.

There was no signature on the note but Adam already knew who’d written it.

Kenny.

Kenny Omega. The biggest pop star in the world. One of his oldest pals. His mentor. His one and off again…boyfriend? Well, whatever they were, they’d been ‘off-again’ ever since the nominations for Album of the Year had come out and Adam Page’s album Anxious Millennial Cowboy had gotten a nom.

Kenny had always been so supportive when Adam had been struggling to get his music heard. Paid for studio time, produced his first album, had him as guest vocals on a surefire hit. But now, now that Hanger was finally getting some recognition on his own, Kenny had changed. Instead of being happy for him, Kenny had sent Hanger some texts. Some really mean texts.

Congrats on the nomination. For such a shy guy you really worked your connections well.

People only know who you are because they know ME.  

You gonna to thank me first when you win?

Never mind that Kenny’s album, One-Winged Angel, was also nominated for Album of the Year. Never mind that it was the front runner to win. Now that Adam was finally getting some respect in the industry, Kenny had gone from sweet to sour, from caring to caustic so fast that it made Adam’s head spin.

Kenny had followed up with some apology texts, but Hanger had left them on read.

Now though, Adam felt his resolve weakening. The thought of seeing Kenny in person was just too tempting. Surely they could work through their shit if they were in the same room. Could get back on the same page before one of them (probably Kenny) won Album of the Year tomorrow. Could just fuck away any tension that words couldn’t resolve.

Adam tightened his grip on his rolling suitcase. It was 7:45. He’d just go right to Kenny’s room now. No need to drop his own stuff off.

He went up to room 409, and took a couple of deep breaths.

When he knocked on the door Adam Cole answered.

Adam Cole was the front man for Undisputed Era, a rock band whose self-titled album was also up for AotY. Cole was outgoing, charismatic, well-spoken, confident. Basically all the things that Hanger wasn’t (“Yeah, but you’re talented,” Kenny had told him when Hanger had confessed his Adam Cole-related insecurities. When Kenny was on your side it was the best feeling in the world). Somehow Hanger and Cole had gotten in the habit of hooking up whenever they were at the same music festival. The man was always a good lay, and he didn’t seem to want to be anything more than fuck buddies, which was a relief to Hanger who already had something deep and complicated in Kenny.

Still, though he more or less liked Cole, Adam was disappointed to see him in the doorway. Why had Kenny asked Adam Cole there?

Cole winked at him.

“Well, don’t just stand there, cowboy. Come on in.”

Adam stepped into the suite. Cole gestured with his arms and smiled wide as he gave a tour of the hotel suite, pointing out each feature like they were on some house hunting reality TV show. The jacuzzi, two separate bedrooms, the large common area with kitchenette. Adam took it all in, the whole time wondering where Kenny was.   

“Big place for one man,” Hanger commented, wondering why Kenny would want all this space. He was a bit of a diva, sure, but this was overkill.

“Yeah, well, Kyle and Bobby’s plane were delayed so they’ll arrive first thing in the morning. Roddy’s flight also got bumped so he’s arriving at, like, 1AM,” Cole explained with a hint of irritation. He brightened when he looked to Hanger. “But that just means you and me have the place to ourselves till then.”

Oh.

This was the Undisputed Era’s suite, not Kenny’s.

Cole stepped in for a kiss but he paused when he saw the look on Hanger’s face.

“What?” Cole asked. His grin was wry but there was worry in his eyes.

“Sorry, it’s just, uhh...” Hanger tried to figure out what to say. “I think I got the wrong idea from the note at the reception desk.”

Cole laughed, leaning in to place a kiss on Hanger’s neck. “What did you think we’d do up here? Play checkers?”

“It’s not the ‘what’ I got wrong but the ‘who,’” Hanger admitted. Cole leaned back to look at his face.

“The who…? But…” The penny dropped. “You thought Kenny left the note.”

Hanger shrugged. Cole looked at him with a mix of emotions: pity, disdain, and unexpectedly, hurt. Then Cole hunched over as he laughed.

“Wow, Adam! You’re really pathetic, you know that? Sooo hung up on what Kenny Omega thinks about you. You should hear the things he says about you behind your back.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same to you, Cole,” Hanger replied hotly. His own words gave him pause: maybe it said something about Kenny that he felt all right bad-mouthing one Adam to another, keeping them on this emotional teeter-totter with him as the fulcrum.

“You came running so fast,” Cole said. His voice and face were gleeful and Hanger knew Cole grew malicious like this when his feelings were hurt. And the man was oh-so easily hurt. “Like a little lapdog who still comes when he’s called even after being hit. Hey, if Kenny told you to jump off a bridge, would yo--”

Cole didn’t get the question fully out of his mouth before Hanger stepped forward, hand in Cole’s long hair to yank his head back. Hanger cut off any further words with a kiss.

When he stopped to breath, Cole blinked at him.

“What?”

“It’s what we’re here for, right?” Hanger said, pushing Cole down onto the couch. Cole got over his surprise to reach up and pull Hanger down onto him.

***

“Hey, you need to go. Roddy’s plane just landed.”

Hanger had been dozing off in the bed, Cole next to him on his phone.

Hanger blearily pushed himself to a sitting position. “What? Don’t want him to find me here? I thought you lived for drama like that.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “We’re all on edge enough with the Grammys tomorrow. I don’t need Roddy giving me a lecture about sleeping with the enemy on top of that. Plus, I want to take a shower.”

“Fine, fine.” Hanger got to his feet and started getting dressed. He had to admit, while Cole did grind his gears, he always felt chilled out after they fucked. He didn’t have the usual worries and thoughts running around his head, the personal recriminations on repeat. He always felt weirdly at peace, the absolution of the afterglow. Maybe it was way he kept falling into bed with Cole despite not thinking about the man much otherwise.

Cole put his phone down but didn’t look up at Hanger.

“Hey, I meant what I said in the note.”

“What?” Hanger said, mind still pleasantly numb from sex and sleep.

“I’m sorry about what I said last time we saw each other.” When Hanger just looked at him blankly. “At Coachella. You know, what I said then. It was a low blow and I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Right, ‘Sorry about what I said before’ the note had said.“Honestly, Adam, don’t worry about it. I don’t even remember it.”

Now Cole looked at him, eyes wide with disbelief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Hanger said easily. “You talk so much shit I’ve just learned to pay it no mind.”

Hanger thought he was being kind, that it would be a relief to Cole to know that Hanger didn’t bear him any ill will. But Cole looked like a kicked puppy.

“Oh. Great. Cool.” Adam picked up his phone and started typing.

“Um, good luck at the Grammys,” Hanger said weakly.     

Adam snorted at that, then seemed to reconsider. He glanced at Hanger.

“Hey, we’re planning on having a big victory part here tomorrow night. If you’re not too sore about losing, you should come.”

A victory party. As if Undisputed Era has already won Album of the Year.

You know Kenny’s winning, right? Hanger wanted to ask. But he didn’t, because as much as he hated Cole’s confidence he also kind of admired it.

“Thanks for the invite,” Hanger said, nodded to Adam with a half-smile, and left.

[keii]

Okay so I watched these two One Piece movies over the past couple of nights and the different experiences that I have gone through with both of these movies... First of all... I had A LOT of fun watching both of them (tbh more fun than when I watched the One Piece: Red) and I want to watch it again just from recalling it. I won't go super in depth, this is just me going on a tangent about em.

One Piece Gold (left) was a lot of fun, I loved the premise where they entered this huge ass island/boat city of gold filled with entertainment and casinos (I'm like "ohhh they're on the strip! LOL). I liked the build up of the plot and backstory of the villain. Tbh I think this movie did a way better job at building up the villain in comparison to One Piece Red where it just... IMMEDIATELY went into action??? I enjoy being able to immerse myself in the specific plot and feel of a movie, and so I think this movie did better in that aspect. ALSO, THERE WERE SO MANY OUTFIT CHANGES IN THIS MOVIE!!! It's so cute that for a number of them, they're all matching??? Also... um... Zoro in the beginning of the movie where he just had the baseball cap and he's shirtless... uhhhhh he looked so good wtf... wished they had him in that for longer LOL I also thought Luffy looked SO CUTE in the all white outfit with the orange shades and cowboy hat. Really enjoyed the Sabo appearance in this, tho wished I saw him crush a guy's head!! LOOOL Anyway, really liked this movie.

One Piece movie 6: Baron Omatsuri and the Secret Island is what I watched last night after holding it off since FOREVER AND TBH I DON'T THINK I'LL LIKE A ONE PIECE MOVIE MORE THAN THIS ONE LOOOL. So the main reason why I wanted to watch this movie was primarily because of the ART STYLE. I LOVE HOW CUTE AND EXAGGERATED IT IS. The flat colors, lanky limbs, thin lines, angles, and expressiveness UGH EVERYTHING. I kept wondering why it felt so familiar and it's because the director of this movie is Mamoru Hosoda! And he directed movies like Mirai (my Goro projection movie), Summer Wars, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, Wolf Children (I watched this movie when I was in a 3 hour life drawing class and was bawling), etc. ANYWAY-- his influence was STRONG in this movie because the thing I like about his style is the human INTERACTIONS he has between the characters and showing the closeness, with their touches, or expression, and even utilizing the awkward silences in the conversations. It was SO nice seeing the Straw Hats interact in this kind of way and I am just IN LOVE WITH HOW LUFFY LOOKED IN THIS MOVIE HE WAS SO CUTE I LOVE HIM!!! I also love how when Nami wanted Luffy's attention, she would just GRAB HIS FACE. So anyway, as I was looking more into who was involved in this movie, I saw that Masahiro Ito did the screenplay. I had to do a double take on that name. BITCH. OF COURSE HIS NAME WAS FAMILIAR BECAUSE THAT MAN IS THE ART DIRECTOR FOR TEAM SILENT? MR PYRAMID HEAD CREATOR MAN HIMSELF. WHAT IS HE DOING WRITING THE SCREENPLAY FOR THIS ONE PIECE MOVIE. The whole time I'm just thinking "Oh my god. This movie is going to get REALLY weird." And my god... for One Piece/shounen standards... yeah. There are scenes where I had to turn around to Hun while I was watching and go "... You seeing this." LOL LIKE... I KNOW THIS MOVIE WILL NOT BE EVERYONE'S CUP OF TEA BUT I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT??? It was like watching the weirdest collab One Piece fanfiction come to life. I just really appreciate the direction and vibe this movie had and seeing One Piece in this kind of style. Honestly would love if other anime directors wanted to take their own spin of One Piece and just make a movie. Yah well that's my tangent, I love One Piece LOL

[daisies-on-a-cup]

ok wait i actually wanna expand more on southern manners/dialect. obvs this is all going to come from my own experience growing up in the southern parts of the united states, as well as one of the more northern/liberal states too (i.e. georgia, florida, and maryland, respectively). i have more to say about the south than the north however so....

i have found that the way people speak, down to the slang they use and what exactly the topic is about, northerners tend to be more.. pitying? if that's the right word here, and what i mean by that is they will either talk circles around a topic instead of actually saying it out loud or being so blunt that it takes you back. i recall having a teacher once openly discussing a possible medical diagnosis i had with her teaching assistant when i was in second grade living in maryland, and this was in the middle of class too. it was meant to be coming from a good place as she was debating on sending me to the nurse, but she stopped class just to loudly whisper with her TA about what was wrong with me

also, northerners tend to use a lot of "new age" slang. not necessarily "slay" or what have you but a lot of the older slang isn't used or encouraged in public. actually, people will look at you weirdly if you start using southern slang in a very northern place and your accent will immediately identify you as "other" despite whatever else is going on. because i lived in the north before moving to the south more permanently, i wasn't ever really singled out, but since going back to visit, as well as few interactions i've seen online, if you have a heavy southern/western accent, i've noticed quite a few northerners will assume some kind of bigotry or uneducated-ness about you. that's not to say that that kind of stereotyping is only typical of the north, but its a pattern i've noticed more frequently

in the south, the type of accent you have i've found doesn't really matter/isn't as much of a big identifier as it is in the north. you know that funny thing where you can tell where a new yorker grew up based on the kind of accent they have? the south has something a little similar, but its more down to mannerisms than tonal inflections. tipping your hat is a very much a more western thing to do, and not many people in the south actually wear any kind of wide brim hat like a cowboy does. you'll mostly see baseball caps and those will only be taken off to show respect to someone. respect is big in the south. its a little different than the concept of honor, but it does go hand in hand with defending who you are and where you came from

manners, the famous "southern manners", is also attached to the idea of respect. every good southern child is raised to refer to every adult they meet as either "ma'am" "miss" or "sir". you dont say "what?" you say "pardon me?" or "excuse me ma'am/miss/sir?". however. southern children are raised to do that to show respect. when those kids grow up, its a matter of if that southern adult respects you or not that will determine the amount of pleasantries they offer. adult southern manners have less to do with what you say and more with what you do. a southern gentleman will be the first to offer his coat or his chair. a southern lady will be the first to ask if you'd like something to drink or if there's something she can get to make you more comfortable. once you've made friends with a couple or your neighbors, and you're on good terms with them, expect to be invited to dinner every now and again, or to come over for a bonfire, or show up on your doorstep when they hear times are tough and offer dishes of pre-cooked food

