#my brothers in christ you should be in florida

[glitterslag]

Weird and mysterious happenings in my area....................

[itsnevercasual]

RISK PART III

pairing: mafia!harry styles x singer!reader

summary: Harry is in town for some.. less than legal business, and you're a local singer trying to get your foot in the door, and also planning your wedding. And maybe Harry is a little too interested in you.

warnings: mentions of death & blood, mentions of abuse, cursing, that should be it!!

-

Almost immediately, his browser was flooded.

Y/N L/N and Mason L/N: The Internets Favorite Siblings

Y/N L/N - Youtube

Mason L/N - Youtube

Mason & Y/N - Youtube

#prayfory/n on Twitter

Y/N and Mason L/N’s Incredible Work with Band ‘The Diamonds’

Well, you two certainly had an online presence. He sighed and clicked on the first article.

Mason L/N (20) and little sister, Y/N L/N (15) have quickly become the internet’s favorite dynamic sibling duo! The duo rose to fame in 2012 when Mason began vlogging their adventures living alone in Miami.

After a near-death incident with her mother read article here, Y/N was put into her brother’s care. The two grew up in Wimberley, Texas, on a farm. Mason’s earliest videos on YouTube were in 2010, when he posted videos of 11-year-old Y/N singing onstage somewhere.

Since moving to Miami, Florida in 2012, at age 13 and 18, they formed a band called The Diamonds and started a successful YouTube career. Most of the videos, now posted on a shared account entitled Mason & Y/N, they show their day-to-day lives, backstage previews, clips of the songwriting process, and more.

Mason is the producer of his sister’s band— in which she is both the songwriter and lead singer. The band, though not as successful as their YouTube, has a decent following on both Instagram and YouTube.

Also featured on their accounts is Y/N’s childhood best friend— Jodie. There is nothing of Jodie online, so we aren’t sure of her last name. We only know the story of how Jodie moved right before Y/N’s near-death experience, and the siblings moved to Miami to see her again.

We look forward to seeing more of the iconic duo! Best of luck, L/N siblings!

Well, that gave him next to nothing.

Read More:

Smalltown Tragedy: Violet L/N attempts to murder daughter, Y/N L/N.

Jesus fucking Christ, Niall wasn’t joking about shitty.

He skimmed through the article.

Coming home from school—

Walked through the door—

Stabbed—

Authorities were quickly contacted by brother—

Violet pleads innocent in court case—

Y/N and Mason attest to their mother’s innocence—

Guilty verdict—

Sentenced to life in prison without bail or parole—

Added charges of child abuse after bruises found on both children—

Siblings go on news after the verdict was given—

Claim it was their father—

Well. He was starting to regret looking you up.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. After how nice you were tonight, he felt incredibly bad knowing this is what the result of invading your privacy was.

Yet, he didn’t shut the laptop.

He clicked back to the original search tab.

Mason & Y/N - Youtube

He pulled up the page, and his eyes widened.

925.4K Thousand Subscribers. 493 Videos.

Holy shit.

He scrolled to the last updated video—

BACKSTAGE AT THE DIAMONDS: LIVE AT DAYTONA BEACH BANDSHELL. June 1, 2016.

He didn’t want to watch it. He didn’t want to intrude anymore than he already had. That’d be wrong.

But Harry also never claimed to be a good person.

As he tapped on the video, your brother’s face filled the screen. Or.. he assumed, it was your brother. He looked similar to the articles of the two of you, only older.

“Hello, lovely people! We’re back! We are currently backstage at the biggest show yet of the best band ever—“

“Oh, my God, you’re so stupid,” a voice laughed. It was slightly familiar.

The camera turned, and he realized why. It was you.

“Y/N tries to be rude, but we all know I’m her favorite here.”

“Uh, no, bitch. I’m her favorite. Back off.”

Jodie.

“Dude, you have a boyfriend. You back off!”

“Yeah, but Ni’s not here yet, so… I win.”

“How does that even— okay. Anyway, my lovely sister is currently shoving food down her face—“

“Mason! Shut up, oh, my God! I’m literally curling my hair, you ass!”

“Hey, language!”

“Oh, boo-hoo. You taught me how to cuss when I was, like… seven.”

“.. Yeah, I did do that. Alright. Whatever. We’re gonna give the camera to Y/N so she can give y’all a sneak peak at the set list!”

The camera was now sitting in front of you. Younger you.

“Hello! It’s the better sibling—“

“Hey!”

You grinned at him, “And this is the setlist for tonight, which is super-duper top secret. So… shh! Okay! We’re opening with my personal favorite, Girl I’ve Always Been! And then we’re gonna transition that… somehow… into Vicious. And then.. I Should Hate You, little break to introduce the other Diamonds, Should’ve Said No, Picture to Burn, All-American Bitch, Stranger, another little.. break thingy.. Florida, Happier Than Ever, and then we close with.. Better than Revenge! But we have an encore, so we come back for one song, which is Nothing You Can Take!”

He skipped ahead in the video.

“Jodie, where are we?”

“Backstage!”

“Ni, what are we about to do?”

“You’re about to kill it onstage!”

He skipped a bit.

It was a circle of you and a bunch of girls, and one of two guys, that he recognized. The same people who’d played with you tonight.

“We worked our asses of for this, and we’re gonna make it count, right?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Okay, Diamonds on three. On.. two.. three.. Diamonds!”

Skip.

“Y/N, how you feelin’?”

Harry could hear the crowd and music in the background, and he assumed that you were about to run onstage.

“I’m gonna puke!” You laughed.

“Ew. Don’t.”

“Gee, thanks. Real supportive.”

“I’m being honest—“

“Y/N, you got ten seconds.”

You screamed.

He skimmed the rest of the video. Some of it was clips of the show, some of it was after.

Well, that didn’t do anything except make him feel shitty. One, because he knew he shouldn’t be watching, and two… because you and your brother seemed close, and he, obviously, was dead.

He went back and clicked on the Twitter link.

#prayfory/n on Twitter.

Daytona News: Internet Star Mason L/N Fatally Shot in Robbery.

thediamondsupdates: OMG. GUYS IM ACTUALLY SOBBING WTF I FEEL SO BAD FOR Y/N. SHE WAS THERE😭😭 #prayfory/n

Bingo.

He clicked on the article.

Late last night, after The Diamond’s Only Night Only on Main Street, the internet star siblings Y/N and Mason went to a gas station for celebratory snacks. Unfortunately, while they were checking out, the gas station got robbed.

Y/N told Daytona Police that the robber had aimed for her when he shot, but her brother shoved her at the last second. Both Mason L/N and the store clerk, who is yet to be identified, died. Y/N came out with only a few scratches. Witnesses say she tried to keep her brother alive while waiting for police.

The siblings were swarmed by paparazzi as they got hauled into the ambulance, where Mason unfortunately died on the way.

Harry clicked back to the hashtag.

user001: omfg guys someone got a video of the store after the robbery where mason l/n died. ONE VIDEO LINKED.

He clicked play, knowing he’d regret it.

“Oh, my fucking God,” the person recording spoke.

You and Mason were covered in blood. You were in hysterics, holding your brother on your lap.

“Mason! Mason!” you were shouting. “Someone call an ambulance! Oh, my God! There’s so much blood— why is there so much blood? Mason, answer me! Are you okay? You have to be okay—“

The video panned away from you as you screamed, showing the store that’d been ransacked.

It ended.

Harry shut the computer and went to bed, feeling sick to his stomach.

-

When you woke up the next morning, it was to a weight on your chest.

“What the— Jodie, get the fuck off of me. I’m gonna die,” you grumble, shoving her.

She falls off the bed with a thud. She gasps, “Are you calling me fat?”

“No, you called yourself fat.”

“You’re so mean in the mornings,” she pouts.

“I’m only mean when you wake me up at ungodly hours by sitting on me.”

She shrugs, “Oh. Yeah. Well… come on, get up.”

You whine. The bed was comfy.

“Up!”

“No, I’m tired.”

She stands up and yanks your arm. You, too, fall off the bed.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“I didn’t really think that one through,” she admits.

“Clearly. Alright, I’m up now, I guess. What did you want?”

“We’re going to brunch with Harry and Ni. Get ready.”

“Brunch? Harry doesn’t seem like a brunch guy.”

“What do you mean?” her brows furrow.

“He just.. is very intimidating—“

“He was nice to you, though, right? He better have been, or I swear—“

“No, he was,” you quickly cut her off. “He just… seems like he’d rather gouge his own eyes out before her went to brunch.”

She sighs in relief, “Thank God. I like him, so I didn’t wanna kill him for being rude to you. But, yeah.. probably. But he basically does whatever I say because, as he admitted once and only once, I’m like his little sister and he feels bad saying no. That, and I’m annoying when I don’t get my way.”

You snort, “That’s… yeah, that seems more likely.”

“But.. Niall also said he likes you, too. Maybe not in the, y’know, little sister way, but you’re right. He is usually an asshole, but he was extremely friendly yesterday. Kinda threw me off, to be honest.”

“Dude, I thought he was gonna bite my head off.”

She laughs, “Yeah.. oh, well. Get dressed and dress slutty!”

“Why slutty?”

“Because we invited Asshole of the Year, and if he shows up, he’s gonna wish he was Angel of the Year.”

“Jodie..” you sigh.

“I know. You don’t wanna piss him off. But.. if you just happened to grab a slutty dress… what’s the harm?”

“Get out,” you laugh.

-

You don't wear the slutty outfit Jodie wanted you to wear, mainly because the brunch spot was a nice restaurant and you don't want the looks from grandmas.

Instead, you wear a white dress with small, green leaves. You throw on heels that were slightly dressy, but comfortable and also barely make you any taller. You put a green ribbon in your hair after tying half of it back.

You haphazardly do your makeup once Jodie began spamming your phone, urging you to hurry up.

You rush out of the room, sighing once you saw the other three sitting at the kitchen island.

"Sorry I took so long. We can go, now, though!"

“Took you long enough,” Niall teases.

“Shut up. This is why you don’t have any friends.”

“I have friends!” he protests quickly. “You! And— Harry!”

“Mhm. Got any more?” you laugh. “I don’t count because I’m friends because of association. You get one point for Harry, though. I guess.”

“No point from me,” Harry spoke up. “We’re work friends.”

“I knew I liked you.”

Harry smirks at you.

Niall glares at the two of you. “I hate you both.”

You grin, “Aw. Love you, too.”

“Aright, children. We’re gonna be late,” Jodie reminds you.

The three of you chorus agreements and head to the car. Niall drove, Jodie sat in the passenger seat, and you and Harry got into the back.

“You know, you look crazy familiar.”

“Who, me?”

“No, the ghost sitting in between us. Yes, you.”

He pauses before shrugging, “Probably just got one of those faces. I don’t remember meeting you before.”

“Yeah, that’s what’s weird. I swear I know you, but I’d remember if I met you.”

He smirks, and you regret phrasing it like that. “Oh, really? What’s that supposed to mean, lovie?”

Lovie? What the hell? Is he a psycho? Are you a psycho?

Connor. Engaged to Connor. Can’t break up with him.

“Nothing. I just meant I have, like, a good memory,” you huff. “You’re right. You’ve probably just got one of those faces.”

One of those faces.

One of those faces.

One of those faces you know you recognize.

-

Brunch was short, but sweet. The food was good, and it was fun. Connor didn’t show.

You and Jodie made Niall and Harry wait in the car while the two of you ran into Sephora to restock your respective makeup collections.

“I kinda wanna try a new perfume..”

“I thought you always got that.. whatever one it is, because it’s Connor’s favorite?”

“I do. But.. the smell has been giving me migraines. Plus, he’ll get over it. He can hardly stand to be around me for longer than, like, twenty seconds, so… I doubt he’ll even notice.”

“Seriously, I still don’t get why you’re getting married. To him, of all people.”

“Because. I do love him, even if he’s an ass. And it’s.. safe. He’s safe.”

“Safe from what?”

You huff, “If music doesn’t take off. He has a good, stable job.”

“The band will never take off if you get married, babe. He hates the band. He’ll make you quit, and you know it.”

“Then maybe it wasn’t mean to be,” you shrug.

Jodie stops in her tracks. “How can you— no. Absolutely not. I do not care if you love him or if you wanna marry him. You are not throwing away your dream for some guy! Any guy! If it was— fuckin’, I dunno, Harry, who was like this—“

“Harry? Ew! I just met him—“

“He was the first person that came to mind! The point is, if anyone you dated pulled that, I’d say the same thing. It isn’t just because I don’t particularly like Connor.”

“Jodie—“ you sigh.

“No,” she cut you off. “You’ve been singing and writing songs since as long as I can remember. That was all you wanted. Since we were six, you’d tell people you’d be a singer when you’re older! You and Mason planned this for years! You can’t just quit because some stupid, no-good, ugly guy tells you to! Music is who you are. If not for yourself, then for me. For Mason. The band was meant to be, but maybe you and Connor weren’t.”

“Jodie.”

“I know. I know. But I’m serious. If Niall treated me like this, you would’ve roundhouse kicked him by now.”

“It’s complicated—“

“But it doesn’t have to be,” she argues.

“.. I don’t wanna talk about it. I don’t, okay? I won’t quit music whenever we get married, okay? He’ll get over it eventually.”

-

When the four of you return home, Connor is on the couch. He's fuming.

You roll your eyes as you walk through the door, ignoring him. The others seem to follow your lead, both not acknowledging his presence.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks, storming over to you as you set the Sephora bag on the kitchen counter.

“You’d know where I was if you bothered to show up.”

“I wasn’t invited.”

You gave him a deadpan look, turning to Jodie, Harry, and Niall.

“I did invite you, dumbass,” Jodie scoffs.

“Yep. Invited,” Niall nods.

“.. Invited,” Harry echoes, visibly confused but still going along.

“Well, excuse me if I didn’t feel welcome after my own girlfriend told me to leave my own house when she was gone—“

“Not your own house. Your name isn’t on the lease. And why is that? Oh, right. Because you don’t pay fucking rent like a grown adult.”

“I don’t got a job right now, babe. I’m not stable—“

“Oh, and I am? I sing for a living. You think that’s stable? No. But I do it because I want to, and when I’m not making enough there, I have another job. Jesus, you act like you can’t problem solve.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is your point, Connor?” you sigh, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen island.

“My point is that you care more about your career than me!"

"Connor, babe, that isn't true, I just-"

"It sure seems like it."

"I just.. I really love it, and it's-- it's what I wanna do with my life, y'know? I don't mean to make you feel that way. I invite you to every show, you just.. don't show up, and-- and that's fine, but I try to include you."

"Yeah, whatever. I guess I forgive you."

You smile, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

The two of you retreat to the bedroom, and it was silent for a moment.

"What the fuck?"

"Welcome to a normal day for us, Harry. Havin' fun yet?" Jodie sighs, patting his shoulder as she walks past him.

-

The next day, you and Jodie went out to look at wedding and bridesmaids dresses.

"So, what are we looking for here,?" Jodie asks you as the two of you stop for coffee in between hitting dress stores. You'd been aimlessly trying on dresses for the better half of the day, and none of them felt right. "I feel like you were just trying on everything, but you weren't happy with a lot of them. So, when you envision your wedding, what is the exact dress you want?"

"I want.. like.. flowery lace with a decent neckline. I want it tight, but kind of flowy once it hits my legs. And.. bell bottom sleeves. The rest I could adjust, but bell bottom sleeves are a must."

"Flower lace, tight top flowy bottom, halter neckline. Got it," Jodie grins. The barista calls your name and you run to go grab the drinks and snacks. The two of you began walking down the street.

"So.. how does Ni know Harry, anyhow?"

"Uh... work, I think? I can't even remember, it's been so long! I think they met before Ni moved here, and then reconnected through work. I could be wrong, though. Ni only told me once when I first met Harry, and that was years ago," she laughs. "But I think it's work, mostly. You don't mind him staying, right? Because, he's sweet, don't get me wrong, but he's also kind of... promiscuous, I guess? Not that he's.. pushy about it! He just is extremely flirty and doesn't really have boundaries sometimes."

"No! No, God, no, he's perfectly fine. I like him. I was just wondering, because I can't remember either of you mentioning him ever," you explained.

"I'm sure we have once or twice, you've just got the memory of a goldfish."

"Shut up! I do not!" you giggle as the two of you walk into the next dress shop of the day.

"Hello! How may I help you?" a woman greets the two of you.

"Hi! My friend here is getting married, and she has a very specific dress in mind! She wants flowery lace, halter top neckline... kind of tight at the top and slightly flowy at the legs? Oh, and bell bottom sleeves. That's the only ones that are non-negotiable."

The woman nods and glances at you.

"I'm pretty sure we've got something exactly like that in your size. I'll bring you a few options."

"Thank you so much!" you tell her and Jodie and you set your things down and sit on the couches by the changing rooms. The two of you talk idly about plans for the band until the woman reappears.

"Alright, love, here's a few similar to what you want. But I think this one is closest to what you want," she smiles kindly as she hands you a stack of dresses, and then one singular one.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" you gush.

"Try it on!" Jodie tells you. You laugh and walk into one of the changing rooms. Obviously, the first dress you try on is the one closest to what you'd envisioned. You couldn't help the smile on your face as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

"Hurry up!" Jodie urges.

"Calm down, woman, I'm coming!" you huff as you push the curtain aside and step onto the pedestal.

"Oh, Y/N/N... I think this one might be the one. It's gorgeous!"

"It fits you like a glove," the woman grins.

"I love it!" you squeal. "Here, get a video of me in it. I wanna show Ni whenever we get home."

"Okay. And.. recording!" Jodie tells you.

You spin around in the dress, and it has just enough train to spin with you a tiny bit. You squeal in excitement and jump up and down. "I love it! Bury me in it, honestly."

"I won't send it now just in case he's with Connor, so we'll show him when we get home. But.. and this isn't me saying don't get the dress, I think you should, but I thought Connor didn't want you to get a... revealing dress, I guess is the words?"

You pause and your smile fades, "Yeah, he doesn't. He likes the ballgown ones more, but.. it's my wedding, too, right? I should be able to get my own dress. Besides, he won't see until the day of, and then it'll be too late to be mad. And he can't be mad on our wedding day," you shrug.

"Fair enough. How much is this dress, again?"

"Oh, I forget. Turn and let me check that tag, dear."

You turn so your back is to the store owner.

"It is... three thousand dollars."

You and Jodie both pause. Three thousand? You weren't sure you had that type of money. Not yet, anyway.

"Y/N, I can-"

"Jodie, absolutely not. You can't pay for my wedding dress."

The woman looks between the two of you awkwardly.

"Um.. is it possible to put the dress on hold?" you ask after a beat. "It's just.. I wanna make sure that price is good with my fiancé."

"Oh, of course, love. What's your name?"

"Y/N L/N."

She grabs a sticky note and scribbles it down.

"It'll be on hold for about.. two weeks, does that sound good?"

"Yes, please. Thank you so much."

-

"'Eyyyy, they're back!" Niall cheers as you and Jodie walk in through the door. He and Harry were both on the couch drinking beers, watching something on the TV. "C'mon, I wanna see the dress!"

You and Jodie both laugh and move to the couch. Jodie sits between Harry and Niall while you perch on the armrest as she pulls the video of you in the dress up on her phone.

"Awwe, Y/N/N, you look gorgeous," Niall grins.

"Thank you! Took us forever, but we finally found one that is exactly what I wanted."

"Where is it? I wanna see it in person!"

You and Jodie both hesitate. "Uh.. we.. didn't get it."