food is big. big. in the south. if you don't take food offered, it's a sign of disrespect. if you bad mouth someone's food behind their back to others, everyone will know what you said in a day or two and you will never be invited back to any event. the only people allowed to pass judgement or criticism are old grandmothers who have the right to critique. everyone else shuts up and eats what they're given- unless its supremely bad and everyone agrees to never let that person cook again

keeping what's yours close to heart is a verifiable way to identify someone who was born and raised in the south. that's also why old endearments like "daddy" or "sugar" or "baby" are more common and casual in the south than anywhere else. you'll hear a lot of the older population use them a lot, the stereotypical grandmother calling a stranger "baby" for helping her with groceries or what not. additionally, the children of those born and raised in the south will say "daddy" to refer to their dad no matter what connotation it's taken on in modern day. that is their daddy and no social media sexually charged slang is going to take that away from them. saying other slang like "y'all" or "ain't" or "gonna" or "got" or shortening words/phonemes (ex: i ain't got none to share wit' y'all, so y'all best leave me 'lone) is another form of endearment to the past, as it's typically what one grows up around even if you know better. it reflects a sort of humbleness and that can be very endearing to people because it shows that you're not too big of yourself to find that kind of slang beneath use as so much of the south and lower/middle class south use it so frequently

now to go back to manners, let's talk a little bit about what rudeness in the south looks like. it can range anywhere from a "bless your heart" to the filthiest insult string you've ever heard. insulting someone's parents is about the worst thing you can do to a southern kid as that's a good way to start a fight if you're looking for one. questioning their intelligence is another way- esp with older men. i have found, through experience, that southern people loveee to insult with idioms. you've probably heard a few before, ones like "they couldn't pour water out a boot if the instructions were on the heel" or "the light's on but nobody's home". i personally find those hilarious and use idioms all the time in conversation- they're witty and can be funny when not used to actually insult someone meanly. however, when southern people are using idioms to describe someone's stupidity, it's actually their polite way of doing so. real, hard hitting insults are rare to say to someone's face, and the gossip mill is an insane thing, but when a southern person really wants to get at you with sarcasm, rudeness, or plain meanness, you'll know it and it'll be a read that you'll never forget. it could be about anything, but most of the time these insults are tailored to the person- it could be about weight, their skin, their hair, money, clothes, family history, mocking anything about you. that's not truly a uniquely southern thing, but it's especially poignant when most southern people use their infamous manners as a shield/mask most of the time. the vileness that can come out of someone who was sweet on you moments ago is insane whiplash

love and respect go a long way in the south, and it goes a different way than it does in the north. i think the distinction lies somewhere in the differences between how the north approaches tradition versus how the south does. tradition is important in the south, keeping the old ways a way to keep the past alive and more connected to roots deep in the land, whereas in the north change is embraced and encouraged. its why there are people saying things like "this is my great great grandfather's recipe for x" or "we do it x way because its always been done x way"

obviously, these leave room for a lot of backwards thinking, and causal racism and misogyny, but relying on tradition and family is what southern people do and know. that being said, there are all kinds of southern people like there are all kinds of northern people. im not familiar with the upper southern regions of the united states, but i have traveled across the country before and everywhere holds certain similarities

theres something rlly funny about ppls approximation of what southern dialects are like- esp when its like the stereotypical southern politeness imposed on a very sarcastic character

[gaymasonjar]

Will You Meet Me In The Middle?

Preview of Chapter 5: Fall For You

 “Seriously? All white? This is a magnet for stains”, Michael stated as he adjusted his sweater in the mirror.

 “It’s not ALL white. You have lime green socks on”, Alex informed him as he put on a white baseball cap. “Besides, you’re allowed your hat.”

 “Why must you give me logic?”

 “Because someone has to”, Alex hugged Michael from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

 Michael chuckled and stared at their reflection. Alex and Michael were wearing matching white sweatshirts. The day of their wedding was printed on the back:      ‘Mr. and Mr. Guerin. September 5th, 2022. Roswell, NM’     . Before they had left, Isobel had given them a honeymoon present of custom-made clothing. It was hilarious but also very sweet. Alex couldn’t argue that it was in bad taste. It felt great being able to be out and loud about being married to the man he loved.

 “We should head downstairs soon. The photographer is picking us up.”

“Oh really”, Michael questioned. “Just how fancy is this supposed to be?” “Well, she has a better ride for our pictures. Not that I hate your truck.”

 “Listen I know it’s old, but that truck has been with me a long time.”

 “I know”, Alex reassured as he lead Michael out of their room. “But I think you’ll like what I picked out.”

 “Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

 “I guess so.”

 Michael smirked, pinning Alex to the wall of the elevator to steal a kiss. Alex cupped his face back to return it.  The couple only separated when the elevator doors opened again. They headed out through the lobby and towards the parking lot. A woman in leather pants and a blue crop top was leaning against a bright yellow vehicle. It was a 1975 convertible FIAT124 Spider; completely restored.

 “Oh hell yes”, Michael grinned excitedly.

 The photographer looked up, as she finished tying up her green and black hair in a ponytail. “You must be Mr. and Mr. Guerin!”

 “That’s us”, Alex confirmed.

 “Ready to roll? I’ve got a bunch of great locations in mind for pictures.”

 “Please tell me I get to drive this thing at least once today”, Michael nearly begged.

 She laughed and nodded, “Session includes you in the driver seat.”

 “That’s awesome.”

 “I’m Dawn by the way.”

 “Michael”, he shook her hand. “And this beautiful man is my husband Alex.”

 “Great to finally meet you both.” She opened the passenger door of the car for them, “Shall we?”

 They all piled into the car. Dawn drove them off into the heart of downtown. There was a large, old cathedral towering over the rest of the buildings. Dawn picked the side street behind it where there was plenty of shade. She jumped out, allowing Michael to scoot over. She pulled out her camera from the trunk and adjusted the lens.

 “Alright, try to act natural. Focus more on each other than me. I’m here to capture the moments of you two just being you.”

 “Easier said than done”, Michael muttered.

 “Hey”, Alex grabbed his chin. “Just focus on me.”

 “Easier done than said”, he smirked.

 The clicking of the camera sounded off from nearby as Dawn snapped some pictures. “See? You guys are naturals at this! Oh, I almost forgot something.”

 Rounding the back of the car again, Dawn attached the ‘Just Married’ sign to the trunk of the car and two strings of empty Mountain Dew cans. Alex took his hat off to steal Michael’s. He tilted it up some, finding it a bit too big for his own head. Michael chuckled at the motion.

 “We’ll get pictures with the sign in a bit. Just be cute and gay.”

 Michael glanced over at the camera as it clicked a few more times. He snagged his hat back, using it as a shield as he kissed Alex behind the cover. Alex smiled against his lips. The camera continued clicking away as they continued to try different poses. At one point Alex traded the cowboy hat for his baseball cap and dragged Michael outside of the car. They used the sign prop to show off as they really got into it. Michael sat back on the trunk. He dragged Alex by the hips to sit with him.

 Alex laughed, “Who knew you were such a showoff.”

 “Oh please, I get to embarrass you all the time now with no consequences”, Michael nuzzled his cheek.

 “Oh god”, Alex groaned but leaned into his husband’s embrace regardless.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45325099/chapters/114530731

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

@clearsuitcasecookienerd helped me out with this one!

For some background:

Leo is a bull rider as a side hustle.

His parents breed Tennessee Walking Horses ($$$$$)

His father died when he was 16 so he dropped out of school to help his mother and cousins run the ranch.

During the winter The Ranch hands take over the Ranch so Leo and his Mother can go visit family all over the country. During the Summer Leo and his cousins handle the ranch.

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Prologue:

Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy

And James was thrown off the mechanical bull for the third time! It seems as though no one on the team could stay on that thing long enough to win the prize of a free beer tab. Finn and Logan were standing hip to hip, forearms resting on the short fence surrounding the mechanical bull in this crowded bar. They were passing a cigarette back and forth as they made fun of Thomas and James as they rode this ferocious animal on the beginner setting.

They just got done for the day at a training camp designed to make them more agile on the ice, only the wingers and centers were there. It was being put on at the old professional hockey rink in New Orleans so it can get some use. The only reason why they choose this hick bar is because it was close to the rink and apparently LGBTQ+ friendly because some kid comes here and gets in fights with people who are homophobic.

A true hero.

Finn and Logan have been friend with benefits since college, did they plan to fuck again tonight? Yee-haw! They both had feelings for each other but refused to admit them because that's the one thing you aren’t supposed to do in a friends with benefits situation. Not fall in love. Everyone knew they were completely head over heels for each other but everyone also knew something was missing for them to be able to work. Usually they only talked about their feelings when they were angry.

Everyone in the bar was friendly, all locals too, so they would tell fun stories about what has gone down in this bar. Two names that would come up frequently and always together were, Leo and Clayton. Apparently, they are best friends and the most beloved frequenters of the bar. Yes, they were undersage. Yes, they did like to fight. No, no one snitches on them. Yes, Leo is a gay boy and Clayton is a Bi boy and they ran this town.

Both are apparently from very rich old parents who only ever had one child, so they treated each other like brothers. No one messed with them. Don't forget they know how to have a good time. Finn had squished his hand into Logan's back pocket while they listened to the local next to them at the fence talk about the two boys.

Then the double wood door to the bar was slammed open, two very tall specimens sauntered in, there was whooping and hollering as they walked past people. Tipping hats and throwing winks. The local leaned over and whispered to Finn and Logan who took a glance at the door and then back at the bull tossing their friends like a fucking salad.

“Speak of the devils.” Logan's attention was brought to the two men when they hopped over the fence to help James stand back up and dust him off. Cracking jokes with him, while the other went to the machine panel to change the setting. Logan took in their appearances.

The one with James had caramel toned skin with black coily hair under a dirty baseball cap. He was very well built and looked like his muscles were made of rock, Logan guessed he was around the same height as Finn. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeve cut off low enough to show off his abdomen. He had on some dark dusty jeans and brown square toes boots, looks like he just got off work somewhere dusty. The man looked up to check out the crowd of newbies to the bar and Logan took note of his dark dark brown eyes, which landed on him and he saw the man smirk a little before leaning over to James to ask for the names of Finn and Logan. Rolling his eyes a little he decided to look at the other man.

Oh my.

Logan felt like he had been punched in the gut, this man had soft blonde curls wrapping around the rim of his old baseball cap that's backwards on his head. He was also tan but looked more golden like he was tanned under the sun. He couldn’t see his face from under the man's hat but he could see his hard muscles from under his incredibly tight tank top. He too was wearing jeans and square toed boots. Logan could tell this guy was taller than the other and he just wanted him. The veins in his arms and the strength of his hands made his grip tighten on his drink. He knew Finn was looking to by the way he could feel his hand flexing on his ass.

There was a song playing in the background that portrayed exactly how they felt.

“SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY!” The bar cheered as the blonde boy swung his leg on the bull and grabbed the handle, nodding at his friend. The bull started thrashing around and all Finn and Logan could focus on was the way this guy isolated his body so the top half of him barely moved while his hips rotated with the machine, smoothly. As the bull got faster the tighter the guy gripped the handle the more veins showed in his arms. Logan took a drink while Finn took a drag.

When the man was finally flung off, he had won what Thomas and James were trying so desperately trying to win. When the man stood up he was right in front of Logan and Finn. Logan just about spit out his drink when he saw this man's face. Like it was chiseled from fucking god, dimples, electric blue eyes that shot electricity to their groins, sculpted eyebrows and a scar on bridge of his nose. He smiled and his teeth were perfect beside a chip on his left front tooth.

They had to have him. After hours of teasing looks and sexy line dances, which was a sentence Finn swore he would never say, they finally got this angel of a cowboy into their hotel room. His name was Leo, and god damn was he packing.

He was fucking into Logan as the smaller man fingered Finn open and sucked him off at the same time, Leo shifted a little to hit Logan's prostate, a loud moan was heard from around Finn’s cock. Logan pulled off of Finn and Pushed back on Leo like he couldn’t help it, catching Leo by surprise and asking him to pull out. Leo did because he was a literal angel.

Leo sat back on his heels and smoothed his hands over Logan's hips with a worried look in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” His voice was heavy with lust and worry, that thick southern accent caused the other two to groan.

“Don’t you remember what song was playing when we first saw you?” Logan and Finn were now on their knees facing each other but looking at Leo with hungry eyes. Leo looked down as he thought for a moment, then it dawned on him. He looked up at them and smiled a little shy, he was about to say something but he was pushed back to lay down. He shuffles a little to get more comfortable, Finn and Logan both mentioned that they were switches so he had no clue what to expect when two extremely sex hockey players asked him into their bed. Clayton was jealous.

He groans as he feels Finn grind back onto his cock, he looks up at the red head and smiles Finn is definitely enjoying himself. Leo placed his hands on Finn’s hips to help him sink down on his cock, furrowing his brows he tries his best not to fuck up into Finn as he gets used to Leo. Which they did mention Finn hasn’t bottomed in a while but he really wanted to with Leo and that made him feel special. Leo opens his eyes from when he scrunched them shut to control himself, he sees Logan watching Finn and stroking himself. An idea comes onto Leo’s head, tapping on Logan's arm he wraps his hand around his bicep and pulls him over to him.

“How about you ride my face, sugarbug? Hmm?” Leo is pulled into an intense kiss as Finn finally sets a comfortable pace of fucking himself down on Leo. Logan maneuvers himself so he is straddling Leo’s face and facing Finn.

Leo grabs Logan's hips to pull him down on his face, nipping lightly at his rim he smirks at the shiver he feels from Logan, hearing the smacking of kisses he knows they are desperately close already. Leo starts working Logan open with his tongue as he plants his heels on the bed and fucks up into Finn. The boys are moaning his name loud enough he bets the people in the room next to them are hearing everything. Leo is getting close and he knows Logan is barely holding on, plunging his middle finger and tongue into his smaller lover, hitting his prostate head on, he feels Logan clench around him as a wet heat is felt on his chest.

Logan Moans out Leo’s name and then Finn’s as he pulls the red head into a sloppy kiss as Leo keeps his rhythm with Finn, fucking him steady and deep. Finn changes the rhythm and starts moving faster, desperate for that release. Logan reaches between them and starts to jerk Finn off in time with his thrusts, after a few strokes he feels Finn spilling into his hand. Leo groans and bites down on Logan's left booty cheek as he muffles his moan when he releases into the condom he's wearing. Resting his head back on the pillow he feels logan crawl off him.

Finn pulled off him and collapsed onto Leo’s chest with an oof. Leo chuckles and runs his hands through Finn’s hair, mesmerized by the red flowing through hands. He just wanted to hold these boys close and relax, which he hasn’t done in a while. Kissing the top of Finn’s head he hears a cute whimper from the man on top of him. Hiding his laugh in his hair Leo looks up at Logan who wanders back into the room with a warm washcloth. He slaps Finn’s ass causing the man to jolt and glare at Logan.

“Excuse you, I was being snuggled by a hot cowboy who just fucked the life out of me.” Leo laughs as Finn rolls off him, Logan tries to hide his smile but fails as he wipes the other two down. Hopping on top of them and wiggling his way between them and smiles.

“Well I want to cuddle the hot cowboy who just ate my soul out of my ass.” Leo laughs again and shakes his head wrapping his arms around bothering them.

“Shh! I want to silently cuddle with two hockey players who I just had the most intense orgasm with!” They all laugh and fall into comfortable silence with comforting touches and caresses until they fall asleep.

When Finn and Logan woke up in the morning Leo was already dressed and writing his number on the notepad next to Logan’s phone. He turns to look back at the bed and smiles when he sees the boys both sleepily reach for him. He crawls on the bed still having not put on his boots yet and gives them both a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Text me or call me anytime you want to talk.” He whispers to them as he pushes some hair out of Logan's face and rests his forehead on Finn’s cheek. He crawls away shoving his boots on and walking out the door. Morning chores need to be done.

They all felt it when Leo left, cold.

[bellasweetwriting]

Fist Date

rory gilmore x m.reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

plot: you always flirt with the Chilton perfect student Rory Gilmore, and one time, she actually gives in

requested by: @grouchycritic7794​

warnings: my writing, too much popular cultural references, FLUFF

a/n: this was actually so fun to write, I hope you like it

word count: 1,8k

You watched her as she got out of school. Chilton was on your way to work, and you didn't mind walking a little bit slower at three o'clock and crash with some private school students on their way home.

She was always there at three o'clock.

"Hey, Gilmore!" You yelled, making her raise his eyes from her book and look at you. You noticed how identifying you wasn't as pleasant as you hoped it was. "What are you reading on this fine evening?" 

"How to punch an annoying guy in ten steps, and I'm a fast learner."

You sat down next to her, making Gilmore move a few inches away from you, not caring if you noticed.

"I'm kinda busy here, Y/N, why don't you go and talk to your fan club?" Asked Rory in a high pitched voice, pointing the groupie of girls watching you. You waved at them before focusing all your eyes on Rory Gilmore.

You first met her a few months ago when your boss made you make delivery in Stars Hollow, to a diner, and she was there. Rory was eating her book with her eyes as she drank her black coffee which had so much more coffee than water. And the fact that she didn't care for you at all made you like her so much.

One day on your way to work, you saw her. She was in front of Chilton, sitting on the bus stop with a book on her hand. And now, seeing Rory every day was part of your routine.

"So, do you like PJ Harvey?"

"Who doesn't? She's great." You smiled at her answer. "why do you care what I like, Y/N?"

"My sister gave her tickets, and you wouldn't guess who came to my mind at that moment?" 

"Phoebe Cates?" She assumed, referring to the attractive 80s actress.

"You," you corrected her, making Rory roll her eyes. "It's just a concert. Besides, it would be cool if we get to know each other in any other place that isn't this fancy and prestigious school, don't you think?"

"Sorry, I forgot I'm too fancy and elegant for you. Why would you go out with me? I'm on the top floor of the ship, Jack." A Titanic reference. She always spoke in pop culture references. 

"I mean that this is your territory and for you to get to know me, you need to spend time in my comfort zone."

"You make it sound like your territory has cows and chickens and you wear a cowboy hat on weekdays."

You laughed.

"The cowboy hat is only for weekends, m'lady." You made her chuckle, just a bit. "Please, do I look like a farmer boy to you, Gilmore?"

You didn't. Your leather jacket and your neck tattoos weren't usual for a country boy. Nothing of you made you look like a farmer boy.

You are a city boy, a Hartford man with no money to spent blindness. You drove your old man's motorcycle without his permission, and it was a very cliche of you to be flirting with a correct and delicate girl like you though Rory Gilmore was.

But she wasn't like all the rich girls that attended Chilton. She was not a millionaire, not a delicate girl, didn't wear make up other than a sparkly pink lipgloss and some transparent mascara. That was it. Oh, but you see a girl like that, and your instinct is to protect her. Her innocent face, and those big dove eyes that made her look so beautiful for you, didn't they?

Rory Gilmore caught your attention the minute you looked at her.

Her beauty was different. Wasn't like a model of Vogue, or some concept of pretty that the media has published. Something in her expressions and details made her look like she was a princess, those delicate factions and the innocence that brightened her eyes. 

"Fine, Noah Calhoun, let's go and see PJ Harvey."

"Great," you said softly, kissing her cheek quickly. "I'll pick you up on Friday night. Where do you live? What's your number?"

"Chill out, J Edgar Hoover. How do I know you aren't going to Lee Harvey Oswald me when I'm not looking?"

"Have you ever talked normally and not in pop culture references?"

"Why would I do that?" She asked, writing her address on a post-it. "Here. It's in Stars Hollow. Please, don't kill me one night."

"You aren't my type of victim. I'll pick you up at seven." 

And with that, you left Rory sitting on the bus stop. 

-----------------------------------------------------

"What would you wear to a PJ Harvey concert in Hartford?" Asked Rory to Lorelai as she picked up her clothes and looked at them.

"A whistle, a pepper spray and a phone dialling to 911," answered her mom as she sat on the chair in Rory's room. "Do I know this guy?"

"I don't think you do, and if you did, I would have a lot of questions."

A bright moving line illuminated the curtains of the room from the outside. Lorelai looked over the window to see you getting out of your motorcycle. 

"No!" She yelled. "A motorcycle?"

"He's here!?" Exclaimed Rory, looking over the window to you standing next to your bike. "I am not ready."

Rory was panicking. She didn't have a minimal idea of what to wear and you were already outside, waiting for her.

"Ok, uhm, wear that blue shirt because you look good in it, some black jeans and your tennis. I'll go distract James Dean over there.

"Go! Go!"

Lorelai ran towards the door, opening and giving you a sign to come in.

Boy, you didn't want to, but since she was the one letting Rory go out with you, you didn't have a chance.

"Well, hello, there. I'm Lorelai, I'm Rory's mom, come on in."

"I'm Y/N," you introduced yourself with a particular tone like you didn't care much about what she thought. "Is Rory ready?"

"She's finishing up. You know, putting on lipgloss and grabbing a Poptart, hopefully not her last supper," Lorelai whispered the last part, making you raise your eyebrows. "So, Y/N, where do you go to school?"

"In a public school at Hartford. I work too."

"What do you do? Tattoo shop?"

"Actually, food deliveries. I'm the provider of your diner, in fact."

Lorelai raised her eyebrows.

"So you know Luke?"

"I know how he looks and talks."

"I know him too! He's one of my best friends."

"He kinda hates me."

"Right."

Both of you wished that Rory would appear in any second now.

"I'm ready!" Exclaimed Rory innocently, appearing at the door with a smile. "What were you guy talking about?"

"... baseball caps," said Lorelai and you nodded. "You look great, honey, have fun. But not so much fun." 

You opened the door for Rory, who smiled at you before stepping outside. You turned around to look at Lorelai.

"Have a nice night, Miss Gilmore."

"Take care. Drive safe!" You could hear her yell even though you closed the door. "Don't accept candy from strangers!"

You helped Rory get on the bike carefully, and she smiled at you while you put her helmet on.

"I feel like a little kid with this gigantic helmet." You laughed.

"You have a small head, Gilmore." She rolled her eyes.

"You are a total Casanova, aren't you?"

You grabbed her hands and placed them on your waist before turning on the bike. 

"Just hold on, Bambi."

And with that, you left the driveway of the Gilmore house, driving away.

Lorelai was quick enough to run towards the phone and jump to grab it, falling to the floor as she dialled the diner's number.

"Luke's diner, this is Luke."

"My daughter just left to go to a concert in the city on a motorcycle with your provider!"

"What? Are you doing a Margot Kidder impression again?" He asked from the other side of the line, making Lorelai roll her eyes. "Who left on a motorcycle?"

"Rory! Rory left on a motorcycle with a tattooed rebel guy! They were going to a PJ Harvey concert in Hartford! Am I the only one who sees the problem here?"

"Wait, my provider... you mean Y/N Y/L/N?" 

"So you know his name, perfect. That way we know what to tell the cops when Sylvester Stallone kidnaps my daughter!"

"Hey, chill out, he is a good kid."

"He has a black dragon tattoed on his neck. Do you know any good kid with a mythological creature that shoots fire from its mouth tattoed on their skin?"

She heard Luke sigh.

"Rory is a great kid. If she thinks he is a good guy, then he is. She wouldn't go out with a guy who she thinks is bad for her."

"Didn't she like Jess at some point?"

A silence reached the conversation until Luke spoke again.

"I'm on my way. Can't believe you let her go out with that thug, he has broken at least two eggs in his deliveries, he doesn't know how to take care of a girl. That girl has no judgement, that's why you are there!"

-------------------------------------------------

"I loved it when she sang The Mess We Are In, I really loved it," she said as you parked in front of her house. 

You had a lot of fun at the concert, and you still couldn't believe she even accepted to go. You've known her for a while now, and she's always been ignorant to your flirting or propositions. Something must have changed beneath these days that made her change her mind.

"I had so much fun, Y/N," she told you as she started to take off your jacket, but you let her keep it.

"Looks better on you." She rolled her eyes.

"Could you be any more cliche?"

"I haven't quoted Jane Austen yet."

"Yet?"

You nodded before leaning in, kissing her lips softly as you felt her tremble to your touch.

You ran your hand through her hair, making slow movements with your head before breaking apart, giving her a last short kiss before stepping back.

"See you on Monday, Rory Gilmore." You put on your helmet, and she smiled.

"Bye, Y/N.”

You gave her a tiny smirk before turning on the engine and driving away. She looked at you go, remembering how much fun she had with you that night.

Quickly, she ran towards her house, opening the door and finding her mom and Luke sitting on the couch. Both stood up, looking at the smiley girl.

"How did it go?" Asked Lorelai, and Rory blushed.

"Perfect," she said softly, hugging her mom. "Thanks for letting me go, it was the best night ever." 

After she said hi to Luke, she ran towards her bedroom and jump into the bed, staring at the dark night and stars with a big smile.

Lorelai looked at her friend with an emotionless expression on her face.

"I don't like that guy," she said, "at all."

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Silly

Summary: Take three ghosts and a teenage girl, who happen to be in one band. Have them organize a Christmas party, with decorations, gifts exchange, dancing, caroling, and friends. What you get is the best Christmas EVER, Phantoms-style. A @jatpdaily Secret Santa 2020 gift for @bisexualrhee

Also on AO3.

Merry Christmas Emilia!!! I hope these holidays are going to bring you lots of joy, and the next year is going to be much, much, muuuuch better than this one! Stand tall! Anyho-ho-ho, here’s your story! I hope you like it!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * 

At first they planned a small celebration purely for Luke. It’d been his family tradition and since he obviously couldn’t celebrate with his mother and father, the band decided to orchestrate a little Christmas party to take Luke’s mind off of things like another anniversary of him running out on his parents, or being - you know - a musician spirit. 