"What?" Niall furrows his brows in confusion.

Harry finally chimes into the conversation, "Why the hell not?"

"It was.. um... three thousand dollars. We put it on hold, but.."

"Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you to just use our card? You know I have enough money-"

"I know. Jodie offered, but I feel bad using your money. I don't even know if Connor would like the dress, so maybe-"

"Fuck Connor. Sorry," Harry suddenly says, "excuse me if this isn't my place, but you're the one wearing the dress. If you like the dress, get the fuckin' dress, Y/N. You look great in it."

".. Thank you. I just- I don't really have three thousand dollars," you sigh.

-

At damn near four in the morning, Jodie and Niall prefer to be asleep. However, Harry didn't really seem to care all that much when he came barging in.

"What's the name of the shop?"

"What?" Jodie asks harshly.

"The dress shop. The one Y/N found that dress she likes. What's it called?"

"It's... fuck, it's, like, Wedding Dreams or some stupid shit like that."

"Why are you even asking, Harry? It's fucking four in the morning, go to sleep," Niall grumbles.

"I have to buy a three thousand dollar fucking dress."

"What?"

-

a/n: when he buys ur wedding dress cause ur broke how cute

taglist: @angeldavis777

[talesfrommedinastation]

My Redneck Neighbor Doug has watched The Bad Batch Season 3 opener:

LEEEEET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

This is more pithy than normal: Doug's been busy with work, as have I. But I'm determined to hear his thoughts on The Daddy Warcrimes 'n Company so here we go!

These were all via text messages, btw.

CW: Doug Doug's as you know Doug will do. Away!

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

Episode 1: 'Little Orphan Blondie's Shit Internship at The Museum of Science and Industry'

Poor Little Orphan Blondie, stuck in The Museum of Science and Industry in a shit summer job because they got bills to pay. Except they got rid of the dinosaurs and walk in heart and filled it with gross shit.

Hey look, they still got the coal mine exhibit! Man I miss Chicago.

(Doug, that museum has never had dinosaurs. “What, since when?”)

MUTANT JIMMERS EVERYWHERE! Aw, Little Orphan Blondie gave one her chicken nuggets! And it’s shy, aw, I hope it’s okay.

Poor Mutant Jimmers…she named her?! Swear to Christ Almighty if that dog gets Old Yeller’d I’ll just lose it. 

That freaky alien thing that ran the mall on the ocean looks sad, I bet she wishes she fell into the water and got eaten by a shark or something. I wish you did too, lady. 

The Sons of Robocop really are everywhere, they must be a cult or something. They look cool, I’d join, why not. Think they get 401ks?

Oh man, Daddy Warcrimes is down bad. Poor Daddy Warcrimes. Man, all my clone boys are stooped and sad…this ain’t good. 

At least Little Orphan Blondie can craft! Man, she should start selling those at the Museum of Science and Industry’s gift shop. Maybe Tarkin can bring one back for the grandchildren he’s not allowed to talk to since the restraining order was put in.

Oh, there’s Stepsister Beth, she seems on edge. Must’ve gotten divorced recently, don’t blame her ex, I bet she screamed at him for leaving cabinets open who knows. How do her eyeballs not hurt after wearing those dumb glasses all day?

Episode 2: 'Night Elves and Neverland Ranch'

The night elves from Warcraft invaded Star Wars and got horns or something and now they have a castle that looks like a boss level in Diablo IV or V or how many Diablo games they got now.

Now they yelling at people and throwing them in the basement today. Makes sense, gotta fight the orcs and stuff. Think they fight the orcs in the basement?

The Night Elf Horned Queen hired Daddy Rambo and Julio to get people, I guess they’re turning into Boba Fett or something. They got her son's horn back, guess that's good. Oh they need new paint jobs on their armor.

Do they end up in the basement in the Diablo Boss Level? No? And off they go! 

Daddy Rambo and Julio are in their homeland of FLORIDA! Hell yeah, SPACE FLORIDA! And they’re bringing the talking trashcan with them using straps! Go Julio go!  Yeah, boa vines, this is TOTALLY the Everglades! 

Escaped clone boys! Oh man! Shit, is Neverland Ranch in the jungle? Oh man–oh, they know what they’re doing. Good kids. Real good kids. Oh what happened to the rest of them? Oh Meat Muffin, this ain't good :(.

You know what? Them clone boys are smart, take it back, this ain’t Space Florida, this is Space Louisiana! Them baby boys gone get feral and run off into the bayou and live in the caves and now you know my origin story, Meat Muffin! 

If this was Florida they'd just end up working the late shift at Zaxby's and smoking rocks in the parking lot. We know better, we French and all.

I bet they’ve been living on nutria and half-empty chicken boxes from behind the gas stations. Resourceful scrappy kids and I can tell its making Daddy Rambo proud.

Oh holy SHIT, there go them vines! It's like the kudzu all over again, maybe this is LaFourche Parish?

See, them boys are definitely white trash, Mandalorian rednecks. Look at em, living in the woods and hijacking a plane, but they good kids, saving their brothers. Even saved the robot too. 

Man, all the feels, them poor little boys. What will they do now?  Oh, they're going to Space Daytona! Good, wait, I saw the trailer, doesn't the Empire invade it? THIS AIN'T GOOD MEAT MUFFIN!!!

Wait...where's Toaster Strudel and Rex?

Episode 3: 'Blondie Got a Gun'

Well here's the Emperor. He wants to be immortal. Gotta make that other movie make sense or something.

Where's Darth Vader? Is he running the government when the Emperor is running around giggling?

Don’t you DARE kill Mutant Jimmers, you damn droid. I hate that ugly assed stupid thing. It looks like its scarecrow daddy fucked a microwave and then left it enough money to go to Planned Parenthood but instead spent it on crack and there ya go.  

Oh shut your goddamned yap, Jimmy the Scientist. I bet he gloves that hand up because he keeps shoving it up his own ass and that's why he walks funny all the damn time.

The Emperor also has a Diablo IV or VIII boss level all to himself too at the Museum of Science and Industry. How many Diablo games are there, Meat Muffin?

YEAH, LITTLE ORPHAN BLONDIE! GIT ER DONE!!! They're out! Oh wow! There she goes with Daddy Warcrimes! Kill em all and let GOD SORT THEM OUT! That's my GIRL!!!!

Blondie’s got a gun 

Blondie’s got a gun

Her whole world's come undone

Shooting droids is FUN!

GO MUTANT JIMMERS GO!!!! 

YEAH BLONDIE DADDY WARCRIMES AND MUTANT JIMMERS!!!!!!

I AIN'T A BULLS FAN BUT REPEAT THE THREE PEAT! YEAH!!!!!!

....so when we gonna get Toaster Strudel and Rex? Next one? Where's my reg boys?!

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Tagging those who missed my Cajun neighbor. LOOKS LIKE REDNECK DOUG IS BACK ON THE MENU, BOYS!

@skellymom @amalthiaph @eyecandyeoz @cdblake1565 @sued134 @merkitty49 @supremechancellorrex @yeehawgeek @wrenkenstein @techs-stitches @deezlees @autistic-artistech @perfectlywingedcrusade @auntie-venom @megmca @thecoffeelorian

[ofthecaravel]

Heaven In Time

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Am I A Con Man Or A Brother?

Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Summary: A year or so after meeting, Sam and Danny are on the road again and hope to get through Sam's home state of Alabama with no trouble. Easy enough, right?

Tags: Religious trauma, hella guilt tripping/mentions of religious upbringing, Fighting, sauciness but no outright smut, healthy ass relationship

Words: 5.6k

A/N: Welcome back! Sorry! Let me know what you think. Chap 3 is in progress 👀 Also this is kinda random but would any of y'all be interested in a playlist for this fic? Do people still do that?

~~

“You gonna be good while I go in?”

“Ye of little faith.”

“You, mister, of chatting mouth and wayfaring legs.”

“Since when do you complain about my legs? You didn’t seem to mind ‘em when they were over your sh-”

“Hey now, hey now, okay. What did I just say about behaving yourself? Jesus Christ.”

Sam laughed brashly as he hopped up on the hood of the truck and made a show of crossing his legs with an angelic smile. Danny, standing over Sam with a firm grasp on his chin, rolled his eyes with the beginnings of a smile spreading over his tan face. It had turned out that Danny’s initial baseless accusations of Sam’s rebellious attitude had proven to be mostly accurate, with the only difference being that Sam’s tendency to wander around fell more on the side of striking up friendships with random strangers and impeding their errands schedule rather than picking fights with vagrants and ending up in the back of sketchy white vans. Over the last year they’d spent on the road, Sam’s increasing confidence and grasp on individuality had given him a smart mouth and big opinions. Gone were the days of the meek, awkward preacher’s son with a guilty conscience that sat on his chest like a rock. Now he stood tall with a proud demeanor and, more often than not, in cut off denim shorts with a cigarette hanging from his bitten lips. 

Sam settled on the hood in that same fashion then, pulling a cigarette from the pack bulging in the front pocket of his tiny shorts and sticking it in his mouth, pleadingly pushing it out towards Danny with a calculated batting of his lashes to get the point across. Danny rolled his eyes again but quickly pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit it up, secretly very pleased to be the one to dote on Sam. Despite Sam’s drastic change in personality making him a far cry from the dusty hitchhiker Danny had picked up back in Texas, Danny’s affection only grew as the months passed them by. It was weird for him to look back on how this trip had begun: alone and directionless, setting off from his family farm in Florida with no one at his side. Sometimes when they were driving, Danny found it hard to recall a time without Sam’s passenger side chatter. How did he get as far as Texas without it? Silence was distressing to him now. Still, he found great fun in requesting it of Sam.

“Just stay here and be quiet,” Danny requested with faux exasperation. “I’m only gonna be in there for a few minutes for snacks and paying for gas and the bathroom. I don’t want to come out to you preaching to your huddled masses like that time in Santa Ana.”

“I know,” Sam whined. “How many times do I have to tell you those guys came up to me?”

“Watch your tone,” Danny whispered as he leaned in, his grasp returning to Sam’s jaw. “What you should know is that I want to get us through Alabama as fast as possible, okay? For you, Sammy, remember that.”

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled, removing the cigarette from his lips with a guilty frown. “I do know. Sorry, daddy.”

Sam batted his lashes again and watched Danny’s face flicker at his words. It was a cheap trick, but it certainly didn’t hurt to slip in Danny’s favorite nickname every once in a while to win his favor in a matter of seconds. 

“It’s okay,” Danny instantly assured him, melting like he always did at the title Sam had appointed him. It only ever trickled into their daytime conversations when Sam was being truly appreciative. He gave Sam a quick kiss before letting him go and taking a step towards the gas station itself. 

“5 minutes max, I promise.”

“Go already,” Sam grinned, waving with a royal flourish as Danny tossed him a wink and went through the chiming doors of the gas station, leaving Sam to take a drag from his cigarette and watch its smoke unfurl into the clear sky above. It was a still, sweltering summer day, the kind of familiar weather that kept Sam aware of their presence in his home state. There was no way to get to their destination of Danny’s Floridian hometown without going through Alabama, which Sam kept swearing up and down would be no issue to him, despite the both of them knowing that Sam would no doubt have at least one instance of grief. So far he was having no problems, and as he absently bounced his shoe and closed his eyes against the comforting sun, Sam started to actually feel optimistic.

After a minute, Sam became aware of the creeping feeling that he was being watched. With his eyes closed it felt unfounded, but when gut instinct and a rolling chill over his otherwise sweaty skin told him to peek and assess his surroundings, he realized that he had good reason for it. 

Outside the gas station standing on the ledge of sidewalk facing the last pump was a young man dressed in a short sleeved, cream colored button down staring directly at Sam. His features were blurry because of the distance and because Sam only had one eye open to assess him, but Sam could see that he had his dark, shoulder length hair pulled into a neat, low ponytail and that he grasped a stack of pamphlets in his hands. This tidy, modest appearance hit a little too close to home for Sam and he scowled remembering when something similar used to be his daily attire. Danny had joked about Sam’s preaching, but he and his brothers really did used to stand on sidewalk corners like the guy in front of him now, waving their hands and crying out with adolescent passion. His scowl deepened and he closed his eyes.

Great, Sam thought in annoyance, pursing his lips against his cigarette. Rookie mistake to actually make eye contact with the guy. Now he’s gonna be over here any minute now asking me about my relationship with God. That’s gotta be the last thing I wanna think about right now. No, thank you.

Another few minutes passed and the creeping unease remained in the pit of Sam’s stomach and kept his ears perked uncomfortably. With an irritated sigh, he opened his eyes again and saw that, sure enough, the sidewalk preacher was still staring him down. He had even moved up a couple pumps, now only a few feet away from Sam. Doing his best not to look at the guy, Sam groaned and slid off the hood of the car, flicking his cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under the rubber sole of his Converse. The man took this as an opportunity to hastily approach. Sam couldn’t help but give a theatrical sigh at the sight, leaning his head back to stare at the sky for another moment as a last ditch effort to ground himself before the inevitable nonsense. 

He must have seen me and Danny, Sam concluded mentally. And now he’s here to save my soul from our sinful ways. Whoopee.

“Listen, man, I don’t want any trouble,” Sam started, already frustrated. “I know the spiel, okay? God didn’t work for me, it’s nothing personal.”

“Sammy?”

Sam’s head immediately jerked forward to properly face the man in front of him. In an instant, he was drowned in cold and felt his knees threaten to buckle. He struggled not to disassociate, breathing urgently through his nose as his lips shut and refused to part. 

How could he have stared right into this face and not seen who it was in an instant? There was no else whose voice would crack with such specific inflection over his nickname; a nickname never given freely, mind you. 

The round brown eyes constantly shadowed from worry and late night prayer. The combed dark hair and disciplined posture. 

It was Jake, his brother, a thousand times over.

“Sammy,” Jake repeated. He sounded worn down and nearly pleading, seemingly just as baffled as Sam about seeing his brother before him.

Sam couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. His thoughts were thick with shame and gave no more room for that last little spark of hope that he could make it through Alabama unscathed. All he could do was gawk at Jake, who gawked right back at him with what he knew was a near identical expression to his own. He had always felt he existed as some warped mirror of Jake, and here he was, pressed up against the glass yet again when he thought he’d shattered it long ago.

“What are you doing here?” Sam whispered. With their hometown miles out from the provincial rest stop they were at, Sam was becoming increasingly convinced that Jake’s presence was a mirage brought on by the heat.

“What are you doing here?” Jake countered. His eyes were wild and darted over Sam head to toe. A hand came up to grasp his forehead, a nervous tic that Sam remembered (of course) and found oddly comforting to see after all this time.

“Gas,” Sam answered dumbly. It was true, but obviously not the answer Jake was looking for. Sam felt close to tears in a manner of seconds when hurt flashed over Jake’s face, clearly from Sam’s cold brevity and…well, everything.  

“So, you have a car now?”

“I-”

“Come on, babe, what’d I say? No mingling!”

Sam had hardly registered the crisp bell of the gas station doors cheerily bursting open, revealing Danny with an armful of beers and wrapped sandwiches. He wore a bright smile as he usually did when he was with Sam, and Sam watched helplessly as it fell at the sight of Sam’s face painted with frozen desperation. Never taking his eyes off of Sam, Danny set his treasures down on his seat through the truck’s open window and was at Sam’s side in a second, a protective hand already up to shove Jake back if need be. 

“Can I help you, man?” Danny asked curtly, glaring down at Jake with his dark eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

“Who is this guy?” Jake asked Sam in an amused tone, as if he truly couldn’t believe that Sam would go anywhere near Danny. When Jake had known him, it would have been a fair assumption for him to make, but now there was nothing further from the truth.

“Who are you?” Danny shot right back, adjusting to stand partly in front of Sam. His shield and sword all rolled into one. Sam felt grateful for his protection but knew it was unnecessary. 

“Danny, this is, uh, my brother,” Sam introduced nervously, putting a hand on his bare arm and giving it a calming squeeze. “Jake, this is Danny.”

Jake held out a polite hand for Danny to shake, which he obliged with a mistrustful squint of his hazel eyes. In Sam’s stories about his childhood, Jake had never really been the enemy in any of them, save for silly childhood disputes. But his compliance never made him a hero either, and Sam knew that Danny was recalling all he could remember of Sam’s brothers from the rude way he pulled his hand back from the handshake. Jake didn’t appear to care at all, turning his gaze on Sam once more with a weak laugh.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Jake asked. “We read your note, of course, but forgive me for beginning to think the worst had happened when there was absolutely no trace of you anywhere. Mom started reading the news all the way up in Montgomery just in case there was mention of you.”

“No, uh, I’ve been traveling,” Sam explained, incapable of making eye contact. “Mostly stuck to the Southern states, but, yeah. We’re actually not staying, we’re headed to Danny's place in Florida right now.”

“Wow,” Jake remarked blankly, nodding thoughtfully. “Okay. We, huh?”

“Danny was kind enough to pick me up in Texas,” Sam clarified, nodding towards Danny. “We’ve stuck together since then.”

“Somebody had to keep him safe,” Danny said in a clipped voice, looking Jake up and down with an accusatory glare. Jake continued to not acknowledge Danny’s obvious distaste for him and pressed onwards. He gave another nod that turned into a disbelieving shake of the head.

“How in the world did you get to Texas with no ride? I have about a million questions, Sammy, forgive me for my impatience. I mean, for starters, you look…”

Jake gestured vaguely to Sam’s bare bones outfit composed of a maroon band tee more suited to Danny’s frame than his (which made sense, considering it was Danny’s), meaning it fell so low it almost entirely covered Sam’s very short shorts. It was a standard outfit for him now, but the last time Jake had seen Sam, he’d been dressed in something nearly identical to the outfit Jake wore, complete with the long tweed pants in the blistering heat. Sam’s hair, kept long to compliment his newfound appreciation for his androgynous features and to serve as something extra for Danny to pull when they were caught up in motel bedroom devotions, was pulled into low frizzy pigtails that Jake no doubt found bizarre.

 For the first time in a long time, Sam began to feel self conscious.

“Different?” Sam asked, putting a hand on his hip. “Is that cool with you?”

“I…of course, it’s just…definitely different,” Jake agreed, a hint of venom finally tinting his words. “I hoped maybe you’d gone off to, you know, spread the good word, but I can tell from your outf-”

“You wouldn’t have thought that if you’d actually read my note like you said you did. You know why I left, Jake.”

“Were things really so terrible?” Jake prodded, his condescending tone now entirely betraying his bright attitude. “So horribly bad that you just had to leave behind your entire family who has done nothing but love you, just by the way, and an entire church that you had responsibility in? I can’t think of a single person in Shady Grove that doesn’t pray for you each and every day. I can tell you didn’t have faith in us, Sam, but we had faith in you. Still do.”

“I wasn’t happy,” Sam hissed, tears finally stinging his eyes as he stepped forward and got in his brother’s face, still clinging to Danny’s arm as he waited for his chance to intervene. “Nobody listened to me! Or, yeah, maybe I didn’t speak up enough, but even if I did, you all would’ve just heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Come to dinner, Sammy,” Jake begged, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder with a firm grip. “Come to my place. I won’t even tell Mom and Dad, but you’ve got to see Josh, at least. He talks about you in every single sermon, he-”

“You’re not listening,” Sam groaned defeatedly, flushing hot with frustration and humiliation. He felt Danny’s anxious eyes on him while his brother’s thick skull and saccharine words regressed Sam into a childlike tantrum. Jake shook his head as if it weren’t true, as if Sam was behaving completely out of line. That was something Sam really did hate about his brother sometimes; he could make him feel so stupid for nothing at all.