But it sort of snowballed from there and as usual things were never simple for long when Sunset Curve was around.

***

Julie went absolutely nuts with Christmas lights, turning the studio’s ceiling into a miniscule version of the Milky Way. Ray happened to wander inside as she was installing a wee galaxy under the roof, balancing carelessly on a tall ladder. 

After the mandatory lecture on safety Ray smiled slyly and asked if Julie intended to communicate with any missing colleagues from the Upside Down. 

Julie flashed him a panicked look before laughing stiffly. “What?” she asked.

“The Upside Down? Demogorgon? Joyce communicating through lights with Will?” Ray explained. “Come on, we’ve watched Stranger Things like two weeks ago!”

“Ah, Stranger Things,” his daughter chuckled nervously. 

“Stranger indeed,” someone murmured at the bottom of the ladder, for her ears only.

“So… that’s a lot of Christmas lights, huh?” Ray decided to change the subject.

“Yeah, for ambience, you know,” Julie busied herself with the cords. 

“And totally not for a-ny-thing supernatural,” a second voice from the other side of the ladder assured mockingly. Julie had to purse her lips to keep herself from laughing.

“Good. That’s good,’ Ray swung his arms, taking a few long strides towards the door. “Well, then, have an ambient evening!” He disappeared outside.

“Thanks, Dad!” Julie yelled after him, trying to be louder than Reggie, who uttered a cordial “Thanks, Ray!” upon the man’s departure.

“Reggie, Luke!” Julie chided. “You were supposed to hold that ladder, not chat with Dad!”

***

Reggie, to Luke’s disappointment, called dibs on dressing up as Santa Claus. Julie couldn’t imagine a better suited candidate than the happy-go-lucky bassist. Although - she chuckled to herself - it would be funny to see a possibly sleeveless Santa.

The self appointed Father Christmas poofed out and was back a few seconds later sporting a shiny red leather jacket and a matching cowboy hat with a white fluffy fringe around the broad rim. A false beard hung loosely around his jaw. Red cowboy boots completed the look. Now Julie was sure, a sleeveless Santa could never compare.

“You like?” Reggie asked as he swaggered proudly around the studio, showing off his outfit. 

Julie cleared her throat. “Cooooool,” she breathed, fighting off the silly grin that threatened to betray her real opinion. Miraculously, she kept a straight face, even though all she wanted to do was to collapse in a fit of giggles. 

“Your take on Santa is truly astounding.” Alex announced with poorly veiled sarcasm. “Also I’m starting to regret some of my earlier decisions,” he added under his breath.

Luke looked like he was torn between mocking Reggie and sulking, but he ultimately decided to move to the next point on their agenda. “Gifts! Gifts! Gifts!” he chanted.

“Darn right!” Reggie rubbed his hands. “Now that your Santa is here, it’s time for presents!”

He opened the huge sack filled with packages of various sizes. “Me first!” he announced, pulling out a set of envelopes. There was one for each of the band’s members. “Don’t mean to brag, but these are real pearls,” he winked.

“You got us real pe-… okay…” Alex ripped the envelope and pulled out a page with sheet music. He inspected the score, humming quietly. “Hey, it’s a country song!”

“Mine too!” Julie piped in from over her sheet.

“No way!” Luke showed his own page. He burst into laughter.

“This is going to get awkward pretty soon,” Alex sing-sang.

And as if he was a fortune teller, right on cue came Reggie’s squeal of delight. 

He’d just fished out a package with his name on it and pulled out a… page of sheet music. He skipped over the notes and lyrics. “OH-MY-GOSH!” he cried. “You wrote me a country song, Julie!”

“Julie?!” came a surprised shout from both Alex and Luke. “But-”

“Oh, here’s another one for me,” Santa dived into the bag only to pull out another envelope and… yes, another page tightly covered with notes and lyrics, definitely less reader-friendly than the first one. “Oh, Luuuuuke!” Reggie awed. 

“Luke?” Now Alex turned to the lead guitarist, eyes as large as saucers. 

“I wrote him a little bit of something, country style,” Luke smiled benevolently, “I had to reciprocate for his gift of the horse song, you know.”

“‘Bike Shack Polka’ sounds AWE-some!” Reggie pressed the page to his chest. “You guys are just... “ he wiped a tear, that might have been only a little bit imaginary, from his eye.

“Is there- “ Alex squeaked, then cleared his throat, “is there maybe another envelope?” he asked.

Reggie shot him a surprised look, but obediently rummaged in the sack and indeed found another envelope. He opened it and-

“You have got to be kidding me!” he shrieked. 

Alex grinned with satisfaction. “Not bad for the first time, even if I say so myself.”

“Not bad? Not bad?” Reggie was still staring at the page. “Alex, this has ‘our first country single’ material written all over it!” 

“Country single?” Now Julie and Luke looked up from their own pages. 

“Best Christmas E V E R!” Reggie announced, proudly presenting the three country songs he received. “With the ones I wrote for you we are close to having enough numbers for an entire album!” he squealed with joy.

The rest of the band looked at each other in quiet stupefaction.

“What have we done?” Alex mouthed.

“You’d better start learning how to fiddle really fast, Julie,” Luke whispered, raising a brow.

Handing out the rest of the gifts went relatively smoothly. Julie awed at the gorgeous notebook with a dahlia patterned cover. 

“For all our greatest hits,” Luke murmured into her ear. He already finished attaching the new strap to his six-string. It had a cute motif of little glittery ghosts that Julie had painstakingly applied, rhinestone after rhinestone. 

The gifts from Alex were - as one might suspect - thoughtful and endearing. For Julie he selected a pink hoodie, a smaller version of his own. He must have noticed her envious looks, but now the only thing he saw in her face was joy, as she sank inside the soft garment. Luke got a tank top with “MY name is LUKE'' printed in big letters, with a small font addition of “Really. Definitely NOT Trevor nor Bobby'' underneath.

Finally the drummer unwrapped the last gift: a baseball cap, one of those he wore so often, with a set of reindeer antlers at the sides. He immediately put it on and raced to Reggie.

“Let’s go, Santa!” he crouched allowing for the bassist to jump onto his back, piggyback style. Then he cantered around the studio, to Julie’s impromptu “Run Rudolph Run'' a cappella performance. 

They’d probably switch to gallop really soon if it wasn’t for Luke’s frantic gestures. “Reggie!” he shouted, meaningfully raising his brows.

“What? Oh, put me down!” Santa demanded. “I forgot there’s one more gift!” He disappeared outside following Luke’s lead.

The boys opened the door a little wider and carried a huge box inside. It took them both to lift it, although it didn’t seem heavy for them. It was the size that was giving them trouble. They put it in front of Alex and patted their backs.

“Go on,” they encouraged. “Open it.”

Alex untied the wide ribbon that held the box together and its sides fell down.

“Oh- Wow,” Alex’s voice broke and he blinked a few times. He reached out, as if grabbing something.

“What?” Julie pushed to the front. “It’s… empty?” She looked questioningly to the drummer, then to Luke and Reggie. “You gave him an empty box?”

The boys knitted their brows in confusion. Luke was faster to understand. “She can’t see him,” he noted.

“See who?” The girl was at a loss. “There’s no one there.”

“Oh, right!” Reggie slapped his forehead in sudden realization. “Hang on, I got this!”

He poofed out again, appearing a few seconds later with Julie’s dream box in his hands. She zeroed in on him, the scolding of the year on the tip of her tongue, but Reggie just waved a hand.

“Calm down, Jules, it’s only for the glitter,” he pulled out a bag of shiny particles. “Now look!” he instructed. He spilled a bit of the substance onto his palm and then blew it in the direction of the box. 

Julie watched obediently, as the glitter cloud traveled through the air until it reached the box. And then she saw him. There was another boy standing on the cardboard, squeezing Alex’s hand. When he noticed she finally saw him he bowed.

“Julie, meet William,” Luke introduced the newcomer. 

“Call me Willie,” the boy smiled a glittery smile. “Nice to finally meet the famous Julie. I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“You’re Willie!” Julie replied with a smile of her own. “And likewise.”

***

“I’m finally here!” Flynn called from the door. “Are you alo- oh, who’s the glitter boy? And where’s the rest of the guys?”

“One thing at a time, gurl,” Julie laughed. “This is Willie. He’s a friend of Alex’s.”

Flynn gave a little wave. “And the boys?” She looked around as if she could ever see them without music. 

“They’re here alright, just- Alex, wait, what are you doing with that?”

Poof! Now there was a second glittery silhouette next to Willie. And once Flynn focused on the shape, she could also hear the voice. 

“Hi, Flynn! Long time no see,” Alex quipped.

Poof! Now a third glitter-boy became visible, waving enthusiastically at the girls. 

“This is awesome,” Reggie said. “Best Christmas ever!”

“So now we’re only missing Luke,” Alex pointed to something that to Flynn looked like empty air. “But apparently he’s above covering himself with glitter,” he added sourly.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Julie announced. She untangled a string of Christmas lights from one of the shelves and proceeded to decorate the empty space, wrapping the cord around it until it formed a vague shape of a man. 

The rest of the group nodded appreciatively, though brilliant as they were, the lights didn’t solve all of the problems - the shape still had no visible face, hence no voice.

Julie tapped her lip thoughtfully. “At this point it’s either glitter, beauty powder or we start playing, which is gonna be exhausting.”

Flynn thought she heard the slightest sigh from Luke’s light form. Julie nodded and went for her purse. She produced a round box of pressed powder and handed it to Luke. He applied it gingerly and finally Flynn could see his face. Kind of. At least now she had an idea where his face was and what was his current expression. The final result - of a powdered face floating over a spiral of Christmas lights - was rather weird, if not disturbing.

“Happy now?” Alex asked. He looked as if he was having the time of his life. 

“Happy,” Luke grunted. He didn’t sound particularly happy. “Can we do something else now?” 

“Awww, had I known a Christmas tree was an option, I wouldn’t want to be Santa,” Reggie jested. 

***

The party was in full swing and once they started singing and dancing, the boys became easily visible to Flynn. No aids were required at this point, but Luke refused to take off the lights. He stuck a star to his beanie, completing the Christmas tree look. It didn’t stop him from showing off his dancing skills. Julie suspected it was to top Nick’s performance at the dance rehearsal, which was a rather silly thing to do. Yet she smiled to herself at the thought of Luke feeling he needed to compete for her attention.

“Luke, you make such a nice snake,” Flynn commented after a particularly showy worm move . She nudged Julie in the ribs, “He’s definitely a Slytheryn, right?”

All the ‘musical spirits’ gave her a blank stare.

“A sly-what?” Reggie was the first to talk.

“Awww,” Flynn continued, clearly not having read the room, “you and Alex are definitely Hufflepuff material.”

Alex frowned and turned to Julie. “Is she ghost shaming us? We don’t huffle and puff, we’re well-mannered ghosts.” 

He didn’t get his reply as both of the girls, and Willie as well, collapsed in a fit of laughter. 

***

When they finally got tired of dancing and prancing, they decided to give a few old classics a new spin.

“On the twelve day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee,” Reggie belted out, pointing to Alex.

“Twelve drummers drumming,” Alex carried on, pointing to Julie.

“Eleven dahlias blooming,” Julie nodded to Luke.

“Ten terrific gigs,” Luke rasped, nudging Flynn to go on.

“Nine whole brain cells,” Flynn tried to pat Willie on the shoulder. Her hand went through glitter, but he got the message.

“Eight wheels a-skateboard,” he sang in a surprisingly warm tenor. He turned to Reggie closing the circle.

“Seven country a-songs,” the bassist wiggled his eyebrows at Luke, changing the order

“Six best friends forever,” the guitarist sang without missing a beat.

“Five dirty candies,” Alex twirled gracefully, eliciting a bout of laughter.

“Four cute ghosts,” Flynn wrinkled her nose.

“Three deadly hotdogs,” Willie chuckled.

“Two awesome girlfriends,” Julie squeezed her friend’s hand. 

“And a Luuuuke as a Christmasy treeeeeeee!” The said Luke bellowed, in an opera worthy baritone.

They all sank to the ground and laughed, laughed, laughed until their tummies hurt and tears appeared in their eyes.

Alex moved closer to Willie, his back against the couch. He looked around to his company. His friends. His family. Their family.

That’s what it was. Loud. Mismatched. Messy. Hardened by life and death. A little bit silly, a little bit damaged. Supernatural at places, magical to the core. It was theirs and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

 * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~ *

Many thanks to @goblin-alchemist for betareading and her advice!!!

[seenashwrite]

The Last Job

Word Count: 3.5K   Category: One-shot; Behind-the-scenes canon-compliant; Family; Life choices Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: Mild coarse language Author’s Note(s):  *This is a re-post minus tags and links, in an effort to get it to show up in searches*; While this little vignette can be read as a stand-a-lone, highly recommend you check out “Hello, I’m Gone” (linked in Master Post) if you haven’t already, but if you *have* and found something to like about it, then I suspect you’ll find something to enjoy in this one, too. Overall Summary: A long-time client gives a contractor his final assignment.

The sky was different in Texas. He couldn’t speak to Arizona or Colorado or Nevada, or even Mexico, but he knew what he knew. It was something about the way the sun cut through, something about the tint of the blue.  

He traveled, albeit limited distances and for limited amounts of time. Texas was a big state, though not so big as to be gone long enough for his wife to fret. His work was no-nonsense and he was extra appreciated amongst his current clientele for his frugality, his efficiency.  

They’d initially claimed to have no care for messy versus clean, but he knew better. They’d rather keep unknown, to where few a souls on earth as possible would even suspect they existed. Everything worked better for them this way; seemed they had no desire to be summoned all over the globe.  

He could see that - he’d lived in the lone star state all his life, and had no pull to elsewhere. The constant position of the dials on public radios and televisions to the news channels that catered to the aptitudes of the lowest common denominator was vexing. He imagined the future would be the same way. Nothing ever seemed to change in Texas. Blessing or curse, depending on your perspective.

Less vexing, but still annoying, was how the vast number of gun-carrying, bravado-swinging, cowboy hat-and-boot wearers had no practical, economical, life reasons for doing so. Dropped into a middle-of-nowhere scenario, they’d perish quickly. But all that posturing comforted them, and the conclusion he’d arrived at many moons ago was that for him, this was fortunate, to be surrounded by so many who were content. Unaware. Placid. Stereotypical.

And in a similar vein, he’d already been informed his last job was exactly that - basic. In and out. He’d actually hoped for more, hoped for a challenge, hoped for perhaps the comfort of a one-last-hoorah scenario where maybe, just maybe, it’d get a little messy for once and he’d get taken out in the process.

He wasn’t having suicidal ideations; he was being pragmatic. Anonymous body in another town, filed in a line of cold cases, and his family would move on, eventually. They wouldn’t have to suffer through it, watching him fade away.

Weeks ago, on a chilly morning in a park near, but not too near, his home, the designated attaché had appeared seemingly from nowhere. This was, as they say, par for the course. He was used to it, the air of strangeness accompanying his best customer. Rather, customers - seemed to be an alignment of at least two parties, far as he could tell. 

He found it easier to just think of the one at hand as the client versus dwelling too long on how many of them were really behind the curtain. It was supposed to go that the same one would never come twice, though he was pretty sure it’d happened a couple times and they were just outfitted differently. Maybe their ranks were thinning.

It wasn’t often his sort of folk actually got contracted for jobs. Come to think, he’d never even heard of such a proposition, not in his entire life. Somebody would’ve ran their mouth about it, to be sure. He chewed on the thought that perhaps he was a bit of a pioneer in that respect, if such arrangements would keep on long after he was gone.

Rewards and acknowledgment in his line of work were few and far between, some of his ilk never seeing either at all in their lifetimes. And so in that respect, these employers of his were the best, foremost because they paid. But to be fair, he supposed it was more than that.

He was always given clear, precise locations and times, so on-the-nose he had no idea how they were doing it. And no paper trail, just how he liked it. Instruction came verbally, read from a small, rectangular device they all kept in their pockets that lit up at the touch of a finger.

He’d never gotten a good look at it, would simply commit to memory what they said. He’d never asked to look at it, and they’d never offered. Besides, it was too Star Trek. His eldest loved that old show, got his little brother into watching the reruns. He couldn’t hardly stand the thought of things like that, not for going on eight months now.  

The well-dressed man - sporting what his wife would’ve kindly described as an “interesting” haircut - had walked towards the bench, removing a pair of reflective-lens aviators, letting out a low whistle, eyeing him up and down.  

“Jesus. You’re eaten up with it.”

He’d shrugged, said that last part was true, but then informed his very last client there was no savior to be found here.

The client had laughed a little too hard. “Yeah, yeah, no God in the streets, no church in the wild, I got it.”

He’d assumed those statements referred to something but had no clue what, so he’d offered a tight-lipped trace of a smile in acknowledgment.  

A reply in the form of a sigh floated over as his visitor took a seat at the other end of the bench. “Always aaaall business with you,” the client commented, beginning to remove what he knew would be a fat envelope from the inside pocket of the pinstripe suit jacket. Then there was a pause - the arm extended in his direction, a finger raised. “You need a tune up first?  I can -–”

He’d interrupted, refused.  

The client’s eyes had grown dark and icy. “I’m not offering for your comfort. I have bosses to report to. I need to know the job’s gonna get done and you’re not gonna get all shaky, or go blind, or collapse. Get it?”

He could always tell from which faction of his clientele the dispatcher hailed, these messengers sent like clockwork every other Wednesday of every month to meet with him for around fifteen years now. The one down the bench was amongst those who dressed to the nines, walked with swagger, were more conversational and witty. The others tended to dress in a random array of seemingly whatever they could manage, had stiff gaits, impersonal to the point of being flat and rude.

So the shot across the bow was a little unexpected. Either way, he hadn’t ever been intimidated by any of them. This continued to be the case, especially now.

Call someone else then, he’d replied calmly.  And he’d held up his dominant hand. Steady as a rock.

The client nodded, handed over the envelope. It didn’t take long to relate the details. And then he watched as the client stood, re-buttoned the pristinely tailored jacket, adjusted a skinny tie, returned the shiny sunglasses to what always seemed to be a smirking face.  

Fidgety bastard, he’d thought as he watched the preening. Then he’d spoken one last time before his client zipped away. He wanted to know why the one standing before him - or another of the unique members making up the collective - weren’t handling it themselves. It seemed a little too simple. Too easy.

“It just may be. But they’d see me coming. Any of my kind. Or our partners. You? They won’t even notice.”

He supposed so, and shrugged his reply, because it was true - no one ever had.

A sly grin, a curt nod. “That’s why we like you, Buck. Might even miss you.”  

Now that was off-putting. The use of his nickname. No one outside of his wife - and his dearly departeds - should’ve known. None of his work associates, past nor present, ever knew this nickname.

His real name was something of an eye-roller, “old-timey” as his wife might’ve said. He thought it was cringe-worthy, never felt right on him. All the first-born boys in the family, back as far as they knew, had carried it. He - and everyone else up the line, at least back to his triple-great-granddaddy - had all had taken on nicknames. His own eldest was just called “Junior”.

He had been known in the family as simply “Buck” since he was born, and his father had become “Big Buck” following that day. Even after the man’s death that’s what everybody still called him, and he’d heard the story more than once. How, even as a kid, there was no tradition, no “that’s how we’ve always done things”, that Big Buck didn’t like to question. 

Bucking the system - that was the both of them, boiled down to a nutshell. His father had liked carrying that mantle, and so did he. Shame it wouldn’t be on his tombstone. 

And while he was pondering, just like that, the client was gone. Not that he’d have expected the truth, should he have made the inquiry. Not that it mattered anymore.

He made sure to switch over to his other self during the short walk to the truck and the drive back out to the house. Jovial and kind, kidding and chuckling with the bag boy at the supermarket. He was supposed to bring home a few things to complete supper later.

Most hunters didn’t bother with a ruse, but most hunters didn’t have families to consider like his always had. Like the legacy of the name, his line had all kept families. Defying the system as it were, long before the big and little Bucks came on the scene, marrying within their own community of like-minded folks and keeping up the family business. 

Which is how every last one of them had been wiped out.

He wasn’t going to make the same mistake. Married a sweet gal he’d met at a sock-hop and never looked back. Kept her and the boys in the dark for their own good.

She’d made too much for just the two of them, as usual. He’d still eat every bite served. He’d tried for awhile to reduce his girth, but his face got skinny and he thought his baseball caps didn’t sit the same way. His knees had felt better, and he’d briefly missed that barely-owned muscle car. 

All that was of no import now. Besides, his wife had been tickled pink that he’d gone back to second helpings of her comfort food. He wondered if he’d be able to recall her smile and her hugs and her kisses once he was gone. 

Junior was at a girlfriend’s house for dinner that evening, first time meeting the parents and such. He’d loaned the kid his church tie, even, so he knew his son must’ve really liked this one. The “kid” was out of his teens, and more than anxious to be out of the nest, though his mother was fighting it tooth and nail. Their youngest wouldn’t be home for awhile yet still; basketball practice always seemed to run long these days.

He looked through the mail while sitting at the table and smelling the fried chicken cooking. He’d have to feign some good-natured annoyance at the bills. He briefly thought on her reaction, if she’d be angry at the sizable chunk of money she’d have after he was gone. 

It’d be when she went to put the safety deposit boxes in just her name, likely dig through them while she was there. He’d made it seem like they had to survive on paltry Social Security and his equally dismal railroad pension. And of course, the bit of money from what she thought were under-the-table long-hauls he’d occasionally take on for the extra cash.  

Amongst the usual items, there was the annual Christmas card they’d consistently received, from that little girl they’d sold the Impala to several years back. She’d moved on from Kansas to Montana, with her new husband. The first card they’d gotten was just after the move - barely mentioned it, though, since it was filled up with apologies for selling the car. Neither he nor his wife cared. She was safe, and she was happy, and they were happy for her.

She’d gotten up to three kids now, according to the picture inside, looked to be that she’d had them back-to-back-to-back. Two boys and a girl. It actually gave him a genuine smile, before it hit him again: he’d never have grandbabies. Figured he’d give a go at pretending she was his daughter and those pretty, chubby-cheeked cherubs were his never-to-bes, maybe coax a dream when he tried to sleep.

That creepy sumbitch she’d been married to had actually come out from Dallas, tracked her all the way to Lubbock somehow. He’d already looked into who the dirtbag was, on a job that had taken him to that area. Later on, after good old-fashioned laziness caused an end to the jerk’s pursuit, he’d found the louse in a dive bar, just as he’d been promised.

It was the only favor he’d ever asked of his clients, asked it of one of the more drab contacts. The snotty ones would’ve wanted to make a deal of some sort for the information. They had, before, when his wife had gotten in a bad way. It’d been almost a decade prior. All the docs had given her six months. But he’d already let one of the messengers know, two jobs back, that his own ticket would likely be punched before his bill came due. They’d shrugged.

That business with the rescued girl was the only time he’d made an exception, taking care of something personal, something on the side. Something purely human. Not exactly his usual lot.

He’d taken care of it after the job, of course. Somehow wouldn’t have seemed appropriate not to. It never made the news, he’d checked. That pathetic excuse for a man only’d had one person to bother with him for awhile now, and she was in another life, long gone.

Marrying his wife, being a father, and looking out for that girl often seemed like the only noble things he’d done. Didn’t matter that perhaps these new sort of hunts were saving innocents on the back end. To him it was killing, and it had always been killing. 

It gave him a measure of peace, selling her the car for cheap. He’d slept like a baby for the rest of that summer. Til the next job came around, of course.

His assigned targets weren’t yet bumps in the night. His client had proven their eerily predictive skills to him. They’d given him several folks to watch over the course of a month, all those years ago, when he’d first been approached.

Down to the minute, they’d been right about when bites would occur, when the vengeance of unfinished business would begin. Reminded him how he’d been out of the game too long and was too old and out of shape to take on beasts. To prevent the transformations themselves. 

But perhaps he could still prevent the suffering of countless others by beating monsters to the punch with one long-distance shot. They’d shown him with those first few examples that his marks would be the most vicious. These were the sort who would wreak the most havoc upon their unholy conversions. 

He’d witnessed it. The first year, his employers had insisted he simply surveil, and these freshman nightcrawlers had indeed left miles of misery in their wake. Other hunters could take care of what got them that way, it was explained; the risk of these particular folks getting turned, whether today or tomorrow, was just too big a gamble any way you sliced it. 

It had somehow made for a twisted sort of logic at the time.

This last job was to happen in five days. A married couple. He’d taken care of women before, didn’t violate what sliver of a moral code he still possessed. The emotionless fellow who’d brought that first one to him had actually shown a touch of surprise when he didn’t even blink.  

He woke his wife and the boys just after dawn, kissing them all goodbye. He’d just be popping up to Kansas, he reminded them, be back in a few days. They understood - he’d made sure to do some extra complaining about the mortgage over the days prior, so it’d seem like sense, his making an exception to the no-out-of-state hauls rule. He’d pull extra cash from the box on his way back home to make the story stick.

“Bye, Pops,” the boys had mumbled with yawns and stretches.

“Love you, Buck, you be good,” his wife had sleepily said.

The tall, pretty blonde was out on the front porch putting up Christmas lights, then moving on to hanging a sparse wreath on the door. It looked homemade. The tail of one of the strings of lights fell and he could see her sigh as she pulled the little step stool back over and climbed up again. She moved slowly and carefully, that huge belly clearly impacting her balance.

His commissioners had neglected to mention this particular detail.

He kept watching as a shiny black Impala not unlike his old one pulled up right at sunset. The woman and God and everybody for a square mile had to have known about the arrival, that deep growl of an engine heralding the approach. She met her husband on the porch, gave as big a hug as her belly would allow, and she received an equally loving embrace right back, unwashed greased-stained hands be damned. She didn’t seem to care when some of it smudged off onto her cream-colored sweater when her belly got a rub.