“Why can’t you ever admit that there are things about home that don’t work?” Sam raged on. “Just ‘cause they work for you doesn’t mean they work for me. I had to go, Jake. I, I have to go.”

“Let’s go,” Danny urged, his voice uncharacteristically cool and tense. “Ready when you are.”

“I’m ready,” Sam snarled, glaring at Jake one more time before turning on his heel and stomping to the side door. Jake followed with a frustrated huff through his nose, grabbing Sam’s wrist and yanking him so hard he stumbled.

“I love you, Sam,” Jake said firmly, passion flashing in his amber eyes. “That’s why I’m tough on you, okay? Mom and Dad love you. Josh loves you. Come home.” 

“No,” Sam barked, pulling his wrist away. “Get off, Jake, I’m fucking leaving.”

Jake stood and watched Sam climb into the passenger side and slam the door, pointedly staring through the windshield and ignoring his fuming brother as Danny hurriedly tossed the food and drink from his seat into the back. Jake smacked his palm against the door and won Sam’s attention again, who now saw that Jake’s furious expression had begun to devolve into tears.

“So, that’s it? That’s all you got to say?” Jake cried. “So high and mighty you can’t even say you love us anymore?”

“Of course I love you, stupid!” Sam yelled, grabbing an empty plastic water bottle out of the cup holder and smacking it on Jake’s head. “I just can’t love you here!”

Jake grabbed the water bottle out of Sam’s hand and tossed it right back at him, ducking when Sam fully threw it through the window. Jake crouched out of Sam’s reach as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled something urgently on one of his many disheveled pamphlets. Despite Sam’s flurry of smacking hands, Jake managed to shove it through the window and onto Sam’s lap. 

“That’s the address and that’s what time I’ll have dinner on the table,” Jake explained, his teary eyes flashing as he pointed at the pamphlet with vigor. “There will be two places set for you and your, your Danny, and I really hope to see you both!”

“I really hope you like disappointment!” Sam hollered, heart hammering like a jackrabbit as he and Jake launched into a new round of arguing.  

Unable to stand back and watch anymore, Danny rolled up Sam’s window for him and finally began to pull out of the gas station. Jake yelled something as they sped out of the lot, and Sam let out a frustrated scream in response. He was unable to look back at his brother, instead electing to fold at the waist and let out another muffled scream against his bare legs. 

Danny, frazzled from the sibling explosion that had just set off in front of his eyes, was honestly unsure on what the hell to do. He settled for a soothing hand on Sam’s back, rubbing calming circles and asking Sam to breathe and settle down in the most serene voice he could manage. Sam listened and managed to subdue his roaring need to shriek out his frustrations, but he stayed crumpled over with his head between his thighs. As always, Sam’s complete and utter silence was a million times worse to Danny, and he debated whether or not to ask him something just to get both their minds on a new track.

“So, you wanna go to that dinner, or…?”

Yeah, Danny regretted that the second it left his mouth. 

Sam’s silence persisted and Danny swallowed nervously, trying to appreciate the sparse scenery that surrounded the highway so that his brain had something else to do. 

-

5 entire minutes passed without Sam saying anything, which was probably the longest he had ever gone in the year Danny had traveled with him. He was never this quiet, not even in his sleep. But frankly, Danny couldn’t blame him. Danny’s heart broke for Sam, and he bit back regretful tears thinking of how he should’ve just stepped between them and pulled Sam into the truck before Jake got a chance to say anything at all. After another excruciating minute, he figured there wasn’t much use in spiraling, so Danny decided to pull over on the side of the empty road and turn off the truck.

“What can I do to help you, Sam?” Danny asked in a hushed voice, his hand returning to Sam’s back and tilting his head to try and catch a glimpse of Sam’s face.

Sam thought for a second, sniffling wetly before finally turning from the valley of his legs to miserably look up at Danny. Danny’s heart sank at the sight of his lashes heavy with tears and his nose and cheeks painted poppy red. 

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered, throat scratchy from exertion. “Take me out behind the barn and shoot me.”

“Sam,” Danny sighed at his dramatics, reaching over Sam’s head to click open the glove box and pull out a clean handkerchief. He presented it to Sam, who made no move to grab it, so he rested it on top of his head with a little smile. 

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, still unmoving and sniffing pathetically. His gaze was blank and defeated and his face was still dotted with tears, which Danny lovingly swept away with a curled knuckle. 

“That was a lot,” Danny commented steadily, still trying to pry a productive conversation out of the ever stubborn Sam. “Definitely wouldn’t have picked that station if I had known your people would be anywhere near it.”

“He really shouldn’t have been,” Sam complained. “Shady Grove is, like, 10 miles out closer to the coast. But it’s not completely unheard of for him to go to the most random fucking places for his sidewalk preaching. Divine timing, I guess. Great.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Danny whispered, mirroring Sam’s posture as best he could to try and meet Sam’s eye. When he did, Sam’s bottom lip quivered and he clasped a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated groan that filled the entire cabin of the truck.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam apologized, his voice shaking with frustration. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that. Fuck, he just makes me so crazy, it’s like I don’t even know what happens.”

“Don’t apologize,” Danny insisted, running his fingers along the soft hair at Sam’s temples to try and ground him. “He came at you pretty hard. I know he’s your brother and everything, but if you gave me the go ahead, I would’ve knocked him upside the head with the way he was talking to you.”

“I wish you had,” Sam grumbled. There was a sore pang when he said it, and Sam found himself falling quiet and staring into space again. “But, like…”

Danny had spent enough time with Sam to feel confident in his ability to read his mind, and from the mournful, longing glaze over Sam’s eyes, he made an educated guess as to where Sam’s head was at.

“But, like…you still kinda want to go to dinner tonight?” Danny asked, attempting to finish Sam’s sentence. 

Sam let out another theatrical groan and answered by gently banging his forehead against the pamphlet on his lap, which doubled as a nod in the affirmative. Despite the anxiety that the prospect of a dinner with Sam’s brothers stirred in Danny’s chest, he was happy to do whatever it took to get Sam through the night without trying to throw himself out of the truck. 

“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that,” Danny assured him, brushing his fingers against Sam’s flushed cheek. “And the second you say we need to go, we’ll go. Does that sound good?”

“Mmhm,” Sam hummed against the paper.

Danny watched Sam’s dejected body language for another minute before taking action again. With a quick jerk of the reclining lever, he laid his seat back and scooted until he was sitting in the backseat. After landing with a bounce on the leather, Danny shifted the beers and sandwiches once again while Sam sat up and gave him a quizzical look.

“What?” Sam asked simply, a confused smile very slowly seeping into his expression as Danny settled in the middle of the backseat and opened up his arms.

“Someone needs a hug,” Danny determined, beckoning Sam into his lap with a cheeky grin.

“You are so goddamn corny,” Sam whined. Despite his rolling eyes, he quickly scrambled out of his seat and clumsily landed in Danny’s embrace. Danny’s arms wrapped around him in an instant and Sam unraveled completely at the comfort, throwing his arms around Danny’s neck as he sank into his broad chest and nuzzled against Danny’s freckled shoulder. Danny held him tight and pressed kisses to the crown of Sam’s head as he felt the erratic cadence of Sam’s heart beating against his own begin to even out into a stable thrum.

“Feeling a little better?” Danny asked tentatively. Sam replied with a muffled hum against his skin and Danny laughed, smoothing the loose hairs that had escaped Sam’s pigtails and were waving wildly in the humidity. Sam pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Danny let out a happy hum of his own. Danny gave one of Sam’s pigtails a gentle tug to tilt his head back and met him halfway, closing his eyes with a smile that he pressed against Sam’s already puckered lips. While they got caught up in a lazy kiss, Danny carefully worked to slide the elastics from Sam’s hair and combed through his impressive tresses with his long fingers. Sam sighed into Danny’s mouth at the relaxing sensation, cupping Danny’s face and slipping his tongue into the equation while Danny indulged in a smug smile.

“I feel better,” Sam finally admitted, giggling when Danny mapped a trail of kisses from his jaw down his neck. “Much better, actually.”

“Yeah? You feel as good as you did last night?” Danny purred against his neck, grinning and bearing his teeth against his skin when Sam scoffed. Danny had found that this was another surefire way to keep Sam’s mind out of a dark place; tease the hell out of him. 

“Danny!” Sam squealed, batting his shoulders and squirming in his lap. “Shut up!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, who was the one talking about legs over shoulders no less than an hour ago?”

“I-”

“It was definitely you.”

“Hearsay!” Sam laughed. “Tell it to my lawyer.” 

When Danny lifted his head from his throat to smile at him, he could see the rosy glow had already returned to Sam’s face. Danny’s heart fluttered at the thought that he could be the person to do that to someone, much less someone as wholly deserving of joy as Sam.

“You wanna hear something funny?” Sam chuckled while Danny leaned back against the leather seat, one hand on Sam’s waist and the other still fussing with his hair.

“Hm?”

“We didn’t even get gas.”

Danny froze and blinked blankly. 

“...Fuck, you’re right!”

Sam’s raucous laugh filled the truck as Danny shifted and looked out the back window, staring longingly at the pump somewhere in the distance behind them despite it being entirely out of his sight.

“Damn. There goes my 15 bucks,” Danny grumbled. 

“You only put 15 bucks on the pump? Cheap bitch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have anything you’d like to contribute to the gas fund? Or would you like to keep dipping your sticky little fingers into it and spending it on cigarettes and cotton candy?”

“Absolutely,” Sam smiled triumphantly. “I mean, worse comes to worse, we can always stop in some seedy little town and get me a job working the pole. We’d have gas money for a year.”

“Fuck no,” Danny blurted. Sam cackled again when Danny bulged his eyes at the idea, his grip subconsciously tightening on his waist. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Jealous?” Sam flirted, tapping the tip of Danny’s nose and winking. He rolled his hips as if he were straddling a stripper pole and Danny let out a suffocated groan at the sensation. Not allowing himself to dive into the salacious imagery Sam had conjured, Danny used his leverage on Sam’s hips to hold him still. 

“No, Sam, I’m super into the idea of you being half naked on stage in front of a bunch of podunk perverts,” Danny replied sarcastically, swatting his ass. “Of course I’m jealous, you little shit.”

“Well, you don’t have to be, ‘cause I’d never,” Sam cooed, clearly still delighted by Danny’s knee jerk reaction. “You know damn well I’m all yours.”

“Yeah, you are,” Danny hummed, chasing another kiss and mumbling against Sam’s lips. “And you know damn well you’re safe as long as you’re with me, right?”

“Since the day we met,” Sam confirmed, heart fluttering and racing as he recalled the first time he’d seen Danny. This was something he did almost every night to soothe himself to sleep, a practice that had replaced the psalm recitations he’d done for years after he steadily found them less and less effective at calming him. He’d picture Danny, nothing short of drop dead gorgeous in a ratty flannel and his combed out curls pulled into a ponytail, with his head tilted to the side as he regarded Sam and his pathetic little suitcase. Frozen in place, Sam’s thumb had stayed pointing up in the air for a beat too long as he assessed the amusing contrast of the gorgeous stranger in such a beat up hunk of junk. In the same way that something had urged Danny to drive through the thoroughfare in the first place, something had given Sam complete assurance that if he got into the truck with this total stranger, it would be the start of his life as opposed to the end. 

Despite the fact that they were far from being on speaking terms, Sam couldn’t help but thank God for it.

“Good,” Danny smiled. “Remember, the second you want out tonight, we’re outta there. You call the shots.”

“Don’t I always?”

Danny raised an eyebrow at Sam and Sam smiled with faux innocence, tucking a strand of hair behind Danny’s ear while Danny sighed fondly. Without the other knowing, both of them felt a sudden urge to tell the other one something. Something that had been on both of their minds for a long time. While it didn’t really need to be confirmed when the time they spent together spoke volumes about how they felt, it still had yet to be said. But Danny was worried Sam was a little too vulnerable at the moment to process the impact it might have, and Sam was worried Danny wouldn’t say it back, so they let the next few minutes pass with quiet chatting and kissing instead. Not that they could complain about that.

“What time is it?” Danny eventually asked, answering his own question by looking over Sam’s shoulder at the radio’s clock. “4:30ish? How long do you reckon it’ll take to get to Jake’s?”

“Only like 20 minutes if we backtrack and take some shortcuts,” Sam explained. “I’ll be our fearless navigator, of course.”

“That’ll be a first,” Danny muttered, which earned him a light slap on the arm. “Well, shit, what should we do for an hour? Anything fun to do in glorious Baldwin county, Mr. Navigator?”

Sam stared off into space for a moment, seemingly deep in thought as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pushed out into a focused pout. However, when Sam’s eyes eventually fell on the space between their bodies and his eyebrow arched suggestively, Danny realized that he had fallen for an act. 

“Unbelievable,” Danny groaned as Sam smiled flirtatiously and pawed at his belt. “I thought maybe you knew some roadside attractions nearby we could go to. I should’ve known better.”

“I mean, we’re already back here,” Sam purred, sliding a hand up the front of Danny’s muscle tee. “And no one’s driven by since we pulled over.”

“Unbelievable,” Danny repeated, shaking his head slightly but obliging entirely when Sam’s lips found his and his hands made quick work of pulling off Danny’s shirt. 

This reckless nerve and seeming insatiability was one of many side effects of Sam’s newfound confidence. Ever since that inciting night at the motel where Sam had stayed under Danny until the sun came up and writhed nonstop from nothing more than kisses and hands on his hips, he had become hopelessly addicted to Danny’s touch. It was fully Danny’s fault for indulging him as often as he did, but he really had tried to take it as slow as he possibly could. Danny knew that Sam had no prior experience and very little knowledge of the body when it came to the pleasure it could provide, and he had wanted to give him a low stakes, enjoyable education.

However, this had become increasingly more difficult when he found Sam crawling into his lap time and time again with professedly innocent questions, all of which were whispered into his ear with hot breath that sent chills down his spine. Sam had insisted on hands-on demonstrations and begged so sweetly, which made it nearly impossible for Danny to continue the patient pace he had planned for him. This eventually cultivated in a “celebration” their first night in Los Angeles where Danny had caved entirely and awarded Sam his sacrament. He’d crossed the line between the divine and the Earth, called Sam his little lamb, and awoke the next morning with Sam’s head on his chest and his virginity (however conceptual that may be) locked up safe in the parts of his mind reserved for the most sacred sentiments. Deep down, Danny knew he’d be trying in vain for the rest of his days trying to replicate the ecstasy of truly feeling Sam for the first time. Fingernails dug so deep in his biceps he’d emerged with a single crescent moon scar, Sam’s hips bucking to accommodate Danny’s stuttering push into him, a pounding fist on the wall from outraged neighbors being drowned out from the rattle of the bedposts…that was a high Danny was going to chase to no avail. But he was more than happy to try. 

Plus, how could he ever say no to Sam? Maybe someday he’d regret letting Sam get whatever he wanted, but from the way Sam looked unbuttoning his jeans with his rosy bottom lip tucked triumphantly between his teeth, Danny was pretty sure regret was the last thing he was feeling. 

They were in for a hell of a night, so why not get as close to heaven before then? 

~~

Taglist: @holdingup-fallingsky @milojames16 @spark-my-nature

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; pt 2. chapter one

Snowy saw no choice but to run- wondering if Rafe will ever understand that the pogues mean everything to her. JJ gets it though. JJ will always get it.

(jj maybank x f!oc)

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 2.6k

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*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

How our boat didn't flip in that storm is an absolute miracle, the same goes for how we lost the police just outside of the Outer Banks. I wake up completely soaked, laying on the bottom of the boat with a life jacket on. My mouth is so dry it's the only thing I can feel. I slowly sit up, rubbing my head as it starts to pound and I get dizzy. I look around, and we're completely surrounded by water. No land in sight. The sun is just rising again.

"Shit..." I mumble. I must have gotten knocked out, because the last thing I remember is trying to see out into the ocean as police lights flashed behind us, and holding on to JJ for dear life. "JJ?" I ask, hardly able to make a sound. I look around, panicking as I don't immediately see my friend.

"JJ?" I try again, louder this time.

"Right here." I hear him respond from behind me, and I turn to see him digging through the hold. "Are you okay?" He asks.

I sigh a breath of relief and try and stand up. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

JJ nods as he stands back up. "Yeah, I'm alright. I just woke up too- that was a rough one. I don't understand how we didn't sink." He says as I sit on the bench and he hands me a water bottle.

"I hope John B made it." I say, taking it from him as he sits down next to me.

"On The Phantom? Of course he made it." JJ chuckles, patting my back. "If we can make it on this piece of shit." He jokes and I shake my head.

"This old thing? A 2020 worth about fifty k? Sure- yeah." I laugh before drinking about half the bottle of water.

"Do we know where we are?" I ask, wiping my mouth. I have never been so in love with the taste of water.

"Uh, well, not exactly," JJ says, standing up again and looking around. "But, the good news is, this kook boat has a nav system that tells me..." He says, trailing off as he goes over to the driver's seat and squints at the screen. "We're heading southwest by the looks of it, which means... drum roll, please... Florida!" He grins, turning back to me.

"Oh christ." I sigh, rubbing my forehead. "I hate Florida."

"What? What's wrong with Florida?" JJ laughs, but I can tell he's just bugging me.

Suddenly I gasp as I make a scary realization. "JJ, these kook boats have tracking devices in them. We have to ditch it, like, asap if we don't want to get caught."

"Shit..." JJ mumbles, adjusting his hat. "Okay, well, I'll figure this thing out and get us to shore as far as we can get, we'll ditch it in the keys and jack another boat to get to Mexico." He's always been the plans guy, but this one seemed a little obvious.

I smile and nod. "Sounds like the best option to me." I stand up and take off my life jacket to take off JJ's hoodie which is still completely soaked.

"While we're cruising, should we get the speakers on this baby going?" JJ asks, fiddling with the controls once he gets us moving.

"Do you have a phone?" I reply, laying the hoodie out on the seat to dry in the sun.

"No, but, they do have a series of CDs already loaded up apparently- can I interest you in 'Sarah's chilling out mixtape'?" He says, already putting it on.

I laugh and walk carefully over to where he's steering the boat now, looking down at the navigation system. He looks over and then wraps his arm around my shoulder.

"Wanna play categories?" I smile, looking up at my blonde friend, who nods.

"Sure- category is..." He thinks for a moment. "J names?"

I nod a little bit, thinking it over. "JJ." I start.

"You took mine!" He laughs, shaking me with the arm he has on my shoulder, draping it around my neck now. "Okay fine- Juliette." I roll my eyes as he says this.

"John B." I respond with a slight laugh.

"We're getting really creative with this apparently."

"Hey, you picked the category. Not me."

"Okay fine, let's change it. Let's do... vehicles." He suggests instead.

"I know you only picked that because you think you'll win- but I know more about cars than you think, JJ."

"Hey, I never said you didn't! It's more fun that way." He laughs. "Okay, starting with A, I'll go with... Astin Martin."

"You can't even spell Astin Martin it's so kooky." I laugh.

"I'm not saying I'd ever drive one, I just know it exists. Which, admittedly, feels like I'm pushing it as it is." JJ says and I smile, shaking my head.

"That's definitely pushing it."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

We spend the whole day with JJ driving us in a straight shot toward Florida, and me talking on and on about everything under the sun. It's nice to feel a little normal again, when I'm not thinking about everything that led us up to this situation.