He followed the strapping, jet-haired husband the next morning, sitting far enough away to go unnoticed but still close enough to watch through the garage’s open doors, drinking coffee from his beat up thermos, the one that, a lifetime ago, only held distilled water and a crucifix.  His targets were not far short of children in his eyes, this half just a boy - a kid not unlike Junior, he thought. But a hard worker, no doubt; whipped through four cars and had started on the fifth by the time lunch rolled around. Smiled and chatted with the other mechanics all along the way.

Then the engine whisperer sat on a nearby curb, eating a sack lunch the wife must’ve packed. Good time to leave, check on what she was up to. Wanted to give her enough time to ease into her day. He recalled the slow starts that came with being so close to giving birth. And he knew from experience how close she was; the baby would arrive before February rolled around, he’d bet money.

She left the house after lunch, looked like a friend had come to pick her up. Her eyebrows knit and her nose crinkled as she passed by her handiwork from the evening prior. That same ornery tail of tiny sparkles had come loose again, apparently not agreeing with the nail he’d watched her hammer into the front of the porch’s overhang.

The roof didn’t look all that good. He was curious as to whether she or her husband realized their desperate need for new shingles. Paint was chipping all over the exterior. He’d have a look around inside later, once he was sure she was occupied, but he suspected he’d find more of the same - they were young, they had a baby to plan for, and they hardly had anything but each other.

He remembered those days clear as a bell. His mind hadn’t gone yet. Curse or blessing, depending on your perspective.

She and the friend had gone to a little consignment shop. They browsed, he browsed. Looked like she purchased some bedding for the crib he imagined was ready to go inside their house, given her husband’s work ethic. Then they stopped by a garage sale. She bought an angel figurine. He found it both sweet and futile, all at the same time. All dicks, far as he’d been able to tell.

But resolved, both the unfeathered and the shark-eyed bastards alike. They’d send others to the modest house on Robintree; could be they already had. Maybe they’d be successful next time they tried. For now, they could go to hell.

Which is what he said aloud while he was driving back home. Just passed through Oklahoma City when the same messenger who’d delivered the assignment popped into the truck’s cab without warning. Looked more than simply irritated - seemed pretty beat down. Perhaps their little jaunts to come see him wore them out more than they’d let on.

Seeing as how he hadn’t gotten his last hurrah, the warning he expected was issued. About a month left on the clock. The payment was returned - minus the chunk that now resided in the Impala’s glove box, wrapped in a brief note that implied they should just accept they had their own secret Santa. There was a roll of darkened eyes, followed by as abrupt an exit as the arrival.

He made sure he was out of state again, staying in a dingy motel in a bad part of the random city he’d selected. And he thought hard on the couple he’d chosen to spare as he laid quietly atop the stained bedspread, eyes closed and smiling. Even when he heard the dogs begin to howl.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

[zmediaoutlet]

w/l ratio

(a coda for 14.12) (AO3)

They come back to the bunker and it's empty, again. The place has been empty a lot since Dean came back. Sam's part of it, he keeps sending the others out on hunts, but they've started finding their own, too. Living, in this world that's not yet destroyed, and he hopes that's the bigger part of it. Some if it is that they're avoiding Dean, too. He doesn't think Dean knows, or that he'd care if he did, but it bothers Sam. He doesn't need additional evidence for Dean that he's not to be trusted. Used to be their belief in each other was all they needed. Dean's here, and that's a victory, but it's one Sam wished he didn't have to win. His knuckles hurt, a little. He keeps stretching his hand against his thigh.

Castiel sees them both down into the bunker and then announces he's going to pick up Jack. "What?" Dean says, voice a scrape. They didn't talk much on the drive. He's frowning, his arm wrapped under his ribs. "Where's the kid?"

"Tulsa," Sam says. Dean's eyes swing his way and Sam shrugs. "He and Maggie and Cora, and Keith for backup. Just checking out the area." He turns to Castiel, standing stiff by the stairs, watching Dean. "They're staying at the Cowboy Inn, off 75." Cas nods and stares at Dean almost threatening for another long moment and then disappears up the stairs, and when Sam turns around again Dean's eyes have closed, his chin dropped to his chest. "Jack texted. He hopes you're doing okay."

Dean snorts, and leans hard against the map table. "Good kid," he says, quiet, and Sam's still so goddamn angry at him he could throw another punch and break his damn nose, but he wants to hug him again, too, wants to hold him so tight and close that he can't breathe, that he makes some dumb joke about Sam's octopus arms, that he can feel Dean's heart beating.

He doesn't do either. He's tired. They drove all the way through the night into the morning, and Sam dozed for a while in the passenger seat but it wasn't any kind of decent sleep. He kept lurching awake, certain for a second that when he looked over the driver's side would be empty. It's just after three o'clock and neither of them have eaten. That's somewhere to start. "I'm making grilled cheese," he announces, and Dean looks at him, at least. "Want one?"

Dean sucks in his cheek on one side and looks like he wants to say no. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, sure. I'm taking a shower, though, first."

"Try not to take forty minutes this time," Sam says. "I'm not keeping yours warm for you."

Dean huffs and nods, his mouth tucked into something that's nearly a smile. God, they're both tired.

Sam cooks. This is one of the few things he knows he's good at. He used to make grilled cheese on a hotplate in his dorm room, back when. Before that, even, when he was a kid, and Dean was gone. He leans over the griddle, the heat bathing his face. That conversation in the car. So many things left buried, things he wishes would stay buried, and they keep coming up. Nothing ever stays dead. He'd hate that if it wasn't something he'd pinned his heart to, so many times before.

To his credit, Dean is quick, and Sam's got two sandwiches each loaded up on plates when he comes into the kitchen, in clean jeans and one of his henleys and socks, still toweling his hair dry. "Think that might've been a record," Sam says, and hands him a plate.

"You just don't know how to enjoy the finer things in life," Dean says, and if it's not all that much like his normal self it's at least closer. He slings the towel over his shoulder and lifts the edge on the top sandwich. Just a little underdone, to Sam's taste, which makes it just how Dean likes it.

"Hey," Sam says, and then when Dean looks up at him and meets his eyes he doesn't know what to say. He feels like he punctured something, there in the dirt by the car, and he's drained. Dean's expression changes, just like that, and he looks for a second so sad and sorry that Sam wants to cover up his face, hide both of them away, and to stop Dean saying anything he blurts out, "Today's Sunday," and Dean says, derailed, "Uh, yeah," and Sam says, "Let's watch the game."

They've, neither of them, watched more than about two hours total of football this year. Even so, Dean's eyes clear with relief and he nods. "Yeah, sounds good," he says, and then, "You better not root for the Bradys."

Sam snorts and pushes Dean's shoulder. A lot softer than he did before. He leads the way, passes by his room, and when he pushes open the door to Dean's little den he knows without looking that Dean's surprised. They haven't spent much time in here, what with… everything. The other-worlders don't go in here, though, and it's still the same as it was when Dean left it. Two armchairs, side by side.

Kickoff already happened, along with whatever pageantry was involved. Football isn't really Dean's game, he prefers baseball, but he settles in easy enough. He takes the Rams' side, immediately. "Always root for the underdog, Sammy," he says, one sandwich down and the other in hand. "Haven't you ever watched a sports movie? Come on."

"Sometimes data tells us a little more than feelings," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes. Brady throws another out to Edelman and gains a first down. "Case in point."

"That blatantly ignores the power of a good halftime speech from the gipper," Dean says. He pulls the handle on his recliner and puts his feet up, socks pointing toward the TV. "Turns the whole thing around."

"Yeah," Sam says, looking down at his half-eaten grilled cheese, and sets it aside on the floor. The game's a weird one, slow and staggering. The Rams' coach is supposed to be some young genius, but there's not a lot of evidence of it. The Patriots aren't sparkling either. Sam's favorite thing about football has always been the strategy, ever since he was a little kid watching Brick Holmes. Two coaches, playing chess with fallible pieces. This is turning into a defensive struggle, rather than an offensive one. Linemen holding back a surging tide with everything they've got.

Halftime comes and Dean's asleep, his face turned away in the soft cushion of the recliner so Sam can't see the bruise starting on his cheekbone. Sam picks up their plates and takes them to the kitchen, dumps his congealed uneaten sandwich and washes the dishes. That stupid box, that coffin, is still sitting outside, in the snow. Sam can't stand looking at it. There was a while there, on the drive through the cold hours before dawn, when he'd thought about what could've been. Dean, alone under the oppressive weight of the sea. They've been through solitary confinement, before. This would be worse. And then, on the shore, Sam would be—

He brings a cold six-pack from the fridge back with him. The stupid neon light is on and this room seems—warmer, somehow, than the rest of the bunker. The halftime show's over and the Patriots have the ball. He sets the six-pack down with a clink and says, "Dean," and Dean's head turns toward him, his face flinching somehow before his eyes open. Sam smiles at him and Dean drags a hand over his mouth, pain in the corners of his mouth and in the lines beside his eyes, and Sam says, "Hey, your Rams actually got some points on the board," so Dean can look at that instead of whatever's in his head.

"Damn straight," he says, hoarse, and he accepts the beer when Sam hands it to him. They don't talk much, through the rest of the game. There are a lot of punts. A sack, on the poor Rams QB who looks barely older than Jack, and then Brady throws an interception that makes Dean whistle, and they both hiss when the Rams miss a field goal that would've given them a little more dignity.

"Told you," Sam says, when the Patriots are jumping around all over the field, pre-made hats crammed onto every head. Super Bowl LIII Champions. They look so happy.

"They win all the time, I don't know why they're so damn surprised about it," Dean says. "Pretty boring game."

They're each on their third beers. The Rams players are slumped on the sidelines, leaning against each other, miserable. Sam shrugs. "Touch and go there, for a while," he says, and leans down to get them both fresh bottles. A little warm now, but not too bad. He pops the caps on both beers and waits for Dean to drain his last before he hands over the new. He holds out his bottle to toast. "Defensive victories still count as a W."

Dean scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, nods. He clinks the neck of his bottle against Sam's, and they take a swallow together. Maybe when Jack and Cas get back they can teach Jack a little about football. For now—he's glad it's just them. "Maybe next year we can make a real bet," he says, eyes on the television.

Dean's ankles cross, out on the footrest of the chair. He sighs, but he reaches out and grips Sam's shoulder, too. "Sure thing, Sammy," he says, and releases his grip. Sam chews the inside of his cheek, eyes stinging, and wishes more than anything that he could know for sure if Dean meant it.

[buckymcbuttfacebarnes]

when hands touch (2/?)

wht masterlist

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: abt 1800

summary: a pair of two best friends, bucky barnes and y/n live in the same apartment building, just across the hall from one another. it is only natural that they spend a majority of their time together.

a/n: fookin soft shite, next part is going to be halloween-related hehe

*:･���✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“You owe me.”

You wake up to Bucky’s voice. Husky and faraway sounding. Blindly you reach in the space beside you, but he is not there. The sheets still feel warm, he’d only just woken up.

“Owe you for what?” You croak, refusing to open your eyes.

“For trying to kill me last night.”

The broccoli incident.

“But you lived.”

“That’s not the point, Y/N.”

You turn onto your stomach and pull the duvet over your head. “You’re weak.”

“Being susceptible to the effects of poison has nothing to do with physical strength,” he points out. You can feel him climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. “How long do you plan on staying bed anyway?” he asks.

When you don’t answer him he slides beneath the duvet too where it’s warm and he can see your face. He lies close to you, his head resting on the very edge of your pillow. Still, you keep your eyes shut.

His fingertips seem timid at first, his touch barely there, a whisper. He touches your brow bone, and ghosts across your hairline. Then he gets brave, maybe even a little impatient, and uses his thumb to swipe upwards at the skin of your eyelid, forcing your eye open.

You see his face, grinning with a juvenile mischief that makes you smile too. You hide it by turning your face into your pillow and feigning annoyance.

“This is why you can’t keep a girl, Buck. You’re annoying as hell.”

“This is why you can’t keep a man, you’re always annoyed as hell,” he mocks, propping head up with one hand.

“Speakin’ of girls, how’s Marissa?”

“Melissa.”

“Same thing. How is she?” Without thinking you reach out and rake your fingers through his hair, smoothing it out of its bedhead state. Neither of you notice the way he inclines his head towards your hand, leaning so naturally into your touch. 

“How would I know?”

You roll your eyes. “You’ve been seeing her for like four months, what do you mean how would you know?”

“I don’t keep tabs on her.”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“We don’t like labels.”

“You don’t like labels,” you correct him.

“Neither does she.”

Finally you turn your head to look at him once again. His mouth still quirked crookedly and his eyebrows raised in an attempt at achieving the look of innocence. “Your breath is awful,” you say.

“Yours isn’t so fresh either, gorgeous.”

You both laugh. He tugs the blanket from over your heads and you both take in a deep breath. The air is cool and the room is brighter than you had expected it to be. Your thick duvet filtered out the light until it had been nothing but a dim glow. You throw your arm over your eyes.

“What time is it?”

“It’s eleven thirty.”

“See, it’s not that late, Buck,” you whine.

“It’s late enough. I’m hungry.”

“You have a home.”

“A home with no food.”

You make a noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a groan and he laughs.

“No, it’ll be fun,” he talks quickly, touching your elbow, “Listen, we can go for a quick slice or something and then didn’t you say you had to go grocery shopping or something.”

You peek at him from beneath your arm, brows knitting together. “Since when do you care about grocery shopping?”

“Since forever! This place is where I get most of my meals.”

“You’d die without me.”

“I would,” Bucky flashes his pearly whites and presses a loud smack of a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll be back in fifteen, alright?”

You wonder if the heat of his lips has left a mark on your skin.

Forty five minutes later the two of you were walking side by side down Fulton Street, large slices of greasy pizza in your hands. It’s chilly out, but that’s how the both of you like it. Just cold enough for a hat and maybe some gloves. On your head is one of the beanies you had purchased for Bucky two years ago. He typically wore baseball caps, but every now and then he’d slip a beanie on just to appease you. Today was not one of those days.

“What’s the matter with you?” You finally ask. The question had been lingering on the tip of your tongue for the past hour.

He makes a face and shrugs. “Nothing...What’s the matter with you?” A smile curves at his mouth. He’s lying.

“You’ve been oddly quiet,” you say in a sing-song tone, glancing up at him. The tip of his nose is pink with the autumn chill.

He takes a bite out of his pizza, stalling, and struggles with the melted, stringy cheese.

“Buck, c’mon.”

Bucky’s smile grows wider. “What? I said nothing!”

“I knew something was wrong with you the minute you showed up with all that food yesterday, so just spit it out. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” You urge. “Is it your mom? Are you sick?”

He stays silent, there are crinkles by his eyes.

“Oh God,” you say, grinning too at your sudden realization. “Is it...Marissa?”

“Melissa.”

“Same thing! Is it her?” You have to stop yourself from laughing. “Oh—It’s her isn’t it? Did y’all breakup?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday? Before you came over?”

He makes a face and tilts his head up to the sky in a show of mock exasperation, “Yes.”

“So that’s why you’ve been acting like such a crybaby,” you frown sympathetically, looping your hand beneath his arm to gently rub his bicep. “Aw,” you coo, “That’s so cute.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but his smile never leaves his face. He looks down at you. You’re wearing his hat and eating his favorite pizza. You are grinning widely and seem so amused by the unfortunate turn of his so-called ‘relationship’, touching him in that friendly and sympathetic way of yours. You think you have him all figured out...but you don’t. How would you ever know that he had broken up with Melissa last week? How could you know that he had now decided that the breakup was the perfect excuse? The perfect reason to spend more time with you? You couldn’t know and you wouldn’t know because he would never tell you.

“I thought you didn’t get heartbroken over girls.”

“I usually don’t.”

Through a mouthful of crust and melted cheese, “You must’ve really liked her then, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighs, and you only halfway believe him. It’s typical of him to say something like that.

“Wanna bake cookies when we get home?”

“See, who needs a girlfriend when I’ve got you to do corny shit with?” He looks down at you fondly, bumps you gently with his arm. “Maybe I should date you.”

“In your dreams, cowboy.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry anything?”

“Just hurry up and open the fucking door before my arms fall off.”

When you get the door open, after jiggling at the janky doorknob for what felt like forever, Bucky stumbles his way to the kitchen, and thrusts the brown paper bags of groceries onto the counter.

“Watch my eggs, dumbass!” you call from the other room.

“I did, they’re fine,” he lies in return.

After shedding his coat and shoes he leans against the counter and watches as you move back and forth through the kitchen, putting away groceries while simultaneously leaving out ingredients for cookies.

“You know,” you begin as you place a blue mixing bowl on the counter, “I still can’t believe you and Mar—Melissa,” you right yourself this time, “broke up. Did you break up with her or she broke up with you?”

“She broke up with me,” he lied coolly. When you turn to look at him he allows his face to drop just a little, really putting on a show. It’s hard to keep his satisfaction at bay when he sees your sympathetic expression.

“Why? What’d you do?”

His brows furrow, he mocks surprise, “Why do you assume I did something wrong?”

“Because you probably did.”

“She just said it wasn’t going to work out or something like that. I was too hurt to really listen to her.”

“That’s your problem right there,” you grab the eggs that sit just behind him on the counter and thump his forehead in passing, “You don’t fucking listen.”

“I do too.”

“Not to her you don’t.”

“I listen to you.”

“Yeah...like twenty-nine percent of the time.”

“Pretty sure it’s at least thirty-four percent, doll.”

“Either way, this isn’t about me, this is about you and Marissa.”

“Melissa.”

“Dammit, I thought I had it...Are you gonna try to win her back?” You bring the mixing bowl to the counter he leans against, so you can look at him while you mix.

“I might, I don’t know. Probably not, I think there’s someone else.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Nope.”

You lift a brow and narrow your eyes, your mixing coming to a slow halt. You hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. There is a twinkle in his eye. Who will smile first? 

It’s Bucky, and his smile is like the sun. You cannot help but grin too.

“Just put the chocolate chips in, dumbass.”

You wonder if he was serious about that other girl.

You sit atop the counter after mixing in the chocolate chips, watching as Bucky rolls the sticky mixture into spheres between his hands. He drops them down onto the parchment paper covered tray with a plop.

“There’s this party I’ve got to go to for work next Friday—” he pops a bit of cookie dough into his mouth “—I was going to bring Melissa, but, uh, you know...So do you wanna come? It’s a costume party, we can do one of those couple costumes you’ve always wanted to do.”

Halloween was the holiday that the two of you looked forward to the most. It gave you both an excuse to laze around with one another and eat candy while watching scary movies. A few times you had tried to convince Bucky to actually go out to a party and get dressed up, but somehow every year he had managed to convince you to stay at home with him and watch movies all day.

“You were going to bail on me on Halloween for a costume party?”

Bucky grinned. Like an asshole. “It’s not on the actual day of Halloween, so it doesn’t count.”

“Right,” you nod skeptically. “Well how come all of the sudden you want to go to a costume party? You hate dressing up?”

“Look, doll, you wanna go or not?”

“Fine,” you huff.

“Alright,” his voice is a slow drawl as he grins triumphantly, “That���s my girl.”

thanks to all u homies for reading and being cool. if u wanna be tagged pls send me an ask 

swag tags: @bambamwolf87 @princesse-de-ravenclaw @thunderous-flower

[jayjay879]

What’s up with the way The Royal Heir portrays Texas?

I’ve been on hiatus for work and just caught up through Chapter 10. I grew up in a small town here and have lived all over the state — in some of the biggest cities and in rural areas. @playchoices has gotten most of it wrong... (This little calf though is so damn cute!)

Keep in mind that Texas has over 65 cities with at least 50,000 people in them. There are plenty of rural towns, but they’re usually in between those cities and/or around one of the big 4 metro areas (DFW, Houston, San Antonio, and Austin.) Texans do work hard and have jobs in almost every industry — yes, there’s ranching and agriculture, but also oil, tech, healthcare, retail, etc.

We also like to kick back and relax at festivals, breweries, wineries, biergartens, the coast, one of the rivers or lakes, football / basketball / baseball / soccer / hockey games, races, amusement parks, water parks, museums, zoos, aquariums, city parks and state parks, the hill country, etc. We like all types of food and celebrations from all different cultures because we’re people from all different types of backgrounds. (Did you know there’s more Asians in Texas than there are people in Delaware?) Don’t let a select few public figures fool you on what it’s like here. And even in smaller areas, we use more modern tech than people give us credit for.

Don’t get me wrong: our state has plenty of things wrong with it. The bad things that make headlines are generally not something we’re proud of or really agree with (especially the younger generations.) But a majority of the 29ish million people here are good-hearted and treat each other like neighbors.

But going back to the story, if we’re talking about strictly rural areas, here’s the big misconceptions I’ve seen:

- There really aren’t that many fairs in small towns or big cities. They don't serve a purpose for cattle. Small towns have stockyards that have bidding every few weeks. Texas has way more festivals and what we call picnics (they’re more like carnivals) — even in towns with less than 1,000 people. At these events, you see more BBQ cook offs, car shows, dancing, and games.

- We have the State Fair in Dallas (https://bigtex.com/) and some rodeos throughout the year. They have some events like a stockyard, bull riding, and mutton busting (where kids ride sheep.) But many people watch those events as a precursor to the concerts (https://www.sarodeo.com/.)

- The biggest ranches in Texas — that can drive a substantial profit from ranching — are hundreds of thousands of acres and are run like (or managed by) corporations. Many of the ranches the size of the Walker Ranch are run as side jobs because cattle are expensive to raise and can’t be relied on for consistent income. Our family had seven one hundred-acre plots of land when I was growing up that was shared with my extended family. The work was few and far between — mostly helping build or mend fences which was a pain in the Texas heat. Many of the people who made a living in ranching took care of other people’s cattle because there wasn’t much to do on their own land, or people just loaned out their land to others who needed a place to put their cattle in order to keep their agriculture or livestock exemption for their land until they need to use it again. Otherwise, it takes years to get the ag exemption back.

- The reason the Walkers aren’t doing well financially is probably because of their outdated ranching practices (think several decades outdated.) We use ranch trucks or 4-wheelers when dealing with cattle in the pasture. The trucks are even registered differently with the state (you’ll usually see “Farm Truck” on the license plate.) It makes it easier to bring tools out with you and to keep the cattle rounded up if we need for them to be. When it’s time to sell cattle, we use trailers.

- Horses are even more expensive to maintain and need a lot of care, so they’re used more for recreational horseback riding. And most people that use them for that pay to have them held at a stable or equestrian center, cared for by the people that run those facilities, and end up riding or training their horses there. The ones that keep them and care for them on their own land really don’t use them for cattle — much less to herd cattle to a stockyard. It would exhaust the horses, block off entire roads, and take way too much time compared to driving.

- The people who were helping the Walkers who then bailed usually wouldn’t be seen often in small towns here. Reputation is everything, so if word gets out that you can’t be relied on, you probably won’t be hired elsewhere. Plus, many that help on the land are part of the family or good family friends that have known you for years. If a ranch can’t competitively pay the people, the ranch owners usually talk to them in advance as a way to say “We know you have to provide for your family,” and “We understand / no hard feelings if you can’t.” It’s also usually also temporary. The reputation thing goes both ways, so ideally those owners do (at least from what I’ve seen) treat their people well.

- People don’t really camp on their land in Texas. They go to state parks because we don’t have many forests (outside of said state parks.) Most rural areas have pastures and most people who own land like that have camp houses (which are like bigger cabins for hunting season.)

- Bears aren’t what cause issues here. We do have some black bears, but they’re rarely seen — they don’t really approach people. Hogs are more dangerous. They can be up to three feet tall and 400 pounds (https://tpwd.texas.gov/huntwild/wild/nuisance/feral_hogs/). They’re what parents warn their kids about if they’re in the country at night. They can mess you up if they charge at you and can total a car. A toll road put in from Austin to San Antonio — which was built without true knowledge of the area — didn’t account for barriers to keep hogs off the road. It’s led to crazy accidents in the area like this one: https://www.kxan.com/news/local/austin/update-hogs-on-sh-130-cause-18-wheeler-rollover-crash-thursday/. Other things that people have to watch out for when they’re in the country on foot are wild cats — like mountain lions or bobcats (http://texasnativecats.org/cats-of-texas/) and snakes. I may be missing some of the wildlife though...

- Did they mention a salmon from their fishing trip? I may have misread that, but I thought it said Liam threw one for the bear to chase. We don’t have salmon here: https://tpwd.texas.gov/landwater/water/aquaticspecies/inland.phtml. Liam must have picked one up from H-E-B. We also fish more at the coast or lakes than rivers. We use rivers for tubing: https://www.wideopencountry.com/tubing-in-texas/

- It was thoughtful for Maxwell to give his brother a motorbike, but the tires would likely not survive offroad terrain in Texas between soft ground due (like clay and expansive soil) in the Eastern part of the state, rocks in the Western part of the state, and thorns in underbrush (like huisache) that will mess up tires. That’s why we use 4-wheelers and trucks for offroading — their tires can handle more. We still use motorbikes and dirt bikes, but usually on roads or dirt courses.

- Cowboy hats really aren’t always great for working outside. It’s too damn hot here. We always did baseball caps because they breathe better and the sweat doesn’t get trapped. Most people where cowboy hats to special events — whether they’re from smaller towns or from the city and don’t really work outside. Smaller town people use them for things like weddings and town festivals, wearing a nicer button down and slacks or nice jeans. Both small town people and city people use them for festivals with a sleeveless top or loose button down and shorts. Both usually wear boots too for those occasions.

- Maxwell is going to die if he wears that that puffy jacket — the heat index can get high during the day here. Liam’s outfit looks more like what accordion players wear to festivals. Drake’s looks more on par, but he could use some color. Blue and red plaid — like our state flag — are much more common. Bertrand looks like an old time oil tycoon. Riley’s hat looks like it’s going to slip off the back of her head because it’s so big. Hana’s looks the most on point, but most people don’t bear their mid drift unless they’re at a festival. It’ll leave you with some major sun burns and weird tan lines. Plus loose shirts stay cooler in the heat, keep mosquitoes at bay, and block direct sun.