We're almost out of gas and it's completely dark when we see a coastline, and confirm on the nav that it is, in fact, Florida. Just outside of Miami, if we had to guess. We almost make it to shore before the engine cuts because of our lack of gas, so we decide to jump ship and swim the rest of the way. It's not really that far. We stop on the beach to look back at the boat we left floating in the water. I do honestly hope that the Cameron's get it back okay, the police will have noticed it by morning, and they'll be contacted to say it was found. Which also means we have to move fast.

"So, I'm thinking we have to hitchhike to make it to the keys," JJ suggests as he helps me walk off the deserted beach and into the city that sits right on the coast.

"JJ, I'm not hitchhiking anywhere." I shake my head as we walk, with no real destination in mind besides finding somewhere to sleep.

"What do you suggest then- an uber? No way. That's basically putting a beacon right on our heads telling the cops to come pick us up."

"It's so dangerous, we didn't make it this far just to die at the hands of a serial killer with a wife and kids in Tampa Bay."

"Come on, Snow, you're not alone. I'll protect you, we'll be fine." JJ insists, peeking around the corner of the building were walking alongside. No doubt checking for cops. I sigh as I stop, waiting for him to give the go-ahead.

"Alright, fine. But my death will be on your hands at that point." I agree as he wraps his arm back around my waist to help me walk. I try to hide my limp as much as possible, because we already look ridiculously sketchy.

We walk into a darker area of dodgy-looking apartments and see an empty, seemingly abandoned corner store that's boarded up. Luckily, since it's Florida, we're not the first to break in. We crawl through a broken window and look around- this is as good a place to crash as any.

We curl up on the floor in the back room with no windows, and try and get as much sleep as possible.

In the morning, I'm the first to wake up. JJ is still snoring beside me, and I sit up and stretch. As soon as I lift my head from on top of his arm, he's rolling over. I get up quietly, and try and find the bathroom. Not fully functional, but it has a dirty mirror which I wipe off with my hand. I stare at my reflection, trying to recognize myself. I'm dirty, my clothes are still blood-stained from when I tried to save Peterkin and was almost killed for it. My hair is matted since it hasn't seen a brush in days, so I decide I should look around the almost empty shelves to see if I can find one.

I look around and find a couple spare granola bars in a drawer behind the desk, and when I move on to the next one I don't find a brush, but I do find a pair of scissors.

I think for a minute before picking them up, and heading straight back to the bathroom. I look in the mirror again, turning the scissors over in my hand. I have to cut it all off. I should, anyways. My hair is so identifiable. But something in my gut is telling me that I can't.

"Your hair holds all your memories."

I hear my mothers voice echoing in my head. I haven't cut it since before we moved, and in a way it's all I have left of my life in Canada. Realistically though, I know it's not true. I haven't talked to my old friends in years. I have no ties there. Except for the memories.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I reach up with the scissors and cut a chunk off just above my shoulder. I take a deep breath. It's too late now- I have to finish what I started.

I work my way around my head, using that first piece as a reference for the length. By the time I'm done, it's choppy, but my curls will hide that well enough. I go back to staring at myself in the mirror, trying to fix it, make it look okay, but I don't look like me anymore. My cheeks are coated with tears now- what have I done. I've never cried as much in my life as I have in the last month.

"New look?" I hear JJ's voice behind me, and turn as he leans against the door frame. His smile fades when he sees how upset I am. "Come here..." He says softly, holding his arms out and I practically fall into them.

He rubs my back gently, and I can feel it as he looks down at the floor where there are piles and piles of my hair scattered around the sink and the ground along with every version of me I have ever been.

"I'm sorry.." I mumble as I let him go. "We should probably get going."

"No, no, you're fine." JJ insists, smiling at me. "You look great. It suits you." He says, trying to make me feel better.

I return his smile, wiping my eyes. "Thanks, J."

"You're right, though, no doubt they've found the boat by now; we gotta run." He says, turning back and I follow him towards the broken window we climbed in.

"We need to find new clothes." I say as we walk down the block. It's still dark enough out, we only got a couple hours of sleep.

"Yeah, you're looking a little worse for wear." He jokes. "We just need to find one of those bins people dump clothes in to donate, I bet that's got some good shit."

"I'm sure." I laugh. "Or, we could find an actual store, I have some money, you know."

"Oh, yeah, that works too. Somewhere without cameras, though, preferably." JJ agrees.

We walk on for a while longer, in one direction trying to stay aligned with the water without being out in the open. We come across a street of shops just as the sun fully rises in the sky. It's a run down area, with people sleeping on the streets in makeshift tents. It's hard to fathom that right now, that's us. Nowhere to call home, stranded.

"Hey, look." JJ draws my attention from my thoughts, and he's pointing towards a thrift shop that's just opening. "They just opened, so it'll be just us in there. Follow my lead- we're gonna absolutely stumble in there, high out of our minds. Got it? Try not to show your face. If they think we're junkies, they won't recognize us or question the state of your clothes." He says and I nod- unsure if his logic even tracks but it's worth a shot.

We walk across the street and JJ's demeanour changes as he opens the door for me and follows me in.

"Mornin', ma'am." JJ smiles at the woman at the counter, slurring his words slightly as I walk the other way to the racks. I can feel her eyes on me as JJ talks to her.

I quickly grab a few things that I think will fit, and head up to the counter next to JJ as he leans on it.

"You hear about that storm, up in the Carolina's?" JJ asks her as I place my stuff on the counter. Some shorts, a tank top, and some converse.

"I did- it's very scary." The woman agrees, looking at me closely.

"That'll be fifteen dollars." She tells me and I nod, reaching into my pocket and pulling out some cash, handing her a twenty.

She thanks me, and JJ tips his hat at her and heads for the door, but she grabs my hand as she hands me my change.

"Dear, are you alright? Do you need me to call someone for you?" She whispers, a concerned look crossing her face.

I quickly nod. "I'm fine, thank you." I say, pulling my hand away and shoving the change in my pocket. I quickly walk over to the door, looking back briefly at her as I push it open and meet JJ outside.

"What did she say to you?" He asks, joining me as I keep walking.

"She asked if she should call someone for me." I explain. "I need to get changed and we need to get out of here."

"Here, yeah, this way." JJ says, guiding me into an alley beside the next building down. We step behind a dumpster and JJ stands in front of me, holding his hoodie out to cover me as much as possible and closing his eyes.

"Can you- uh..." I stutter, gesturing for him to turn around.

"Oh! Yeah, sorry..." He says awkwardly, turning around. "You act like I haven't seen you naked before." He jokes as I quickly get changed.

"Shut up, JJ." I can't help but laugh slightly.

"The great bathtub incident of twenty-nineteen." He adds and I hit him in the back with my shorts before throwing them in the bin next to me along with the rest of my bloodied and dirty clothes.

"Okay, I'm good." I say, still slightly laughing.

JJ turns back around with a shit-eating grin still on his face. "Hey, you look good for a fugitive! New haircut, new clothes, you're a whole new woman."

"Thanks." I laugh slightly, trying to push my hair back behind my ears, but it's hardly long enough to stay now.

"Hey, uh, I got you something." JJ smiles, digging into his pocket. "I was just thinkin', you know, this outfit, while cute, of course; is looking a little incomplete." He smiles. "Turn around."

I give him a confused look as I turn, and he lifts his hands up over my head, settling a necklace around my neck. I look down to try and see it as I feel him latching it. A little snowflake. It brings a blush to my cheeks.

"Where did you get this?" I say, smiling wide as I hold it in my hand, turning back to him.

"Nicked it while that lady was asking if I beat you." JJ explains, looking down at the necklace as well. "I just thought you had to have it."

"It's cute- thank you, JJ." I smile, looking up at him now.

We stare at each other for a moment, completely consumed by the quiet that surrounded us in this alley.

"Should we... uhm..." I say, focussing again on the task at hand.

"Yeah, yeah let's get going." JJ agrees, wrapping his arm around my waist again as we step back into the street.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

first chapter of part two- yay!! i'm feeling really good ab this one :) -R

taglist: @boo22sstuff @madelynie @username5786451 @peachprairie @slut4drudy @sadfury @mutual-mendes @cecesrings (i also tagged some mutuals so message me or reply if you want to be added (or removed lol)!!)

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Put down your shovel Ron DeSantis! 🤦‍♂️

Thank God for John James. I wish I had a twatter account just so I could HIGH 5 him. I've actually written 2 Tumblr Draft Posts venting about this online insanity. I still might share my thoughts here, but for now John James of Michigan nailed it.

From JohnJamesMI to RonDeSantis:

#1: slavery was not CTE! Nothing about that 400 years of evil was a “net benefit” to my ancestors. #2: there are only five black Republicans in Congress and you’re attacking two of them. My brother in Christ… if you find yourself in a deep hole put the shovel down. You are now so far from the Party of Lincoln that your Ed. board is re-writing history and you’re personally attacking conservatives like VoteTimScott and ByronDonalds on the topic of slavery. You’ve gone too far. Stop.

https://twitter.com/JohnJamesMI/status/1685020441692225536?s=20

Ron DeSantis Slams GOP Rival Tim Scott for Criticism of Florida Black History Curriculum

Scott is the second Black Republican DeSantis has attacked on the issue as siding with Democrats

Published 07/28/23 Marc Caputo

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis accused a Republican presidential campaign rival, Sen. Tim Scott, of laundering Democratic talking points by suggesting that the Sunshine State wanted to teach kids there was a “silver lining” to slavery.”

“Part of the reason our country has struggled is that all too often D.C. Republicans accept false narratives, accept lies that are perpetrated by the left," DeSantis said Friday while campaigning in Iowa. "And to accept the lie that Kamala Harris has been perpetrating even when that has been debunked, that's not the way you do it. The way you do it, the way you lead, is to fight back against the lies. So I'm here defending my state of Florida against false accusations and lies."

DeSantis’s counter marked the second day in a row of responding to a Black Republican criticizing him over the education standards by comparing them Harris, the first Black vice president, who traveled last week to Florida and bashed DeSantis. 

On Thursday, he similarly swiped at Florida Republican Rep. Byron Donalds, a supporter of Donald Trump in the presidential primary who called for a slight adjustment in the education standards that say slaves developed skills which, in some instances, could be applied for their personal benefit.”

DeSantis pointed out that Harris and other Black Democrats had embraced an AP African American history course that they backed —and that he opposed — had substantially similar language about slaves learning “specialized trades” but “nobody said anything about that.”But Scott, the only Black Republican senator, later that evening took DeSantis to task. 

“The truth is that anything you can learn, any benefits that people suggest you had during slavery, you would have had as a free person,” Scott told reporters. “What slavery was really about was separating families, about mutilating humans and even raping their wives. It was just devastating.” 

DeSantis has repeatedly pointed out the state standards clearly teach the evils of history and racism

Lost in the discussion over the slavery issue is another major controversy concerning the standards that indicates kids should learn about violence “by African Americans” before they were massacred by rampaging white people. 

DeSantis's feud with Black lawmakers from both parties who don’t support himerupted as his campaign struggled to regain its footing after financial troubles and struggles in the polls. Trump leads DeSantis by wide margins with Scott in third in many surveys. 

DeSantis advisers say he won’t back down in the face of criticism, even as the controversy has raged into its second week and, according to critics, helped undercut his message that he will be a better general election candidate to defeat Joe Biden because he can get more independent and swing voters. 

DeSantis Attacks GOP Rep. Donalds Over Criticism of Florida Black History Curriculum

The Republican presidential candidate and Florida governor also took aim at Vice President Kamala Harris 07/27/23

Marc Caputo

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis swiped at a reporter and accused a fellow home state Republican congressman Thursday of siding with Democratic Vice President Kamala Harris for saying that a controversial state curriculum provision about slavery should be changed.

DeSantis said Rep. Byron Donalds —who endorsed Donald Trump in the presidential primary over the governor — was wrong to say that the new Florida standards suggested suggested that slavery was beneficial to some slaves.

After those standards passed last week, Harris flew to Florida and accused DeSantis of trying to whitewash history.

But DeSantis stuck back, noting that Harris and other Democratic critics had endorsed an Advanced Placement Black history studies course that had a similar point.At the end of the day, you gotta choose: Are you gonna side with Kamala Harris and liberal media outlets? Are you going to side with the state of Florida? And I think it’s very clear these guys these guys did a good job on those standards,” DeSantis told reporters.

The standards in question say that “slaves developed skills which, in some instances, could be applied for their personal benefit.”

DeSantis mispronounced Harris's first name (which sounds like “comma-lah”) but later sounded it out properly.

“Don’t side with Kam-a-la on that. Stand up for your state,” DeSantis told Donalds.

The row came at a low point for DeSantis’s presidential campaign as he reels from financial woes, layoffs and bad poll numbers vs. Trump. When Donald spoke up via Twitter with a mild suggestion DeSantis amend the language, the governor’s campaign and executive office both criticized him.

After the blowback, Donalds took to Twitter to say that “What's crazy to me is I expressed support for the vast majority of the new African American history standards and happened to oppose one sentence that seemed to dignify the skills gained by slaves as a result of their enslavement.

“Anyone who can't accurately interpret what I said is disingenuous and is desperately attempting to score political points,” Donalds wrote. “Just another reason why l'm proud to have endorsed President Donald J. Trump!”

DeSantis also had a testy exchange with a reporter who asked “were there benefits to slavery?”

“That’s not what the curriculum says,” DeSantis shot back.

“What do you think?” the reporter asked.

“The curriculum is very clear. I think it’s like 200-plus pages of all kinds of stuff that —you can’t read that. Have you read it?” DeSantis responded.

When the reporter didn’t answer the governor’s question, he asked again “Have you read it?”What’s your opinion?” the reporter repeated.

“But you haven’t read it,” DeSantis said. “So I’m just making that clear. That makes it very clear about the injustices of slavery in vivid detail. So anyone that actually read that and then listens to Kamala would know that she’s lying. And that particular provision about the skills, that was in spite of slavery not because of it.”

“The AP course has made that same point,” DeSantis continued. “Other courses have made that same point. Nobody said anything about that.”

The fight over Florida's new African American history curriculum that suggests slaves derived "personal benefit" from slavery has turned into a war among conservatives as Gov. Ron DeSantis aides are attacking Black Republican Rep. Byron Donalds.

"We will not back down from teaching our nation’s true history at the behest of a woke @WhiteHouse, nor at the behest of a supposedly conservative congressman," Education Commissioner Manny Diaz, Jr., tweeted abut Donalds.

Diaz slammed the representative after Donalds said that he supported almost the entirety of the new standards, calling them "robust" and "accurate," however it was line about slavery that needed to be change.

"What's crazy to me is I expressed support for the vast majority of the new African American history standards and happened to oppose one sentence that seemed to dignify the skills gained by slaves as a result of their enslavement," Donalds tweeted. "Anyone who can't accurately interpret what I said is disingenuous and is desperately attempting to score political points."

Just another reason why l'm proud to have endorsed President Donald J. Trump!" Donalds added.

Jason Miller, a senior advisor to Trump tweeted out a statement in defense of Donalds calling him a "conservative hero." Miller lambasted the DeSantis team for their attempts to "smear" the congressman.

"Ron DeSantis needs to look in the mirror and recognize that at his current trajectory, it's not just 2024 that is dead for him, but 2028 as well," Miller's statement read. "DeSantis' misguided attacks are only helping Joe Biden, and if that's his goal, DeSantis should just get out of the race."

Christina Pushnaw, who works as DeSantis' Director of Rapid Response, has compared Donalds criticisms of the curriculum to those voiced by Vice President Kamala Harris.

Pushnaw responded to both Miller and Donalds' tweets with a Harris gifs.

[gatekeeper-watchman]

Daily Devotionals for March 17, 2023

Proverbs: God's Wisdom for Daily Living

Devotional Scripture:

Proverbs 11:27-28(KJV): 27 He that diligently seeketh good procureth favour: but he that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him. 28 He that trusteth in his riches shall fall: but the righteous shall flourish as a branch.

Thought for the Day

Verse 27 - The book of Proverbs continues to instruct us on how doing good brings blessings, while seeking mischief brings us trouble. If we listen to this advice, we will find favor with God and man. The New Testament lists having a good report from those "without" (those who are not Christians) as a requirement for the office of a bishop (an overseer). The Lord is calling men and women to be leaders in His kingdom and to qualify we must be good witnesses to those who are in the world. "Moreover he (a bishop) must have a good report of them which are without; lest he fall into reproach and the snare of the devil." (1 Timothy 3:7).

Verse 28 - There is no security in this world except in God. God's people are promised that they will flourish despite what is going on around them, as they have the life of God in them. He will sustain them in any economy and circumstance. Many rich men are miserable because a crumbling economy has stripped them of the profits of many years of work. James 5:1-5 says that wicked men will lose the riches they heap up in the last days before the return of the Lord. If we have been depending on the things of the world for security, we need to turn to God and trust Him to care for us.

"And I will shake all nations, and the desire of all nations shall come: and I will fill this house with glory, saith the LORD of hosts. The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the LORD of hosts. The glory of this latter house shall be greater than of the former, saith the LORD of hosts: and in this place will I give peace, saith the LORD of hosts" (Haggai 2:7-9).

The Lord will have a people who seek Him and His righteousness, and they will have His blessings (Psalm 112:1-3). Every Christian should be a priest and a minister, sharing the Gospel at home, in the workplace, and in every sphere of influence.

A day is coming when the wealth of the wicked will be given to the righteous (Proverbs 13:22), who will use it to take the Gospel to the whole world before the Lord's Second Coming. Please note that these people will not be seeking the blessings of God, but will be seeking the God of blessings! They will desire to be sanctified and made Christ-like in character, above all material blessings. Proverbs 11:28 says they will flourish like a branch and the prophecy of Isaiah 61:3-9 will be fulfilled in them. Godly character is the greatest asset that anyone can have. It cannot be purchased. May we all prepare for that day by asking Him to cleanse us and establish us in His righteousness.

Prayer Devotional for the Day

Dear heavenly Father, what a wonderful time we live in... the months just before your second coming. Thank you that You have chosen me and all of my brothers and sisters for this great day of the Lord. May we all prepare our hearts before You so that we will not fail to accept the call that is on each of our lives. We are all called to serve You. Some presently have the high honor of raising their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, while others are businessmen who are ministering to their flocks (employees) where they are planted. We are all servants of the highest and it matters not what our vocation is, as our true vocation is to minister Your love and Word wherever we are. May we each be faithful so that You truly will be glorified. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen. From: Steven P. Miller Friday, March 17, 2023 @ParkermillerQ, Founder of Gatekeeper-Watchman International Groups Jacksonville, Florida., Duval County, USA. Instagram: steven_parker_miller_1956, Twitter: @GatekeeperWatchman1, @ParkermillerQ, https://twitter.com/StevenPMiller6 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gatekeeperwatchman URL: linkedin.com/in/steven-miller-b1ab21259 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElderStevenMiller

#GWIG, #GWIN, #GWINGO, #Ephraim1, #IAM, #Sparkermiller,#Eldermiller1981

[stopdrunkdriving]

The Common Need

New Post has been published on https://drunkdriving.co.za/the-common-need/

The Common Need

And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need (Acts 2:44–45, ESV).

One characteristic of God’s family is an inherent willingness to give. The believers in the early church “had all things in common” (Acts 2:44). This isn’t a misprint in the Bible; in fact, Acts 4:32 describes the same phenomenon: “Now the full number of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one said that any of the things that belonged to him was his own, but they had everything in common.”

When some people read this description of the early church, they start squirming and chaffing and looking for an exit, because they think it sounds like Communism. And this passage has been twisted into some abused teaching about communal living. The idea that we are compelled to liquidate our assets, bring the money to church, heap it in the center aisle, and come take a share when we need something is false. God’s desire for His church doesn’t bear the faintest resemblance to Communism, and this passage does not teach communal living.

But it has often been dismissed because it sounds extreme, and the biblical principle has been ignored. Consider what this passage is really teaching: The common need comes before the individual need. In other words, what we as a family of believers need comes before what we as individuals need.

Do you have a list of needs? Perhaps it’s not a written list but a mental one: buying an end table for the living room, taking a family vacation to Florida, lending some money to your brother-in-law who’s going through a rough patch. It’s common, normal, and wise to have a financial plan for your future purchases.

The local church has a list of financial priorities too. This passage teaches that when the two lists converge, if everything can’t be done, then we as individuals should let our individual wants go undone so our corporate goals can be accomplished together.

This passage does not teach us to sell everything and put it into a common pot. In fact, Acts 2:46 describes that the believers gathered “in their homes” (ESV), suggesting the believers still owned houses. This passage doesn’t paint a romantic notion that we’ll eradicate poverty in our generation—Jesus told us in John 12:8, “For the poor you always have with you”(ESV). It also doesn’t teach that the poor are the only or highest priority for the church. Many people in this Acts 2 community of believers weren’t poor; they just weren’t in their hometowns and needed a place to stay.

This passage does teach the common need before the individual need. In the local church, we bring what God has given us individually and we invest it together.

How does that truth sit with you? As you read those words, are you noddingyes, yes and feeling a surge of desire to give? Or do you feel a chaffing, a tightening of your grip on “your” money? A characteristic of a child of God is an inherent, growing willingness to give—and help meet the needs of other believers He has placed in your life.

Journal

How has your willingness to give grown over time?

Can you trace the growth in your giving from the time before you knew Christ, to conversion, through your growth in your faith?

Pray

Father God, I’m Yours, and all I have is Yours. Forgive me for my stinginess, for my false notions of ownership—as if it’s “my” stuff, “my” money. I don’t want to bring You my leftovers; I want to give You my first and best. Please grow in me the inherent willingness to give. Help me to embrace Your vision of the local church as the transforming body of Christ in this world and to invest my resources there. Help me trust that You will be pleased, and multiply my little into much for Your kingdom, Your glory, and my good. In the name of Jesus, who gave His all for us, amen.

Our Journey devotionals are brought to you by Change Partners of Walk in the Word.

Source: http://www.jamesmacdonald.com/teaching/devotionals/?utm_source=Walk+in+the+Word+%7C+Our+Journey+Online&utm_campaign=1e37b2d28d-Our+Journe…

The post The Common Need first appeared on Koa Sinag.

[ego-sum-id-quod-cantum-ludere]

"My electricity bill went up from $250 to $325 this month. I am not used to this, so you guys should use less electricity."

My brother in Christ, you let two people in your home that weren't there last month and you expect your electricity bill to be the same? Also, you're rich, you just spent $7k on new windows, you plan to spend $180k on a Victorian home in Georgia, and you're a landlord on a beach property on the other side of Florida. You can spend the extra money on electricity. You can also spend the extra money on food for us, and don't complain when we have snacks or we find out your Atkins bars expired in May. Jesus Christ.

[christian-perspectives]

Living The New Life

Most of us remember the day when we accepted Jesus. It changed your life, didn’t it? Are you still living that new life? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking about your salvation. I’m asking if the things of heaven are still high on your mind. Or, do you get bogged down with thoughts about the things happening around you? Look what Paul told us in Colossians. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God.  Colossians 3:2-3 One of my favorite chapters in the Bible is John 17. This entire chapter consists of Jesus praying for His disciples and for us. In this chapter, He prayed the following. I’m not asking you to take them out of the world, but to keep them safe from the evil one. They do not belong to this world any more than I do. John 17:15-16 So we are in this world but not of the world. Peter gave a warning in his first epistle for us to stay away from worldly desires. Those desires can go well beyond blatant sin. Dear friends, I warn you as “temporary residents and foreigners” to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against your very souls. 1 Peter 2:11 If we are just temporary residents, then what are we to do? Peter also addressed that in just a couple of verses prior. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light. 1 Peter 2:9

How We Should Live this New Life in Christ

I have an illustration I believe will help. A few years ago, my brother and sisters and I, rented a house in Florida. It was for the celebration of our parents' 50th anniversary. We stayed at that house for a week and I have to say, it was quite nice. We slept in its beds, swam in its pool, watched its TVs, and cooked in its kitchen. The house though wasn't ours and we didn't pretend it was. In fact, we treated it better than if it belonged to us. Then at the end of the week, we left the house clean and vacant. During our stay in Florida, things weren't as convenient as being in our own homes. We, however, stayed content because discontentment would have likely ruined our trip. Usually, people experience discontentment because they don't have something they want or think they need. When living our life in Christ, He said He would meet all our needs. So, our family lived as temporary residents in Florida for a time. Maybe each of us should live our lives in the same way, understanding that we are just passing through. Since we are just temporary residents and foreigners, Peter said we must live honorably for the Lord.    Be careful to live properly among your unbelieving neighbors. Then even if they accuse you of doing wrong, they will see your honorable behavior, and they will give honor to God when he judges the world. 1 Peter 2:12

How ARE You Living Your Life?

Do you agree that this world is not our home? Do you believe we are pilgrims on a journey? If you said yes, do you actually live that way?  Paul told us how we can. Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Colossians 3:1 Living our life anew in Christ gives us a new perspective on life. Why, because we believe in the realities of heaven. Look what happens when we live in that manner. And when Christ, who is your life, is revealed to the whole world, you will share in all his glory. Colossians 3:4 Paul said in our verse for today, For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God. Because of this statement, we must make a decision. We either die to ourselves and hide ourselves in Christ. Or we live our sinful lives and stand alone. Sounds like a no-brainer to me! Lord, thank you for our new life that you gave us for living in this world to please you. How are you living? Check out these related posts. - Unashamedly Living The Tough Truths Of The Gospel - Enjoying The Benefits Of Living A Godly Life - Here Is The Truth About Those Living Ungodly Lives - How To Present Your Body As A Living Sacrifice - Are You Living Under The Shadow Of His Wings - To Obey Is Better Than Sacrifice - Enjoy Life To The Fullest Take time to read all of Colossians 3. Read the full article

[sunnypogue]

college rafe gets jealous (blurb)

lil bit of jealous rafe per anon request

college!rafe verse bc why the f00k not

note - jealous/possessive boyfriends usually are not the bizzzzz...not trying to romanticize any toxic traits, but hopefully you can sense a bit of growth from mr. cameron here.

(warning: nsfw-ish, possessive!rafe)

you’re sippin’ on bud from the bottle, chatting with your friend michelle & her boyfriend tyler, when he walks up.

it’s one of tyler’s pi kapp fraternity brothers, notorious for getting too drunk & a little too friendly - it looked like tonight would be no different, as he clasped your bare shoulders with his hands.

“wooo!” he yelled over the thumping base of the bar’s music. “I fucking LOVE game day!”

unc had destroyed florida state in a basketball game earlier that evening, resulting in a rather chaotic post-game celebration at the local bar. you, having worked the game, only got to the bar 15 minutes ago, playing catch up with your significantly more drunk friends.

“hi michael.” you winced, his voice booming in your ear - you were NOT drunk enough for this.

michelle laughed at your face as michael swung his arm around your shoulder, leaning down to drunkenly snuggle into your neck (you were never good at hiding your feelings, your face getting you in trouble more often than not). michael was slurring words you couldn’t understand as he started to dead weight himself on you, causing you to slightly stumble under the 6’2” frat boy.

“michael, get off.” you groaned, pushing him on the shoulder. “and lay off the dollar beers, for Christ’s sake.”

michael made no effort to move, instead weaving his arms around you in a pseudo-hug. you rolled your eyes, trying to shake him off. as tyler made a move to help de-tangle his friend from your body, you immediately felt a 220 pound weight lifted from you, the freedom almost disorienting you.

“what the fuck is going on?”

you looked up to see your boyfriend, rafe, angrily fisting the front of michael’s sweatshirt, two buds comfortably sitting between the fingers of his other hand.

“hey baby,” you started, moving to rest a gentle hand on the arm that was holding a very inebriated michael up, trying to disregard the small crowd of lambdas that flanked rafe, in case shit went down.

rafe ignored you, pulling michael closer to his face, “keep your hands off her. I don’t want to have to explain it to you again.” his words were scarily even, face emotionless as he stared michael down.

he shoved michael back towards michelle and tyler, who barely caught the stumbling boy, before rafe pointed a beer at them, “tyler, keep your little bitch in check. shit’s embarrassing at this point.”

you looked apologetically towards michelle, who was trying to simultaneously hold michael up and talk tyler down from a fight, before following rafe, who was stomping towards the front door, knocking the remainder of his beer back.

“hey!” you yelled, tugging on his arm before he started to put back the second bud, stopping him from leaving the bar. “what the fuck?”

he looked down at you. “I should be asking you that.”

you rolled your eyes, “it’s michael. he’s trashed, I genuinely think he thought I was a wall or something to hold him up.”

rafe chuckled mirthlessly, before polishing off the second beer, setting it down on a dirty table. he turned his backwards hat around, pulling it down low over his eyes. “let’s go.”

you crossed your arms. “really? you’re gonna do this shit right now?”

rafe turned towards the exit, growling, “I’m leaving.”

great - he’s deflecting. you thought, as you chugged the remainder of your beer, before hustling after him.

you shivered in your tank top as you caught up to him on the side walk outside the bar, watching as he ordered an uber, his breathing deep and heavy. you wordlessly leaned into his warm body, teeth chattering in the cold january air.

“here.” rafe grumbled, sliding his sweatshirt off to wrap around you. “it’s january, baby. what the hell are you wearing?”

you grinned, half pleased he wasn’t completely shutting you out, half pleased you were cozy and warm. “who cares? I look cute.”

he grumbled again, wrapping his arms around your neck from behind, pulling your back into his chest. y’all waited like that for the uber to pull up, before sliding into the back seat, rafe propping your feet up on his lap, a hand wrapped possessively around your ankle.

you caught his eye about a block from his house, giving him a shy smile and a wink. he growled, hand sliding up your leg.

you couldn’t get upstairs fast enough, practically tumbling out of the uber as rafe stalked after you, still slightly worked up from the incident at the bar. you went to go casually sit on the foot of the bed, kicking your shoes off, when rafe caught up to you, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

“you gonna be pissy all night?” you teased, pulling your hair down from its half-updo.

“what, I can’t be mad about some fucker groping you at a bar?” rafe growled, pulling his hat off to run his hands through his hair. you sat up on your knees, grabbing the hat from his hands before popping it backwards on your head.

“he wasn’t groping me,” you said, exasperated, adjusting your hair under his hat. “he was trying to stay vertical. very different.”

rafe gave you an amused look as you started to shimmy your jeans off while sitting, giving you a hand when they got stuck around your ankles.

“lookin’ good.” he laughed, taking in your appearance - you were down to just his hat and his sweatshirt, the rest of your outfit on the floor.

you smiled at rafe’s more-relaxed demeanor, popping up on your knees. “you’re a lucky man, rafe cameron. I’m not sure any other girl could pull this look off.”

rafe hummed, walking up to the foot of the bed to grab your ass, pulling you in. you squeaked, tipping forward into his chest, the too-big cap slipping down on your forehead. 

you peered up at him, using one hand to steady yourself on his chest, the other to push the hat back - “you better now?”

rafe leaned down to catch your lips in a heated kiss, teeth nipping your bottom lip enough to make you gasp, allowing his tongue to slide in. one hand slid to roughly grasp the back of your neck as he dictated the pace, the other palming your ass cheek, keeping your body flush to his.

you pulled away a couple minutes later, breathless and lips already feeling bruised, hand moving to your chest to settle your heightened heart rate.

“a little better.” he mumbled, hand moving to the front of your neck, lightly tracing your throat with his fingers. “I know what will really help, though.”

(later, you found yourself seated on his cock, tits bouncing as you rode him wearing nothing but the hat, his hand spanking your ass as he made you tell him who you belonged to - you screamed his name as you came on his cock, screamed his name as he came inside you, and screamed his name as he went to eat his come out of you, listening to him growl “you’re mine” as he shoved his face in your dripping cunt.)

as y’all basked in the afterglow, your legs twisted around his, his hand cupping one of your breasts, he breathed out an apology.

“sorry, baby. I know you hate that shit.” he murmured, mindlessly letting his finger circle your nipple.

you wiggled under his light touch, “s’okay baby. you didn’t fight anyone tonight.”

he smirked, rolling your now-hard nipple between his fingers, watching your head tip back in pleasure. “what can I say baby, I’m practically a pacifist now.”

you snorted, smacking his bare shoulder, pleasure forgotten in the humor. “okay bub, whatever you say.” you giggled again. “pacifist my ass. you literally fought a beta in october because he looked at my ass.”

you yelped as rafe tugged you into his side, rolling you under him, his arms bracketing your head. “like it didn’t turn you on.”

you moaned as he leaned down to kiss you again, filthy and slow, tongues fighting for control.

he pulled away a few moments later, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hand cupped your cheek.

you pouted, nuzzling into his palm. “I really should stop sleeping with you after you get all jealous - I think you think I’m encouraging it.”

rafe grinned down at you, slipping his thumb between your teeth, watching as your eyes widened. “whatever babes,” he chuckled, pressing the digit down on your tongue, “you’re mine.”

[cosmicgrapevine]

Author’s Notes: This comes about a third of the way through Chapter Three; the conclusion of the first arc; the flight from home and towards sanctuary in Florida. The bad guys are pulling out all the stops to capture or kill Lind, including assaulting the hotel where he’s spending the night.

This chapter contains a lot of gun stuff, lots of characters making bad decisions that seem like good ones at the time, and lots of convoluted I-know-you-know-I-know stuff. All of those things are easy to screw up, so I’d appreciate some feedback as it goes. For gun safety/gun use stuff, remember that only Fred is a professional (a policeman in this case). The others are all some mix of civilians, vigilantes, and teenagers.

Cautiously, Melanie opened the door and peered in both directions; so far, so good. Letting it close behind her slowly, she dashed over to the stairwell. The echoes were loud and the linoleum floor chirped with each step. Melanie was only a few steps down when she saw a woman in workout gear enter from the first floor. “Wait!” She yelled quickly. “Are you Tabby?”

“What do you care?” Melanie hissed. Then she noticed the woman had been crying.

“Please…do you know her at least? Her father is here, he said his daughter Tabby was kidnapped and he’s here to take her home, kill the guy who did it, and nobody gets in or out until he does.”

“Jesus Christ,” Melanie swore. There was only one way Steve could have found them; when she and Dad were outside, Tabby must have called home and gave him the name of the hotel. That’s also probably when she and Lind hatched whatever dumb scheme left them stuck outside. Now they were all going to die, because those two couldn’t stick to the simplest plan imaginable.

“I tried to calm him down but he pointed it at me and said he didn’t trust anyone here, and that if I wanted to leave I should help find his kid. I said, if I find her, will you let me leave? And he said yes.”

“I’m Melanie. I’m Tabby’s friend. This is all a huge mistake. Let me talk to him.”

“No!” Elise said. “You shouldn’t; he’s not in his right mind. Before I could start looking, this other guy ran in; yelled that he was a cop and to put the gun down, but…they knew each other. Both of them started yelling and the cop tried to disarm him, but…”

Oh no, Melanie thought, breaking into a sprint. Oh God, please no.

When she arrived in the lobby, she skidded to a stop. Tabby’s father Steve was leaning against wall and holding an assault rifle, the barrel pointed down. He glowered at her, but did not attack or move his gun. She saw Dad—alive, thank God—trying to clean and bandage his own thigh wound with a first aid kit that had been pulled from behind the front desk. She rushed over to help but kept her eyes on Steve as she did. “Dad, we need to get you to a hospital!”

“Don’t!” He yelled. “We need to stick to the plan. He just grazed me, I’ll be fine.”

“Not for long if you tell me where my daughter is. And this time I won’t miss.” He sounded cold. Bloodless. Was he possessed? Had it been him the whole time? “What the hell is wrong with you?! Why are you trying to kill my dad?!”

“Your dad’s a monster, Mel. Sorry to break it to you. Funny thing, I was sure Tabby was fine, even after she didn’t call. But I drove over to your hourse, saw the garage in ruins, saw some thing, giant spider, dead on the floor. Had human eyes, freakiest thing I ever saw…whole house was deserted. So I called up my brother, and—”

“Oh, things weren’t bad enough,” Fred muttered. “Now we got some Randall action.” Melanie grimaced, holding the gauze in place as Dad wrapped. Tabby’s Uncle Randall had always been a bit of a loudmouth, joking about what he and his buddies would like to do to “the feds”. Then the jokes started to sound more like plans, and one day in eighth grade, the two returned from school to find two FBI agents waiting at Tabby’s house.

They only questioned Tabby, but Dad got wind of it quickly enough, and it took all of Melanie’s nascent negotiator skills to keep him from banning contact with the whole family. He had settled, instead, on just banning Melanie from talking to Randall. Tabby wouldn’t discuss the interrogation, nor had she ever said what Randall was accused of.

Things had calmed down after that; Randall cleaned up his act, and Steve gave him a job at his construction firm. But the tale that Steve was spinning—something about Satan worshippers, genetic experiments, children kidnapped by the police—sounded like vintage Randall. He would somtimes stay in the basement bedroom at Tabby’s house, and sometimes when Melanie stayed the night she would hear him ranting away on the phone with some fellow believer.

“…Now normally, I don’t believe in that stuff. But that’s when Tabby called me.”

“Tabby called you? When?”

Steve sneered at Fred. “Yeah, didn’t see that coming, did you? It was about ten thirty last night. Told me where she was. Said that you were hurting her, that she couldn’t tell anyone because you’d just lie about it. She sounded terrified. Then, right when she was about to spill, someone grabbed the phone from her.” Fred’s face shifted from anger to sheer astonishment. “Did you know about this?” He barked at Melanie, who quickly shook her head.

“And now you want me to believe she escaped?” Steve shook his head. “So you’re a Satanist and a lousy cop.”

Fred’s face was red like a traffic light, but he managed to keep his voice calm. “I have every intention of returning Tabby to your house today. In fact, I was just about to call before Melanie said she was missing.” Melanie nodded to back him up. “So put the gun down and we’ll find her together. But you have no idea the kind of danger you’re both in right now.”

Elise had been standing off to the side, afraid to move. As Steve weighed his options, she approached. “You said…you said if I helped you, I could leave. Right?! So let me out!”

Steve begrudgingly walked her to the door, his eyes cast back at his captives. Melanie glared at him and then relayed Lind’s message in a whisper. “So…it’s gotta be Steve, right? The demon?”

“Nah, if he was a demon, he wouldn’t be so scared. And he is, look at his eyes. He pulled some dumb shit and screwed himself over, and now he’s panicking because he knows there’s no way this ends well for him. Seen it at the precinct hundreds of times. A demon wouldn’t be letting that woman leave, for starters.”

Fred grabbed at the front desk as he tried to stand. “It’s gotta be Lind, or at least he’s working with them. Tells me he wants to ‘check the grounds’ in the morning, demon shows up within half an hour. And now he won’t tell us where he is? Or Tabby? Lures her out with him for no reason? She might be dead, Mel. You need to prepare yourself.”