I really want to finish this game out, but I think I was expecting more of a royal take on the royal heir storyline. Plus these weird takes on what they think life is like in Texas...

[magician-puppet-spider]

Title: All I Want Is You

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Characters: Silva, Hisoka, OC

Relationships: Silva/OC, Hisoka/OC

Tags: Sci-Fi AU, Marriage AU, Romance, Light Angst, Valentine’s Day Fic, HxHBB19 Mini V-Day fic

Words: 2,449

@hxhbb19

Yana sits next to her best friend, Maeve, on a space train traveling to a planet called Stargaze from their home planet, Minx. There are ten cars; three are business class, two are first class, and the rest is economy class. They sit in the middle row in first class next to a large window that has a beautiful view of space. Various advertisements are projected on a hologram underneath the window.

Yana and Maeve wear a red skintight spacesuit that has advanced technology built in it. Their space helmet has a small screen in the corner for video calling, displaying a GPS, and connecting to the internet using voice command. A cooling system regulates the temperature inside the spacesuit to prevent it from overheating or becoming too cold and a SOS beacon activates when the system shuts down.

Maeve checks the GPS to see how much time is left until they reach the planet. The ETA is fifteen minutes. It gives her time to think about a Valentine’s Day gift for her husband. She had forgotten to buy something in Minx because she was focus on making it to the train station on time. She has a habit of showing up late to things, except work.

“What are you going to do when you see, Hisoka?” Yana asks.

Maeve makes a humming noise. “I’m not sure. We haven’t seen each other in a year.” She looks at Yana, grinning a little. “What are you going to do when you see, Silva?”

“Eat, watch a movie, and have a lot of sex,” Yana says playfully, nudging Maeve in the side with her elbow. Maeve nudges her back, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe it’s been a year since we’ve seen them.”

“Yana, you know the deal was the only way to see them.”

Yana nods her head. “I know, but”-she clasps her hands together. Inside the gloves, they are dry, rough, and have some cuts and bruises on them from all the hard work of building computers and installing them inside of spaceships for large organizations. Sometimes she wishes she didn’t have a job in IT, but it pays well and keeps the lights on. “I’m just tired of seeing them once a year. Something has to give.”

“It’s better than a prison cell,” Maeve says, flicking off some dust from her leg. Yana’s posture stiffens. “The galaxy police still want to arrest us for hacking into the galaxy’s database.”

“We weren’t involved,” Yana reminds Maeve.

“We know that, but the galaxy doesn’t,” Maeve says angrily.

Yana grows quiet and looks outside the window at a cluster of asteroids moving toward a small planet in the distance. She tries to remember what its name is but draws a blank. It starts with an E, or maybe it starts with a G. Her memory has been hazy ever since they were arrested and bailed out of jail three years ago for a crime they didn’t commit. The galaxy police had tried to arrest them for infiltrating the government’s database and selling sensitive documents on the black market. Yana’s cousin, Wing, had presented evidence in court to prove their innocence.  

Even though they were cleared of the crime, the galaxy police are still trying to find evidence to prosecute them again since they are unable to find the actual cyber criminals. Until the cyber criminals are caught, Yana and Maeve are forbidden from living with and living on the same planet as their husbands. Visitation is once a year and it has to be on a planet in the same star system. The deal isn’t fair, but it’s better than spending fifty years in a maximum-security prison that doesn’t allow visitors.

The space train swerves around small asteroids and picks up speed as it races toward Stargaze. The large planet becomes bigger as it approaches and eventually, it slows down and stops in front of a space station that has a sign with flashing neon letters that says Welcome to Stargaze. A boarding bridge extends from the spaceship to the space train’s door, locking in place, making a large clicking noise. The doors open and the passenger exit one by one.

“Well, here we go,” Yana says, standing up.

Maeve stands up and exits the train, followed by Yana. They take off their helmets and take a sidewalk escalator down the boarding bridge to the space station. Inside are ten floors that have stores, restaurants, and hotels. In the middle are five elevators, but one has a sign that says Out of Order. A robot, wearing a baseball cap and a baseball uniform, hoovers in front of it.

There are crowds of people walking in different directions. Everyone wears a spacesuit and holds their helmet in their hand as they bump into each other. Jazz music blasts in the air, and there is some trash on the floor. Kiosks and vendors line the walls, selling various things, such as spacesuits, jewelry, and food.

Maeve and Yana search the crowd for their husbands and find them standing near a kiosk that sells maps. They fight their way through a swarm of people moving in different directions and embrace their lovers tightly, never letting go as if it is the last time to see them. In some ways, it does feel like the last time since they are allowed to meet once a year.

Silva kisses Yana passionately and breaks the kiss to look at her face. He smiles when he doesn’t see sleeping bags underneath her eyes; a sign that she has been getting enough sleep. “I’ve missed you so much. How was your trip?”

“It was fine,” she says, moving closer to him so that people can get by behind her. “How was your trip?”

“It was long, but very entertaining,” Silva says, before he kisses her and looks at Hisoka who is kissing Maeve. “He really knows how to stay positive in a bad situation.” He pauses for a few moments and looks back at Yana, searching her face to make sure she wasn’t offended by his answer. She nods her head and smiles. “How is work?”

“It’s good,” she takes his hand and leads him out of the crowd to an area less crowded. There are large holograms on the wall, showing various domes to visit on the planet. A couple stands in front of one, exchanging Valentine Day cards. She looks away from the couple, feeling embarrassed that she didn’t buy anything for Silva. She was busy at work and didn’t have time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything for Valentine’s Day.”

Silva hugs Yana and rests his chin on top of her head. “It’s just a holiday. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know, but I wanted to buy you something,” Yana says, feeling like she failed him. Valentine’s Day on Stargaze is a major holiday but it’s not on Minx. “I can stop by the store and pick up something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Silva reassures her. “It’s fine.”

Hisoka and Maeve break their kiss and join Yana and Silva. Hisoka wears a tight spacesuit like Silva, except his is magenta and Silva’s is navy blue. Their helmets are attached to a belt around their waist and their shoes light up when they walk. The built-in technology isn’t as advanced, but it functions correctly and the software is updated frequently.

“We are heading out to the hotel. Call me if you need anything,” Maeve says, taking a step forward but stops when Hisoka places his hand on her shoulder.

“We booked a room at the same hotel since we have to return to work in two days,” Hisoka says sadly.

Maeve’s stomach drops. “Oh, I thought you guys were able to take the week off.”

Silva shakes his head. “Since we are the only researchers on this planet, they need us to work extra hours until more arrive.” He takes Yana’s hand and holds it firmly. “I’m really sorry. We just found out thirty minutes before you had arrived.” He takes off her glove and kisses the back of her hand. “I promise to make the best out of the time we have together.”

Yana sighs a little, wishing things were different, but she can’t change anything. She doesn’t have a time machine to travel to the past and she can’t call his job and ask to give him a week off. It won’t work.  

“Let’s go since we don’t have a lot of time,” Maeve says cheerfully, even though she wants to curl up underneath a blanket and cry. Life isn’t fair. She shouldn’t have to spend two days with her husband and leave to never see him again for a year. But that’s the deal she had accepted in order to stay out of prison. “What floor are we staying on? Do we have to pay to use the appliances?”

“I’m not sure,” Hisoka whispers in Maeve’s ear.

They take an elevator to the ninth floor and turn down a narrow hallway that leads to a glass door at the end. The doors open automatically and they enter a small lobby, expecting to be greeted by a human but instead, they are greeted by a robot wearing a cowboy hat and a tux. It doesn’t have any eyes, but it does have a mouth that stays lightly open. It bows elegantly and hooves over to a small table that has a tablet on it and touches the screen, bringing up a menu.

“Welcome to the Stargaze Hotel. Are you here to check-in or meet a guest?” the robot asks in a country accent.

“Check in,” Silva says, holding Yana close to him. He has heard stories about robots going rouge and killing people. Lately, the incidents have been occurring frequently. Perhaps, their software is corrupted with malware. “The room is under Zoldyck.”

“And you?” the robot looks at Hisoka.

“It’s under Morrow,” Hisoka replies.

The robot makes a humming noise and doesn’t say anything for a few moments as it processes information. Yana raises an eyebrow and looks at Maeve because she has never seen this robot’s model before. The models on Minx are new and don’t wear clothes. They are painted gold and wear purple visor glasses.

The robot eventually makes a dinging noise that sounds like a bell and speaks again.

“Mr. Zoldyck and Mr. Morrow, your room is located on the fifth floor. Please, follow me to the elevator,” the robot says, hoovering over to an elevator in the corner of the lobby. It presses a button and the doors open. “Please, step inside.”

Everyone enters the elevator and it ascends to the fifth floor without the robot having to do anything. Once it reaches the floor, the robot leads everyone down a hallway that has cheap crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and pictures of abstract paintings on the wall. The robot stops in front of a door and waves its hand, or what looks like a hand, in front of a panel, causing the door to open up.

“Welcome to your room. You will be charged the full amount when you check out in two days. Enjoy your stay,” the robot says before hoovering away.

Hisoka and Silva look at each other confused. Maeve and Yana enter the room and look around to see if there is a door that leads to an extra room but don’t see anything. There are two queen size beds that have rose petals and chocolate on it, a flat screen TV on the wall, a desk, and a bathroom. There aren’t any windows and the ceiling light flickers.

“Uh, babe, how much did you pay for this room?” Yana asks Silva, as he shuts the door, locks it, and pokes his head inside the bathroom. She places her space helmet on the bed, but doesn’t sit down. What if it has bed bugs or a dead body in the mattress? “Did you check the hotel rating?”

“No, I was in a rush and choose the first one that I found online,” Silva replies, as he turns on the light in the bathroom. There are a few cockroaches near the toilet and pubic hair in the tub. The mirror is cracked and there is some rust inside the sink. “I probably should have read the reviews.”

“I think so too,” Maeve says, tip toeing over stains on the floor. There is a large stain in between the beds and a few stains on the walls. “I’m going to see if there are any vacant rooms in the other hotels.”

“Every hotel is full,” Hisoka says.

Yana groans a little. “What are we going to do? I’m not staying in this room.” She looks at Silva as he closes the bathroom and takes of his gloves. “How long will it take to reach your condo?”

Silva thinks about it for a few moments. “Eight hours by ship to reach my dome and ten hours to reach Hisoka’s dome.”

“That isn’t enough time,” Maeve says, rubbing her eyes. “Isn’t there a capsule hotel here?”

“Yes, but it’s full,” Hisoka says, trying not to give a negative answer that will upset his wife and her best friend. “Why don’t we buy some sheets and sleep on the floor?”

“I guess that could work,” Yana says, dropping her shoulders. Time is short and their options are limited. She only has two days with her husband. “The next time we meet up, please don’t book a room at a bad hotel.”

“I’ll do research next time,” Silva says, turning off the light in the room. He takes a jewelry box out of a side pocket on his spacesuit, Hisoka does the same, and opens it up. Inside is a titanium wedding band that has a micro chip and micro camera built in it. A small hologram projects from the camera, showing a moving image of Yana and Maeve dancing with their husbands on their wedding day. It changes to a moving image of them sitting on the beach as the sun sets in the distance. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Hisoka repeats, moving closer to Maeve. She looks at the moving images for a few moments and cries. He hugs her and whispers into her. “I’m sorry about the hotel room. I love you so much.”

“It’s fine,” Maeve squeaks out, continuing to cry. She buries her face in his chest. “I love you too. Thank you.”

Yana wipes tears off her face and hugs Silva. “It’s beautiful. I love you.”

Silva places the jewelry box on the desk behind him and embraces Yana. “I love you too.”

[indicativeof-sideways-escalation]

Okay, so I just recently moved to the greater Seattle area, and I've noticed something.

I love hats, and my favorite hat is a very nice one, a black, broad brimmed wool cowboy (ish) hat. I love this thing. I wear it whenever I can, it completes an outfit flawlessly.

And I have gotten more complements on it here in Seattle than anywhere else ever in my life.

"Looks perfect for the rain," a man said, unperturbed by the water sloshing in his shoes as he stood in his soaked polo shirt.

"Looks perfect for the rain," a girl said, bundled up in her down feather, hoodless anorak, pretending to ignore the angry gods above us, menacing her coat with their dark clouds.

"That'll keep you dry," says a man in cotton cargo shorts and a tank top, covering his worldly possessions with a tarp.

Why, yes, that is one of its triumvirate purposes. Fashion, sun protection, rain protection.

Is there something I'm not getting? Are they mocking me, or are they honestly surprised that they hadn't considered that a hat, with a brim all the way around? Have they only ever experienced baseball caps? Am I some traveled foreigner, bringing them the wonder of a hat that does what it's designed to do??

I mean, I heard that seattleites view rain with all the nihilistic fatalism of a college philosophy professor, and see rain protection as futile, but really?