Melanie shook her head violently. “No! No, Tabby wanted to go with him. She left without even telling me. Without telling you.” Melanie gulped. “She’s nosy, not stupid. If she trusts him that much…then so do I. There’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

[nerdygaymormon]

Meeting Elder Patrick

I wasn’t going to post this because I think it will come across as bragging. However, since I often share some of the experiences I have with upper church leaders, I decided to go ahead and blog it.

Last night Elder Victor Patrick, an Area Seventy, attended stake presidency meeting to train the new stake presidency. 

He had everyone tell him their name. When it got to me I said, "We've met a few times but haven't spoken much. I'm Luke's uncle" (my nephew used to attend seminary in his home). He said, "Brother David, of course I know who you are. You're perhaps the greatest stake executive secretary in the church and certainly are at least in this coordinating council (which is 7 stakes). Your name is well known to me." 😳

Maybe he says that to everyone, but I don't think so. He didn't tell the stake clerk that he's the greatest.😆😆 Poor guy. 

We’ve greeted each other a few times at school activities, so I knew that he knows I'm the uncle to my nephew. And he holds coordinating council meetings at my stake center where I've made copies for him and a few things like that over the years, but nothing that should elicit such a response.  

The rest of the presidency were so great about it, the clerk even saying, "Yeah, he's known in Salt Lake." And I’m thinking, "What are you saying? Don't make me out like I'm some big shot."

Later in the meeting he says to the stake presidency, "I hope you're using this man, he's incredible. He has proven himself over several years and you need him."

Where did that come from?!!

It’s nice to be recognized, but he has no real sense of how efficiently I make appointments or how organized I keep the stake calendar or any of the typical duties of a stake executive secretary. Consequently I think he must be referring to me being a gay person who interacts with others and shares about my experiences and life, and who makes an impact on the Seventy and apostles who come to my stake.

———————————————————————

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints divides the world into areas and assigns 3 General Authority Seventy to serve as Area Presidency. 

A General Authority Seventy can serve anywhere in the world. 

An Area Seventy is only authorized to serve in the area where they live. 

A General Authority Seventy’s calling is essentially to work full-time for the Church. An Area Seventy has his regular job during the week and fulfills his calling on weekends. 

Area Authority Seventy are assigned to work with 2 coordinating councils. Elder Victor Patrick is assigned to the Tampa and Miami coordinating councils. I don’t know how councils are determined in a place like Utah where the number of stakes is dense, but in Florida a coordinating council coincides with a mission’s boundaries.

A coordinating council has several stakes, I’ve seen 5 to 7 stakes in a council. The Area Seventy has quarterly meetings together with all the stake presidents in the council. This is why I’ve briefly met Elder Patrick several times, those meetings are held in my stake center and I sometimes do things like make copies, get fresh dry erase markers, or prepare lunch for them (because their meetings tend to last many hours).

The Area Presidency has a regular group meeting with the Area Seventy, that’s often where the Area Seventy receive instructions and training they bring to coordinating council. They also receive assignments to attend stake conferences, and report back on their assignments.

During our meeting, Elder Patrick commented on how the Area Presidency and Area Seventy have regular meetings and it dawned on me that perhaps I’ve come up there because I’ve had some interactions with both the former Area President and several of the Area Seventy. A gay man serving at this level is unusual and may have been considered worth commenting on in their meeting.

[littlemeowmeowschimmy]

Librarian [Namjoon x Reader]

credit: littlemeowmeowschimmy

Requests opened // m.list 

Warnings: Daddy Kink, wolf in heat, creampie, etc 

Genre: Smut 

Werewolf:  Kook - Tae - Jimin

Summary:  you should write a fic where joon is a librarian and at first he is all dorky and shy but behind closed doors he's a total daddy 😳😍❤

WC: 5.7k

A/N: I started this at 9 pm. It’s past 3 in the morning. Christ almighty fml i didn’t expect it to be this long nor did I expect to be writing werewolf smut 

He strolled in around the corner of the back desk. His white shirt tightening around his muscles as the end was tucked into his dress pants. He wore his hair up with gel and thick black frames around his eye. One hand was stuffed in his pocket while the other held a book. Namjoon was ready to start teaching his first-class about the library as he was extremely excited. 

Everyone knew there was a new faculty member in the building, but they didn’t exactly know what he looked like. It had been a while since this girl’s academy got someone knew. To hear that it was a male, the whispers started. They all seemed to stop when he stood in front of the class. 

“Hello, my name is Kim Namjoon,” he starts looking at the class filled with girls who were all over themselves over the new librarian. “It’s a pleasure to be your librarian this school year.” It was then that every single girl’s mission was to get under the sheets with the new hottie. 

»»————-　★　————-««

This was your senior year, and all you wanted was to get the fuck out of there. You went to an all-girls academy simply because your parents didn’t want you to go to the public school just a few blocks from your house. So, you drove for half an hour to deal with girls who most of them thought they were better than everyone around. 

While your parents were hunters, you were a hunter in training. What does a hunter mean? A hunter is a person who hunts supernatural beings. Anywhere from demons to werewolves. You grew up most of your life traveling around the country, fighting monsters with your parents. When you got old enough, they settled down in a small town. 

Which was mostly filled with supernatural beings, but they weren’t harmful. Most of your friends didn’t believe that any of these things existed, and that was how you were going to keep it. But it was soon going to change once they found out that their librarian, was in fact, a werewolf. 

Mr.Kim Namjoon was the talk of the entire school. Every girl wanted to get with him and the friends he tagged along with. Namjoon was old enough to be someone’s brother, but most, if not all, the girls didn’t care. Instead, when he walked in on his first-class, every single phone was blowing up. Talking about how handsome in his tight shirt, he looked, how his ass was perky enough that they could stop staring, and everything else in between. 

Your friend Leana was all over that shit when it was happening. You were politely trying to stay away from such topics. You could tell Namjoon was a werewolf just by how he acted around other girls. On top of that, his pack couldn’t stay away from him. Meaning, he must have been the leader. Starting your senior year was just as crazy as when you started your freshman year. Only this time, it was filled with werewolves and stupid girls who drooled over them. 

You soon learned that the babies of his pack were just regular teens. Park Jimin was the eldest, Kim Taehyung, the middle, and Jeon Jungkook, the youngest. There were three others above him, as you heard from Leana, but you weren’t going to ask for names. Instead, you were simply listening through the grapevine. 

Park Jimin and Taehyung were around your age as Jungkook was just a little younger. You already knew Taehyung had mated because of how he acted on school campus. They mainly came when their classes were over and spent most of their time in the library. 

You kept an eye on them at all times, which brought some attention your way. Especially when Jimin found himself bouncing towards you one afternoon. Your head was stuck in one of your books your mother told you to read on. She was hunting ghouls with your father down in Florida and needed as much information as possible. 

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing here?” Park Jimin pipes giving a small grin. You glance up at him, noticing that the ring around his eyes wasn’t golden. Thank god, because if he lustful, you would probably have to stab him or something. 

“Reading about the supernatural.” You mumble flipping a page in your book. Jimin’s eyebrow furrowed for a second, curious as to why you were reading such a thing. You minded your own business as you continued to read. Taking notes down for your mother. 

“Don’t bother her, Jimin-ah,” Taehyung calls from the front desk, where Namjoon was scanning a few books. Your eyes crept over the spine to watch the interaction the two where having. Taehyung seemed just a little antsy being around this many girls. You could tell that he was itching to get out of here, considering that he already mated. He even looked down at his phone to see if his mate would text him or not. 

“You should shut up,” Jungkook pipes up, taking a bite of his cookie. 

“How many times have I told you not to eat in the library?” Namjoon jabs narrowing his eyes at the smaller one. Jungkook simply shrugs his shoulders and goes back to eating the rather large sweet. Jimin seemed unbothered by this all and turned his attention back towards you. 

“You know it’s not real, right?” he lies. This was the first time you were pleasantly surprised. You set your book down on your lap, eyes moving back towards his. You gave him a kind smile, one you’d typically wouldn’t give to people who bothered you. Even though your mother told you to never admit to anyone you were a hunter, you couldn’t pass this opportunity up.   

“Just like the fangs you pretend to hide aren’t real.” You muse, noticing his jaw drop. Namjoon’s head snapped almost immediately, and he found himself right in front of you. His eyes were dark, and his muscles tensed. Maybe you should have said something different if this was the reaction you were going to receive... 

Looking at him closely, you had to admit, Namjoon was pretty attractive for a werewolf. The way his body was tall and muscular, fluffy hair, and pale skin. His dark eyes and dimples stood out to you the most. But the idea he held himself now, kind of terrified you. You hadn’t been this close to a wolf in years, and frankly, you wanted to run as fast as you possibly could. Maybe if your mother were here, then you could feel slightly calmer, but this was just too much. 

“Mr.Kim,” You start clearing your throat as you sat there with as much confidence as you possibly could. 

“Ms.L/n,” he says, his jaw coming forwards. A small tick that he seemed to have when concentrating. 

“Is there something you need?” 

“How did you know?” 

“What?” 

“You know what I’m talking about.” he pauses to look around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. You took a deep breath in and then out as you were closing your book. You noticed all eyes were on you, and now you couldn’t run away from it. Then you reached down into your backpack and pulled out a knife your mother gave you. 

“I’m a hunter, okay?” You managed, slipping it back in. Then quickly stating without trying to cause any panic. “I’m not investing your pack. Jesus, I’m just trying to live a regular life while my parents go out and hunt. Unless you do something wrong, well, I’ll be the one to end you.” 

»»————-　★　————-««

Months had passed since you learned that they werewolves. Or more so, confirming your already growing suspicion about them. You and Mr.Kim were playing roles like you never knew that the other could kill if need be. However, he seemed more protective around the three whenever they came to visit. That didn’t stop you from talking to them, or them talking to you. 

Namjoon was an overall caring guy. He mentioned dropped out of college when the boys were starting their junior year. Which meant he was just a little older than you, but you weren’t complaining. It wasn’t like he was dating you, so you were beautiful with his age. And even if you were dating, which again will never happen, you wouldn’t have a problem with it in the first place. 

You and Jimin became somewhat close to one another. You shared a lot of the same interest, and you joked around with Jungkook a lot. Especially after learning, he mated his best friend after being a heat like a cycle for almost a week. You were still curious as to what Seokjin’s reaction was to Taehyung and how he found his mate, but the others didn’t want to share. 

Even rule-abiding Namjoon wasn’t going to share what happened. Today, you were researching werewolves further as your parents were once again on a hunt. Thankfully, you had some wolves around you, so it was easy enough to ask for their help. Namjoon was the first to jump in since he knew the most, Jimin playing along as well. 

“Isn’t the full moon coming up?” You mentioned glancing at the four wolves around you. Namjoon was in the back, putting a few books away while the two youngest were glued to their phone. Jimin’s eyes perked at that small mention, and he waggled his brows in your direction. 

“What? You wanna become my mate Y/n?” he purrs a crooked smile seeming to grow out of thin air. 

“Seokjin would destroy you,” Namjoon mentioned without turning his back around. You were interested in what he was going on about, but you already assumed that mating a hunter wasn’t the best idea. 

“C’mon Joon, live a little,” Jimin mentioned shrugging his shoulders as he places his hands behind his back. You turned to look at your friend again, noticing that his eyes were darker than usual. Which could only mean that he was breaking the one rule you heard them talk about. Since the younger two had mates to help them through their time of need, it would be difficult for the others. 

Namjoon usually took a few days off when his time came. It seemed like he had found other ways to deal with it, while the others were craving human touch. At Jimin’s mention, Namjoon just shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t respond back to him, which left the curious cat purr in the back of your mind. You turned your attention back to the younger wolf, leaning forwards and asking, "What? He doesn’t go out often?” tilting your head a bit to the side. 

Jimin just shrugs his shoulders at your question. Namjoon tenses when you mentioned him, but he doesn’t do anything else. Instead, he simply minds his own business as he gets ready for tomorrow. It was the end of the week, and the full mon was starting to approach. You couldn’t remember if it was supposed to be tonight or the next night. 

“For as long as I’ve known Joonie,” he says, smiling at the little nickname. “I’ve never seen him have fun outside of the pack.” 

In reality, Namjoon had “fun.” For the most part, the pack usually didn’t notice it because they were enjoying one another. Outside of the pack, his life was pretty dull. He went to work every single day, hung out with some of his acquaintances, read a lot of books, and genuinely enjoyed your company. When the full moon came, Namjoon locked himself in his apartment and sweated the rut away. Jimin’s definition of fun was utterly different from Namjoon’s, and he wasn’t going to correct him. 

You noticed the small tint in his eye once again, and you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you assumed that he was probably going to find a way to get through his own cycle. When you turned to look at the younger two, it seemed like they were already gone. Due to how jumpy they were from the beginning, you could only assume they both ran to their mates. 

Jimin started to tap away at the table before stretching and pushing his chair back. “I should probably start to get ready for tonight,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. You scrunched your brows together but didn’t ask him anything. Because Jimin brought a hand up to his mouth and shook his head. It seemed like he wasn’t going to answer whatever question was burning at the back of your mind. 

“Ah, let me finish up a few things, and I’ll take you home,” Namjoon mentions pushing a few of the books to the side and finally grabs a small jacket. He places it in the folds of his arms, then turns to look at you. “Well, Ms.L/n,” 

“Namjoon,” you said, pushing your chair out. “I’ve asked you to call me by my first name,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I apologize, but I’m simply trying to be a proper gentleman,” he answered, flashing you a smile. That’s when you knew, if you continued down this path, you wouldn’t make it out alive....or even single at best. The way his dimples showed, and his eyes creased, had your heart already pounding for him. 

“Proper my ass,” Jimin grumbles, then grunts when he yearns a huge thump to the back of his head. Jimin complains, rubbing the end of his head, then pushes the doors to the library open. You quickly follow after him, hiding your flushed face from the wolf you told yourself you weren’t going to fall for. 

»»————-　★　————-««

Namjoon paces back and forth in his apartment. It had been two weeks, and it hasn’t passed at all. He still had to deal with Jimin and his dumbass idea to mark a vampire, while also trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself. None of his other tricks were working, and he couldn’t only find a female wolf to release himself into. 

He was only in his sweats, and his hair was all over the place. Some of it was sticking to the side as beads of sweat dripped down. His phone was already blowing up with text messages from the pack, trying to figure out where he was. He had to call in and make up some bullshit lie to get him some weeks off. He just started a new job, and this was the bullshit he was receiving only five months into working?! 

Namjoon growls low as he pushes some of his things off the counter. He slams his fist into the marble, cracking it just a little as he does so. These entire two weeks have been hell for him because your face kept popping up at random times. The fact that he was attracted to one of his students, who was just a little younger than him, and all he could think about was you, was completely insane. Namjoon could get fired if he tried anything with you, and hell, he didn’t want to be known as the librarian who fucked one of his students. 

But his wolf had other ideas. His wolf wanted to take you on all fours, with his hands wrapped around your neck. He wanted to see your face covered in his seed, your pretty voice begging for more. God, his wolf wanted to demolish you, and all Namjoon wanted was a healthy relationship with you. He didn’t want to make things awkward because he was two years older than you. Nor did he want to get fired from a job he worked hard on receiving. 

There was a faint knock at the door, and Namjoon could only think of Seokjin coming to check on him. He leans against the counter dragging his nails through his hair. Loudly, Namjoon calls out to Seokjin, telling him to go away. He didn’t want anyone to bother him because he was going to figure out what was going on. 

“Actually, it’s Y/n,” your voice came from behind the door. “Jimin kind of told me where you lived and said maybe I could help you...?” Namjoon’s head instantly popped up from where he stood. He turns around, glancing at the door and shaking his head. His wolf demanded that he opened the door and took what he was yearning for. 

“Since when does Jimin know what’s best for me?” Namjoon mumbles under his breath as he was pacing back and forth once again. “You know the repercussions here, right?” Namjoon questions as he wasn’t even considering opening that door. He didn’t know what was going to happen if he did or not. From in front of the door, you leaned against it. Then you placed a hand on the handle, groaning as you did so. 

“Of course I do,” you answered honestly. “I’m a senior in high school, and you just started working there. Hell, you’re two years older than me and could instantly get fired.” you continued licking your lips. “Plus, I’m a hunter, so that doesn’t mix well with being a wolf,” you added in laughing at that last part, but it was silent on the other end. 

So much for trying to lighten the mood Y/n. You rolled your eyes as the thought passed your mind. Namjoon had barely known you, and even if he did know anything about you, it was surface-level things. Yes, your small acquaintance turned into somewhat of a friendship, but you viewed him as the sweet librarian in your school. 

You were still a senior, and hell, he could lose his job. But, you wanted to help him more than anything. Honestly, it didn’t really excuse the fact that he was still an employee getting with you. Under the law, you were a legal adult. You could make decisions for yourself, but most people don’t consider that part. The school board certainly wouldn’t believe that part when discussing what to do with his job. 

What you didn’t expect was for Namjoon to move closer. You heard the unlocking of the apartment door, and you instantly moved back. You watched as he slowly opened the door, wholly shirtless and sweating. You noticed how golden his eyes were, due to how long it was going to be. You gulped hard, your cheeks flushing a bright red. 

“I don’t think you understand the full intensity of this Y/n,” he whispers, his knuckles turning bright white due to how hard he was grasping the doorknob. You noticed that if he held on any harder, then he could potentially break it. Maybe even - 

“You mean to tell me that you might mark me?” You ask, scrunching your eyebrows together as he didn’t say anything back. Just simply turned his head to the side and proceeded not to look in your direction. You watched with curiosity at how he held himself. Namjoon, a college drop out, your librarian, someone who seemed to have himself put together, was now acting like a teenage boy. You chuckled at the thought of it, but it was soon replaced but his harsh stare. 

Namjoon glanced back and forth, then reached out to take your hand. He moves you in, slams the door and presses his back against it. You looked at his body once again. Noticing with every small movement, some muscles twitched and moved as well. You had to admit, you were smitten entirely for this man. Or was it his body? 

Or was that your hormones speaking? You couldn’t really decide, considering you were in a trance. It seemed like Namjoon was doing a rather great job of holding himself together. You wanted to applaud him for working so hard. But then, you saw his eye twitching. You gulped, biting your lower lip, a habit in which you needed to grow out of as soon as possible. 

“Are you really just here to help me?” he questions again. You noticed that the gears were starting to turn, and you couldn’t help but nod your head. 

“Yeah, Jimin mentioned that you were in a heat like cycle. I figured maybe if -” you paused again then cleared your throat as you were getting your words together. “I know there’s a lot of risks that go into it, but if it helps you pass it then...I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?” 

Namjoon looks back, wets his lips and walks over. He stands in front of you, his tall frame making you feel small. You took a sharp breath, watching as he leans down to cup your cheek in his palm. Without warning, he does the same to the other and pulls your face close. Kissing you with such a gentle touch, you almost forgot he was ----. 

When he pulled back, you were about to say something. However, you were out of breath and found yourself panting too much. Only for him to take you once again, this time losing any sort of control. Namjoon held your cheeks tight in his grasp, making sure you were close. Then one hand drops and presses itself the back of your waist. 

Pushing you as close as you could get. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, and where they landed, you were mortified with yourself. Right at the brim of his sweats as you curled the fabric in your fingers. Namjoon noticed this right away and pulled back. You couldn’t tell if his cheeks were flushed from the heat or if they were from the kiss. 

“What're your hands doing down there, Y/n?” he muses, bringing his head forward to rest against your forehead. 

“I..” 

“You just can’t wait, can you?” he questions, pushing his waist into your grasp. You wanted to say that it was an accident because clearly, you didn’t know what the hell you were doing. Instead, he simply took this and used it against you. Namjoon brings his hands down to yours, merely pressing them together. He then moves one of yours down in between his legs. 

You flushed at how hard he felt under the fabric. This was totally wrong in every sense, but you couldn’t help but feel like a rebel. The rational part of your brain was telling you to stop it, but the irrational part was screaming at you to continue. Then Jimin’s words rang from the other day “You should live a little.” 

“No, I can’t,” You boldly mention looking back up at Namjoon. At first, he was taken back by the confidence you showed, but it quickly faded. He leaned back, still pressing your hand against his cock. 

“Well, I’m sorry to say, but bad girls don’t get the sweet reward of my cock,” he mentions. Now, this was a surprise to you. Who knew Namjoon would have a daddy kink, considering how sweet and gentleman like he was at the academy. 

So you played along with it. “And what do bad girls get, daddy?” this earns a growl from Namjoon. His actions only furthered your point while you took a step back. You placed your hands behind your back and stood tall. Looking at him as you were waiting for his answer. 

“A spanking.” he snarls, reaching back out to grab you by your elbow. He drags you to the nearest piece of furniture. Proceeds to sit down, then swing you over his knee. Namjoon’s hand moved up the back of your calf and across your thigh. Bringing to the nape of your ass. There, he curls his fingers around the muscle, molding it and playing. 

Since you were wearing a skirt, it was much easier to gain access. When you least expected it, Namjoon smacked your ass. With the force of the hit, your body moved against his lap. Your nails raked into his sweats, trying to find something to grasp. 

What surprised both of you was the moan you let out. You more than anything else was taken back by how much you enjoyed this. Namjoon simply tucked that thought away and continued to smack your ass. With each hit, you felt his length twitch against your stomach. 

“T-ah!” You cried, not even getting the number out. Namjoon wanted you to count how many times he spanked you, and you were already messing it up. He had reached twenty, and it was like you forgot how to count. Your throat was already getting somewhat dry, between the moaning and the counting, as your ass felt like it was on fire. 

But the whole point of it all was that you were enjoying yourself. This wasn’t much of a punishment as it was a turn on. It made you want Namjoon more and more each time he smacked his hand against your ass. 

“I didn’t hear you, sweetheart,” he purrs, smacking you again. 

“Twenty!” You cried bowing your head as your hips subconsciously moved themselves up. Sticking your ass more in his line of vision. 

“What a pretty bitch we have here,” Namjoon purrs, smoothing his hand across your ass. “You come to my apartment, sweet and innocent,” pausing as he gives a light tap, which sent a small whimper escaping through your lips. “Only to turn out to be a complete and utter slut on the inside.” 

You could only nod in response since the words weren’t coming to you. Namjoon huffed at such, rolling you over, then set you up. He quickly maneuvers your body, spreading your legs, so they were pressed against his. While your now dripping core was pressing against his twitching dick. Namjoon places two large hands on your waist, his own starting to roll against you. 

The small friction was enough to send sparks throughout your body. He wasn’t even touching you directly in between your legs, and you were already moaning. “I’d never thought I’d meet such a submissive bitch,” he muses, leaning inwards to press a small kiss on the nape of your neck. “I quite enjoy it.” 

“I..I do to daddy..” you whisper this earning you a nice smack to your ass. Once again, with the force of it, your body moves forward. Your hands were bracing the couch behind Namjoon as your chest press against his. He chuckles at your little accident and simply rubs your ass once more. 

His hips never do stop, even as he basically dry humps you. Your body bouncing up now, as his eyes were watching your breasts. Then, he grumbles a few sentences under his breath and rips your shirt open. You gasp, watching him easily tear through the fabric and yank your bra off afterward. He takes your breast in like he was an animal. No pun intended. 

His teeth rank against your nipple, then against your skin. He leaves large love bites all over as if there was no tomorrow. Namjoon took one breast in hand and locked eye contact with you. He was sucking on your nipple, rolling the hard nub around his tongue. 

Then give the same treatment to the other. He was heightening your senses more, watching you completely melt under his eye. When Namjoon pulls away, a string of saliva connected you two together. He swipes his tongue, disconnecting it and then moving to stand you up. 

“Can you do daddy a favor?” he questions, spreading his arms across the back of his couch. You were so stimulated the words instantly fell from your mouth. He grins, patting the side of your leg as he asks you to go into the kitchen. There, a bottle of lube would be hidden in one of the drawers. At first, you were beyond curious as to why he had a bottle of lube in his kitchen. 

But you weren’t going to question anything. Instead, you did as you were told and went straight into the kitchen. You started to panic as you realized he only spanked you and fondled with your breast. You weren’t at all prepared for him in any way, and you had no idea how huge he was going to be in the end. As you walked back, Namjoon still had his sweats on and was sitting in the position you left him. 

He told to hand over the lube, and you did so. You watched as he lathered his fingers up and set it down next to him. He pulled you in by the belt of your skirt, then moved his other hand in. After pushing your underwear to the side, Namjoon inserts two fingers inside. Your knees buckle at the feeling of his index and middle scissoring themselves inside. 

He fingers you like this, eventually moving his thumb up to press against your clit. Eyes still locked on yours as he was giving you as much pleasure as he wanted. You weren’t even close to your orgasm when Namjoon pulled his fingers out.

“H-Have I been good enough yet, daddy?” Your question, your hands coming down to your skirt and unzipping at the side. You didn’t want him to wreck this piece, because you didn’t know what you would go home in. Namjoon watches you strip for him, and his mouth gaped slightly. 

Since it seemed like he was out of commission, you decided to throw something his way. You got down on your knees, spread his legs, and reached inwards. There, you took the hem of his sweats and pulled them down. Namjoon wasn’t wearing anything underneath, so when you saw his length, you gasp. He was large, thick, and his tip angry red. 

You licked your lips slowly, noting that beads of precum streamed down the sides. Namjoon was still in a state of shock when you lean in and grasp him. He groaned at the touch, then seemingly snapping out of it reached forwards to grab your hair. He stopped you, shaking his head and then removing your hand. You sat back on your knees, watching him grab the bottle. 

In a few seconds, you were sitting on his lap again. Namjoon’s hands gripped your waist tightly, then looked back up at you. “There’s no going back, sweetheart,” he says, watching you closely as you glanced in between his cock and his gaze. 

Not another word came from your mouth because you were already lifting yourself off his lap. Then position yourself, so you were hovering right above him. Namjooned reaches in between your bodies, nods his head and watches you lower yourself. 

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe it was because of the amount of lube he used on you, but whatever it was, you felt like you were in heaven. The way his length stretched your walls, his thickness filling you to the brim. “Daddy,” you mewled, placing your hands on his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” he says in response, then smacks your ass. It was your cue to start moving, even as you were slowly adjusting yourself. Your body bounces against his, this new sensation you’d never felt before. Namjoon helps you by holding your waist tightly, moving you along with his own hip thrusts. 

Namjoon moves his head in, planting open-mouthed kisses along your skin. He digs his nails into your waist, the pain of it, causing you to moan louder. You reach in between, your fingers moving slowly against your clit. Namjoon noticed, however, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Instead, he wanted you to experience the long drawn out orgasm. 

Because Namjoon was too sensitive and you were overstimulated, you both felt your ends starting to creep up on you. This caused Namjoon to flip you over onto the couch and plant his hands on either side. He digs his nails into your waist, pushing you back against him as his thrusts became harder and faster. He was fucking you into the couch as the animal inside took over. 

Making sure he was hitting your sensitive nerve endings over and over again. This brought your moans into cries as you were praising him with every bit of sound. Your fingers move quickly as you could feel your own end getting closer and closer. You closed your eyes, allowing your body to ride the wave, that was until a sharp pain erupted. 

What Namjoon didn’t realize was he took one of your breasts in hand. Moving it up to his mouth as his canines sunk deep into your flesh. Breaking the first layer and ultimately marking you. In doing so, your orgasm hit you like a wave as you felt your walls clenching around him. 

Then you felt his seed erupt inside. Filling your core to the brim with his essence as he held his grip on your breast. You panted harshly, watching as Namjoon pulls away from you, blinks a few times, and then pulls himself out. 

“Shit shit shit,” he grumbles, scurrying to grab his sweats as he was now back to his senses. You lay down, chest still rising and falling, but processing everything. You did not just have sex with your librarian, who marked and came inside you, did you? 

“I’m on birth control..” you start rolling yourself over and glancing at the tattered fabric you called your favorite shirt. “I think I’m more worried about you marking me than anything else.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Namjoon answers glancing back in your direction. You looked down before glancing upwards. Only to notice that he was still rock hard, and his eyes were still golden. This piqued your interest as you were sexually interested in everything he had to offer. 

“Maybe we can discuss that after you fuck me again alpha,” you purr positioning yourself in an erotic pose. Namjoon stops his pacing and glances at you once more. His eyes go straight for the mark on your right breast, then to your ass. He gulps as now his instincts were taking over. Namjoon was drawn to you, everything about you. 

He walks over, bending down, so he was eye level. Then proceeds to say, “I don’t really like the term alpha. It doesn’t suit me,” smirking as he finishes. “You know what to call me, sweetheart.” 

[captainelsaeverdeen]

I like me better when I’m with you ~Part 2.

There’s so little Steve in this, but he’ll be in the next parts all. the. time! And yeah, I named the coach after Troy Bolton from HSM. I can totally imagine him as a strict PE teacher if his music career didn't work out... Anyways, hope you guys will like it! Gif not mine. 

summary: based on ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’. Y/N Henderson used to be in love a couple of times. This time she’s sure it’s something bigger, something serious. Her love for Jonathan Byers is unlimited, untamed and endless. At least she thought so. Read Part 1 here.

-

That kiss.

Steve couldn't concentrate. Why now, after all this time? From what he remembered the last time you guys talked, he was about your brother's age. Your contact was limited to a short "hello" in the hallway and waving at each other in town. Nothing else.

He kissed you because Carol couldn't shut up. He remembered perfectly well how his dad let him sit behind the wheel of his car and little Steve invited to Y/N, Carol and Tommy, his best friends so far. Carol made fun of Y/N all day because she had never been kissed before. There is nothing wrong with that, but little Y/N was so embarrassed that Steve did what he thought was right. He leaned out of the driver's seat and gently kissed the little girl's mouth so that Carol could choke on her chewing gum for once.

Only a year later, Y/N realized that Tommy and Carol were not the people she wanted to deal with. She thought they were egotistical, mean, and idiots enjoying others' failures. And she was right. Steve didn't understand that until now. Too bad he figured it out too late. 

“Dude, what's going on? Focus before Billy kicks our ass even more, come on!” His teammate hit him on the shoulder. Steve twisted his head and wiped out all the intrusive thoughts. “Yeah, Steve. Concentrate. We don't want anything to happen to you" Billy said sarcastically. It doesn’t matter why she sent the letter. You can't play with someone's feelings. He wanted to explain it as gently as he could and maybe he did. He didn't find out because Y/N ran away as soon as Jonathan got on the field.

But why she was scared of Jonathan Byers?

-

“Girl, come on” Robin sighed, leaning her hands on her school locker. You sat down on the floor and pulled your knees up to your chest, holding them with your hands to keep them from shaking. You wanted to cry, scream, vomit, or do it all at once. Steve got a letter. Your letter. It didn't belong to him, it belonged to you. Although it was addressed to him, your thoughts, your feelings were there. He should never have read it. Not to mention Jonathan. “Please, I'm starting to worry. What the hell did he tell you?”

“Robin...” Your voice broke down when you tried to speak. “He... he got a letter”. “What letter?” Your friend pushed herself away from the locker. “From who? What was in it?”

“From me” You said, raising your head a little. The corridor was empty because everyone was in class. Only an angry coach could show up here at any time. You clenched your fingers so tightly on your shirt that your ankles got whacked. “But please promise me you won't laugh”.

“I don't feel like laughing. But I feel like I'm way too sober for this”. “I... you know I'm not good at talking about my feelings. It's much easier for me to write about them. So... so when I really care about someone, I write a letter to that person. I confess my love, I say what I like about that person and how much I care about them... and that's it. I put the envelope on and hide the letter in the room. It's just that... someone sent them. Somebody had to, because Steve and Jonathan got theirs.”

Robin was quiet for a while. She bit her lower lip, started going back and forth around the hallway, removing nail polish until she stopped next to you. “Normally, I'd probably say something funny, but it's not funny at all”. “I think I'm gonna throw up” you said quietly. Robin gathered your hair into a ponytail. “Calm down” she said and sat next to you on the dirty floor. “Just take a deep breath”.

“Take a deep breath? It feels like my insides are being ripped out” you said devastated. “How many letters did you write?” Robin asked. You showed her five fingers. “Do I know the others?”. “One of them goes to school with us. I don't have any contact with the other two” you answered. “I can understand absolutely everything, but... Steve? Stephen Harrington? When was that? Why don't I know anything about it?”.

“So long ago we didn't know each other” you smiled at each other. “In seventh grade. I was friends with him... and with Tommy and Carol. But those two are assholes, and I realized that early on, so I stopped hanging out with them. Steve gave up our friendship for the sake of friendship with Tommy and Carol. We don't talk from now on. But it used to be different”.

“Y/N, you in there?” someone asked, suddenly showing up in the hallway. You knew that voice. You didn't remember exactly from where, but it was definitely familiar, the name of its owner was at the end of your tongue.

“We're in the middle of something” Robin muttered when Stanley from the homecoming who should be in class now stood over you, his sneakers were squealing on the linoleum. He just stood there for a while and stared at you until he started rocking on his feet and waved in front of his face with a blue envelope. Robin whistled loudly.

“So this is the third one” she muttered. Stanley scratched himself in the back of the neck. “Look, I didn't mean to barge in on you. I saw you run in here from the pitch, and I wanted to make sure you're okay, and, uh...” he gave you an envelope. You took it carefully in your hands, and pressed it against your chest. “Thought you might want that back. It seemed a little personal”. 

“Yeah, it is” you said, looking away from him and Robin. Your heart was beating in your chest, not wanting to calm down. “I wrote it years ago. It should never have reached you... but it did”. “I had a lot of fun that night too” the boy smiled. Robin raised her eyebrow. “At the homecoming. But... Y/N don't get me wrong, you're great, but... generally, I don't like girls... like at all”.

“Well, well. Generally I don't like boys, like, at all” Robin smiled fiercely. Stanley looked at her surprised, but in this positive sense. “You're gonna get along with each other” you waved the envelope, afraid you'd faint without air. “Here's what we gonna do” Robin turned around, still sitting with her legs crossed and grabbed your hands. “You're gonna go back home and make sure Dustin has nothing to do with it. Search your room carefully, maybe the other two are still there”.

“Even if, those three could ruin my life the most. No offense” you said, and Stan raised his hands. “Dustin certainly didn't do it. That's not possible. He wouldn't have a reason”. “You think so. You never know. Go and call me. I'll cover for you.”  

“From Coach Bolton? He'll never forgive you this” Stan grumbled dissatisfied. “Thank you, Stanley. That comment was completely unnecessary” Robin rolled her eyes. Everything seemed to be passing at an accelerated rate. Staying in the dressing room, coming home on a bike, as if time had decided to help you and let you go home as soon as possible. Mom was already inside, just like Dustin. You ran up the stairs so fast that you stepped on Mews' tail and she was furious.

“Y/N! What’s the meaning of this, you didn't see her or what?!” mom was screaming completly outrageous, but you didn't listen to her. You fell into the room, stopped on the bed and took the vinyl off the shelf.

It was empty.

You looked under the bed, under the desk and under the dresser. Shit, you even looked under the carpet and pillows. Nothing. Nothing at all.

“You took anything out of my room?” you asked when you went into Dustin's room. “Why would I?” your brother break away from his homework for a while “I'm not getting excited about your bras”.

“When the last time party was here, or whoever was in my room?” you asked. Dustin didn't answer, so you ripped his math notebook from him. “Yes or no?” “Jesus Christ” Dustin rolled his eyes. “I don't know. I don't control them. I just let Max in. They were messing with Lucas and he poured hot chocolate on her shirt. I said she could take something of yours, so I gave her a little privacy. But she already gave it back. It's in the laundry basket.”

“It's not about the stupid shirt...” you just shut up, left the room and went back to yours. “Hey... Hey! What is it? You don't think she stole something...” your brother's voice was jammed by the sound of the door closing. You slammed it a little too much. You slid slowly to the ground, pushing your back against the wall.

The letters are out. They're out. There's nothing you can do about it. Happiness in misery, Chris's letter was adressed to the bunks at the camp, so at least he'll never know how cute he looked in his swimsuit.

“You got the letter” Dustin knocked slowly into your room, but you didn't say anything. “It's from... from some Ralph. From Florida. Mom says the chicken will be ready soon”.

And he slipped a brown envelope through a gap under the door. Ralph's not Steve, Stan, or Jonathan, so his answer probably wouldn't have caused any emotion, but your heart literally stopped beating when you reached for the letter. But it wasn't an answer. Ralph just sent your letter back. No message, no comment. He just returned something that never belonged to him.

You hid your face in your hands, trying to calm down. Today you managed to escape from Jonathan, which was great, but you can't do it forever, not every day until the end of school. Sooner or later you will have to talk to him. If not with him, you'll have to talk with Nancy. What if he told her? What if she already knows and now she hates you with all her heart?

Dear Jonathan. There are songs you can't listen to without thinking about a particular person. There are movies where the characters experience something so wonderful that you'd like to be in their place. And there are people you just can't fall in love with. I think I found one.

Shut up. Don't think about it. Call Robin. Tell her the situation is looking hopeless and lock yourself in your room for the rest of your life. When you got up to grab the phone, when the tears were squeezing into your eyes because it was all fucking unrealistic, mom screamed from the living room.

"Y/N! Jonathan is waiting for you downstairs! Come say hi!"

Taglist: @krazykatkay456​   @mochminnie​  @ghostineleven​ @the-almond-dinger​  @art-flirt

[route22ny]

I grew up in the Bay Area at the height of AIDS panic, and all of that era’s sex paranoia remains burned into my brain, repurposed for Covid-19 and the act of commingling wet breath. A few weeks into this crisis, I found myself having a ten-foot-distant conversation with my neighbor Patty, both of us incredulous at people who still tried to talk to us in-tight face-to-face, like we weren't all suddenly barebacking reality with everyone they'd chit-chatted with that day and everyone in their lives, etc. Patty allowed that she should be able to strike people she considered a threat. I mentioned Florida's attitude toward this legal principle and firearms. I suggested she become militant. I tell that to a lot of people, but I attenuate the humor of it for the audience. I tell every teacher I know to strike.

There are more sirens now. It's hard to tell, because unlike New York, everything isn't quiet. Cars are out on the road—fewer, but enough that hearing a siren can still be vehicular idiocy and not a more sinister house call. But I still hear more of them.

I don’t know why Luke asked me to write about Coronavirus in Florida. I mostly stopped writing last year when a good friend dropped dead in front of his family. (Subscribe to my Substack—we don't update regularly!) Before that, I felt increasingly overborne by events. Things ground to a halt in 2019, but the machine began to break down long before. I ended the 2016 campaign periodically sitting under my desk, high, feeling secure because I wasn't writing anything stupid and feeling good because I was appropriately afraid of everything, but people thought I was exaggerating when I mentioned it.  

I wish I could say my seriousness about the novel coronavirus stems solely from believing in science and peer review and that I would take it seriously regardless, but my spouse is immunocompromised, and my father, who lives out in the Bay Area, had Covid-19, back in March or early April. He didn't tell us kids until he was out of the woods, but for days he had fevers over 103º. My stepmom, a former emergency room nurse, couldn't get him admitted anywhere, because he wasn't having respiratory problems. He woke up the same every day: It felt like someone had parked a Volkswagen on him.

We're supposed to say he's out of the woods. I'll believe that when he dies of old age, or something more reasonable that kills men in my family, like colon cancer or car accidents. Sometimes I think about him dropping dead like my friend, only from whatever post-Covid-19 effect triggers the brain’s forgetting to tell the lungs to breathe—or from the one that leads to storms of strokes, like a brain's blood vessels recreating the burning energies depicted on a CRISS ANGEL MINDFREAK poster. Then I wonder how I would die, or my wife, or my friend in Atlanta, or my brother. I think about drowning in open air, alone in a hissing world, and being incapable of saying the overdue apologies I ran out of time for.

After a while I realized that basically all Luke wanted was to hear from a coward living in the mismanaged kleptocracy of Florida, and the thing is, I can do that! I’m frightened right now!

I considered opening with, Every day I wake up frightened, to throw a fucking jolt into a piece about facing down a pandemic in a place where they have a paradise just for the cheeseburgers. But the joke is, I'm not wastin' away here in Coronaville. Sometimes I wake up and just have to pee, on the rare days when I don't wake up from the sensation of my son elbow-dropping my head because—how rude of me—it's 6:45 already.

In this respect, I am serene: My son and I exercise outside to burn off his energy, so I'm out in the sun for hours a day. I'm tanner, I've lost weight, and my phlegm feels looser. I grew a lushly indifferent goatee. My haircut looks like something that belongs on the gatefold cover of a concept album about a form of locomotion by a band named after geography. While the term "Lebowski Phase" has been applied to my appearance and to the fact that my leg injury and medical-marijuana prescription have collided with the reality of never having to drive anywhere again, I must insist that in many respects I have come to look like Jesus Christ. I am pro life and take no pleasure in reporting this.

As I have said, I am frequently awakened by my son, whose full name is My Beautiful Five-Year-Old Son Maitland. He is a treasure who spends quarantine within earshot of 24-hour news, regurgitating West Wing Democrat observations of mine with five-year-old precocity to harvest follows for Instagram. Maitland is an influencer already on record as supporting L’Oréal, opposing Medicare For All, and, when I first read him the shaggy start to this piece, he said, "Not a good look." He's a natural.

Waking up is violent but easy. The problem is everything after that. By the time I close my eyes, I'm not sure what I felt most on any given day—anger, sadness, impotence, a resentful churning need for vengeance, despair. Any one can seem like a day's dominant emotional dysfunction and then suddenly be overwhelmed by the dread that suffuses prolonged thought about the world outside.

I am one of the people who is Taking It Seriously. Seriously Taking It Seriously, though—not the people who say they're taking it seriously and then tell you about:

• Going to a recent indoor birthday party.

• Having a multi-course dinner at a fancy restaurant, "But it was okay because it was [extremely not-worth-a-life celebration]!"

• A full-contact playdate their kid had recently with two other children.

I abhor these people. I have an existential loathing of these people, and a granular scientific indictment. I enjoy reading new articles to learn new ways in which they are a danger to me. My apprehension is rich and exquisite. May their friends shun them, and may they be abandoned by their gods.

Sooner or later, every day, I think of the threats arrayed against me and my family. Each day, I see the most recent thing said by my governor, Ronald Fuckface DeSantis, in which he explicitly endorses and declares his intent to pursue actions that all available data say will kill Floridians by the thousands. Each day, I think about how, if I do so much as suggest fostering a free exchange of ideas about the proportional value of using every means to stop him, I will be arrested.

Every day, I bounce the "Evil or Moronic?" debate around my brain. I check in with an alumna buddy in Atlanta to see whose governor has shown more recent determination to murder his citizens. I gotta give Brian Kemp credit, because he's really holding his own. Naturally, this leads to wondering if either of them have a natural or acculturated advantage in terms of idiocy and malevolence. DeSantis' enrollment at Yale and Harvard and service in the military problematizes the idiocy narrative only for as long as it takes to remember all the people you've met who've gone to any of them and were dumber than dogshit. It would seem like fate to be murdered by an oaf, but I don't know that it's not merciful to at least be murdered purposefully rather than contemptuously and indolently.

Eventually, this leads to spending some time thinking about DeSantis as a kind of lethal bro angel. It's hard not to see his shitchyeah, brah, people are dyin', it's classic! expression and recognize that the state's chief executive resembles a lout you don't want to run into walking alone at FSU after a home loss. I prefer my jokes about the governor, but my friend David Roth nailed it when he said that DeSantis seemed like a person who would describe himself as “kind of a DUI guy.”

I know there's supposedly a culture war out there. There's a truck in my neighborhood with a Q sticker, and another with a Three-Percenter sticker, and there are more than a few neighbors of the "easily victimized white dude who owns a $50,000 truck he rarely takes off the pavement and who becomes physically belligerent when you correct him" variety, but there's a reason why you really only see “war” shit on YouTube. Few Americans are hostile to general safety protocols, and even fewer act out against them. I live where hate groups and old fashioned unaffiliated redneck trash drive in from the county to make a show of rebel flags, rolling coal and honking to intimidate protests, but people line up six feet apart at Home Depot, wear masks at Publix and get takeout at the pizza place outside without insisting on barging in. Most wars don’t need one side of them to be this manufactured.

Most of my friends and colleagues from this gig live in New York, so I've already sat through weeks of descriptions of streets silent except for ambulances, and I’ve already woken for weeks to the half-twilight of nightmares where friends died in a spare white hallway. There aren't a lot of surprises in store for Florida, and no images I can describe that would make you want to turn back now. It's like we're waiting for the rolling premiere of a franchise blockbuster. The dead won't really start packing them in for a few more weeks, but all the scariest shit hit YouTube when it opened in New York a thousand years ago. The coronavirus as an image, what it functionally is, as a horror, feels as familiar as the Scream mask, and the context that makes that scary as hell already feels dangerously been-and-gone, like an apprehension that Florida had for too long before the actual scare came.

There's a hope that all this will come to little again. Despite Governor DeSantis' refusal to take the initiative on shutting down the state until the last dollar was wrung from the last snowbird, the original shellacking never came. The Tampa Bay Times sampled smartphone data and concluded that Floridians overwhelmingly took the initiative to stay home, and they were aided in their quarantine process by the fact that Florida is car-dependent and atomized.

The heartbreaking realization, as you gradually run across more people who are Not Taking It Seriously or are Expressing Moronic Skepticism, is that for a month there about 80 percent of America was on board with doing the right thing. We, a people who suck at doing the right thing even for the wrong reasons, stood on the side of doing the harder thing if it helped people who weren't even us.

I really can't tell if I feel more anger than sadness at the fact that those who were meant to encourage us in safety, to serve us by offering difficult guidance, wasted our sacrifice and our trust. They squandered the patience given by a beggared and exhausted people. All they had to do was the right thing, and if they weren't sure what that was, they could have erred on the side of saving people’s lives and hoping it counted, and they failed.  

Instead, more people will die, and we'll be shut down again, and we will realize we are fundamentally unequipped for life with Covid-19. Florida is built on enclosed air-conditioned spaces: It's dependent on divorcing yourself from Florida as a climate and place. Asking Floridians to generate a public life under the unshielded rage of God’s angriest sun and baked from beneath by a sprawling pave-ocalypse requires asking them to rebel against everything their infrastructure has taught them for as long as they can remember. It is a car culture to the flesh and bone, and a restaurant relocating indoor tables to a road patio would park its diners inches away from eternity.

A picnic day like that is months off, again. It's time to go back inside and resume Inside Time. Inside Time melts away. I saw a headline around the Fourth of July, from the New York Times, that read, "In the Covid-19 Economy, You Can Have a Kid or a Job. You Can’t Have Both," and I remember seeing colleagues tweet, mmmm, so true, and, gets at something crucial we aren't talking about, and shit like that, and I was like, "Buddy, let's get in the DeLorean and visit March." I have nowhere to go, anyway, and all life is timeless.

We have no family in the area and have had no break. It's the three of us, like No Exit, but if most of the dialogue was the word "no" and a lot of stuff about poop and butts and farts, good guys and bad guys, and what Lego Star Wars would do, but with a lot of excruciated pleading for silence because Mom and Dad Are Working Right Now and We Love You Very Much but Jesus Christ Please Stop for the Love of God I Will Give You a Dollar If You Go in Your Room and Be Quiet and Play That Kindle App That Teaches You to Read That You Pay Attention to More Than Us Even Though I Would Read You a Fucking Novel If You'd Just Shut Up and Sit Still.

I'm resigned to staying in here until 2022. I’m screaming, but I will do it. I'm lucky in that I have access to a community pool and a neighborhood where my son and I can roam around on bikes and romp and look at water and birds and turtles. When we're lazy, we have a porch where we can feel nature without feeling exposed. We have a dependable (ok!!! haha!!!) income, and I can do irregularly scheduled work that allows me to be Parent rather than Employee. Exercise, meals and stories take up enough hours that I might as well lean into it.

But we’re lucky. We have a house and prescription mood-altering drugs and one thousand years of undersleep, but we are in less immediate danger than most. The state, almost reflexively, reaches out to open more doors even as Covid-19 blows past reopening benchmark after reopening benchmark.

The inexorable march for commerce doesn’t even come from malice in many cases; people in charge just don’t know how to do anything else but extort and scold people into working under any conditions, so long as it devours most of their time. All the exploitive principles are expected to work the same even if the world they built is fraudulent. We feed meat and the virus into the machines, irrespective of what the data says, and pray for rain. Watching Florida government on the state and local level is like watching two parents bring an alcoholic home after he got kicked out of rehab and deciding that the best course of action is leaving him with $5,000 in an apartment up the street from a dive bar and then going to Cancun for the week. It was on the calendar already, there wasn’t any choice, he looked very healthy at the time!

We have friends who are teachers, and we are scared for their spouses and kids. I don't know what Florida's plan for its teachers is other than to murder them. Again, I don't know if DeSantis is an idiot for flirting with giving enormous bipartisan sympathy to arguably the most effective labor group in the state, or a genius for flirting with finally eliminating a lobbying obstacle to conservative governance by simply liquidating its members as a class.

I worry if I start listing all the things I'm scared of, they'll never stop, but every day I see my son reach for something he should be able to reach for, and I either have a low-grade panic response and stifle it, or I have the panic response and yelp at him to get his attention and tell him to stop, startle him, and add another layer of gun-shy haunting to his day. I'm afraid he'll eventually become an animal in a Skinner Box in which all the buttons and levers are electrocuted, and there are no prizes.

I'm afraid that my son will always be emotionally arrested at two years behind the development of people the same age who had siblings in their house, or who, like many kids in my neighborhood, had parents who thought kids were invincible to Covid-19 and let them play with whomever they wanted. I worry that he may pay a price year after year even into adulthood because other kids got to practice socializing as we rode past. They got to hang out with people their own age and run around and do vitally stupid shit and say "butts" a lot, and he got look at me heartbroken and knowing empirically and epidemiologically that he couldn't play with his friends anymore but still needing to know why, and knowing that I couldn't tell him anything more sophisticated and anything less terrifying than, "So we don't get sick."

The other day he started crying and then screaming, "I hate the sickness! I hate the sickness!" repeating it in a higher and higher register, until he was up even past that piercing birdlike screech that prepubescent boys make whenever trying to sound like lasers or dinosaurs or squealing brakes. Every day I worry that I see another little bit of his capacity for happiness is dying—that the same awkward process of terror that took me from happy little kid to profoundly unhappy teen to scarred adult is even more rapidly at work, and each day another sparkling and joyous little light of childhood winks out in him, replaced by fear as a necessity of life.

I know that there is no plan for us. Conservatives don't want to be taxed or have their businesses lose money, so people are being kicked off unemployment and sent back to work with no test and trace protocols, irregular access to PPE, overwhelmed hospitals and often limited access to any care. We're doing all this as Florida blooms scarlet like paint being spilled into a mold shaped like the state. We're sending the men in the gasoline suits right at the heart of the fire.

It's a cruelly lazy little culling genocide of the working class, a Wall Street gamble that the blow to the labor force won't be more than a blip on the Dow and, a little recession aside, the One Percent will come out ten years later owning an even greater percentage of the United States. To the extent that there is a plan, that's the plan, and whether you land on the dead or the living part of any of those exchanges is more of a Your Problem than a Their Problem.

For now, it's enough to be hermits and hope the rest of Florida goes on strike by going inside and staying there and writing letters to representatives threatening to never come out. Cooking the same things, getting the same exercise in the same places, having the same awkward conversations on VOIP delay, and living every moment outside like we're three drinks in so we’re ready to get belligerent with anyone who is getting too close. Living every moment with some low-level neurasthenia that grows spine-deep and for the rest of our lives sends shuddering disequilibrium at the thought of air that never seems to move, hallways that lengthen without exits, and objects that seem both unavoidable and unclean. It’s fine. We’re all fine, here, now. How are you?

I feel a sudden Git Offa Mah Land thing about my son, a resolute commitment to homeschooling for the foreseeable future and to keeping the gummymint away. It sucks so much. I was so happy to send him to the public school just a few blocks away, instead of the shitty little charter schools nearby, but now that it’s Plague or Parents, he’s got his parents. Between us, he'll have access to 1.5 first-class educations. I still have my grandpa's service weapons from WWII, the last time America was in a war with fascism, when we took the opposing side. I'll empty a couple magazines into anyone who comes onto my property and tries to stop me from teaching my son critical race theory, Howard Zinn, and Leonard Levy's Jefferson and Civil Liberties: The Darker Side. I refuse to turn my back on the heritage of my youth, of watching thousands of hours of MASH, by refusing to wear a mask outside or in fact any time I am doing anything other than drinking gin that I made in a tent.

Outside, records fall and progress rolls on. A governor whose go-to pejorative for opponents of all ages and sexes is very likely still “queef” watches as even the president concedes that a Republican National Convention here would be too lethal, as the state repeatedly sets records for daily deaths, beats out all of Europe in terms of new daily cases, leads the nation in cases per day, then tries to set them again. And then, every day, our governor makes his ahegao-but-for-ethnic-cleansing face and psychotically clangs a bell indicating that Florida just became the 15,000 customer at Leadshoe Larry’s Kicked-in-the-Dick, and it’s time for all us lucky winners to line up and drop our pants.

Florida’s lethality is so tacky that it’s almost camp, but there is no satisfaction in being right about how wrong everything is. Nobody gets a prize for correctly guessing the surplus death toll. All you have to do is look someone else in the eye working in life under Covid.

I’m old now, so I have Humiliating Injury Syndrome (HIS), and somehow in the month between the Super Bowl and the pandemic, I tore a rotator cuff, a labrum, or both, by throwing a (mini!!!) football with friends. After four months, I broke down and went to get an MRI. I skulked down corridors and lurked in a corner of a waiting room, like playing spies with an opponent who was the air. Even the clean and modern fixtures felt miasmic and corrupted, like they were a parking garage in an Alan Pakula film.

Eventually a nurse emerged from an office, crinkled her brown eyes, waved and surprised me by asking after my family by name. She lives three blocks away from me and had hosted me at a party once. Later that day, as my car coasted down the approach to my house, I saw a garage door open and my neighbor’s son walk out on his way to his shift at the same grocery store that I treat emotionally like a Superfund site.

I thought about how much I unconsciously held my breath where they work, and how I unconsciously associate those places with poor choices. The danger of the world outside is so massive that I reflexively need to cordon off the threat into areas of blame and blamelessness. In a moment of crisis, years of conservative rhetorical conditioning in the discourse have taught me to reflexively pathologize those in harm’s way. There is less chaos if someone is at least responsible for something. There is less risk to me, if it turns out someone else’s epidemic is someone else’s fault.

But it is someone else’s fault. And it’s not some poor fucker doomed to sit in a box somewhere and accept paper money and hand metal money back and point at where toilets are, because that’s how he keeps the lights on. It’s not the person consigned to some life-sucking task that, on the best of days, is too humiliating and cruelly impoverished of purpose to ever be a reason why someone should die. It’s not the person around whom you hold your breath because you don’t know where they’ve been. It’s the person and people who put us all in position to suddenly feel like we’re suffocating together.

I hate that I sometimes unconsciously hold my breath around strangers, and I hate that they have heard it. I think of my neighbors, and of the workers on whom we’re dependent, and the permanent uncertain shortness of breath I feel, and I want every moment of their anxiety and mine gathered up and then rained on those who shepherded it into being, those who nurtured it and feasted on it, those who profited from it and were indifferent toward it. Those who consider themselves DUI guys and those who pay to elect them and give them sinecures and who are simply too rich to be arrested for boating under the influence anymore.

I think of how I hold my breath near good people and near vulnerable people in places I am wary of and that we all need to share, and I wonder if we will simply hold our breath for the rest of the year, and if we’ve bargained for standing near each other and holding it for all of the next. And I wish so eagerly that all our suspended futures and the air between us might catch at the throats of those who put us here. That justice for a man like Ron DeSantis might be a permanent and sucking terror: stuck always in an involuntary startled gasp at the sight of responsibility, afraid at the approach of every stranger, incapable of drawing a full and restful breath, and never knowing peace again.

Jeb Lund used to write about politics for Rolling Stone, The Guardian and Gawker, and a bunch of other places, and was the Spectacle of Trump Editor at 50 States of Blue. He and David Roth have a podcast about Hallmark original movies that is mostly funny and exasperated and not unkind, and it's not ultimately about the movies anyway. It's fine and people enjoy it. Don't make it weird. He also has a podcast where he watches every Dennis Quaid movie in a row. That is also completely normal.

Ok here’s me again with a couple more things.

You’ll want to read this in the New York Times today about a forthcoming documentary on ICE. After it was completed the filmmakers were apparently threatened with legal action by the agency over the inclusion of parts that made ICE look even worse than they already look doing literally everything else they do.

Some of the contentious scenes include ICE officers lying to immigrants to gain access to their homes and mocking them after taking them into custody. One shows an officer illegally picking the lock to an apartment building during a raid.

At town hall meetings captured on camera, agency spokesmen reassured the public that the organization’s focus was on arresting and deporting immigrants who had committed serious crimes. But the filmmakers observed numerous occasions in which officers expressed satisfaction after being told by supervisors to arrest as many people as possible, even those without criminal records.

“Start taking collaterals, man,” a supervisor in New York said over a speakerphone to an officer who was making street arrests as the filmmakers listened in. “I don’t care what you do, but bring at least two people,” he said.

Here’s one disgusting detail among many.

They followed Border Patrol tactical agents who took pride in rescuing migrants from deadly dehydration even as the agents acknowledged that their tactics were pushing the migrants further into harm’s way. They showed how the government had at times evaluated the success of its border policies based not only on the number of migrants apprehended, but on the number who died while crossing.

***

source:

https://luke.substack.com/p/all-they-had-to-do-was-the-right?utm_source=Brooklyn+Today&utm_campaign=dd6f63665c-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2020_07_28_01_15&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_1ba554d7d5-dd6f63665c-125128182