#my bumper will be worse off than his

[shrimplicitly]

yall weren't fuckijg kidding being 23 feels like im being shredded alive

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part IX

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: It's been a minute, y'all! I've missed my Less Talk crew! Second last chapter, here we go!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, smut, angst, fluff, you might dislike me when this is over

Masterlist | Part I

“Jake!” you call as you run after him out of the restaurant. “Jake, wait!”

But Jake doesn’t stop. He can’t.

The moment Mustang utters the words ‘we’re engaged’, he goes numb. Bradley says something that he can’t quite hear or doesn’t want to comprehend. The crowd starts cheering and closing in. And he sees your eyes, wide with alarm as you try to keep him in your line of sight despite the moving bodies between you.

And then he’s gone. Shoving his way through the well-wishers as he makes for the door. But he’s only halfway to his truck when he hears your voice. And as he pulls aggressively on the handle, he perceives your approaching footsteps; you’re running.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and turns to look at you without a word. You jog toward him, stopping just short of his bumper, and then you move forward slowly, as though you’re afraid he might bolt.

“It’s not true,” you blurt out, your words slurring into one another because you’re trying to get them out so quickly.

Jake gawks at you, not know what to believe anymore.

“I promise you,” you say. “It’s over.”

Jake furrows his brows, staring at you incredulously. “I don’t think he knows that.”

You let out a shaky breath and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “He will.”

Jake watches you with contempt. “So, he doesn’t yet.”

Your eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun but you blink away the tears, conveniently averting your gaze. Jake sets his jaw; he isn’t falling for the innocent act.

“I can’t help you,” he says levelly. “Because I don’t know what’s going on.” He bangs a fist on the hood of his truck and then takes a step toward you. “Because you won’t tell me anything!”

You nod, catching a couple of tears with the tip of your index finger. You don’t let any of them fall and you manage to compose yourself before your emotions get out of hand. “I don’t need your help,” you whisper, looking at the dirt caked into the treads of his tire rather than up at his face.

“Fine,” he replies. Although it’s not fine. Nothing is fine. He, certainly, is not fine. “Then I don’t need to be here.”

“Fine.” You shrug, obstinately avoiding eye contact.

Your apathetic tone irks Jake, but he’s not about to let you witness just how much you affect him. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans before balling them up into fists. There’s only one piece of information he absolutely needs to know. The rest can probably wait. “Are you gonna marry him?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he anticipates.

You meet his gaze finally – guiltily – but don’t respond.

Jake says nothing more. He opens the door to his truck and gets in, and you don’t stop him. He turns over the engine and waits for you to step out of the way before he backs out swiftly and floors it out of the lot.

…

The sound of your voice jolts him awake. He sits up straight in his bed, listening intently, wondering if he’d dreamt it. But then your laughter carries up to the second floor. Jake closes his eyes. You must be in the kitchen with Bradley.

Jake hasn’t seen you in two weeks; hasn’t wanted to. Seeing you has only ever caused him pain. Even before he realized he liked you, your presence had always seemed to shift him out of orbit. Your stupid quips and endless debates, the judgmental look in your eye whenever Jake tried to stand his ground. It got worse when it finally occurred to him that he enjoyed that sort of abuse.

Jake runs his hands over his face, trying to tune you out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the arguments. You’re the only person who’s ever really put him in his place. And how he’s loved putting you in yours.

Jake gets out of bed with a sigh, pausing at the closed door of his bedroom to listen. It isn’t eavesdropping if he’s not actually interested in the topic of conversation; all he wants is to hear your voice.

“I swear I will never drink drip coffee again,” you announce with conviction.

Jake holds back a laugh, leaning his head into the doorframe.

“It’s basically sewer water by comparison,” you continue.

Jake snorts.

“Have another croissant,” you urge.

“You brought enough to feed a squadron,” he hears Bradley retort. “I’m not eating them all.”

You go quiet for a moment, saying something Jake can’t quite make out. He pushes off the frame and shuffles into the bathroom. He’s still pissed, and no amount of baked goods will convince him to go downstairs. He’s not ready for that. And, if all goes to plan, he’ll just slowly get over you and never have to see you again.

Once he’s out of the shower, Jake towel dries his hair and then quickly pats down his body. He listens for signs of conversation, but the house is quiet now. You and Bradley must have left.

“Bradshaw?” he calls, just in case.

No answer.

He heads down to start a pot of coffee before getting dressed but, when he enters the kitchen, you are the first thing he sees. You look up from where you're sitting at his table and yelp – because he’s butt naked – leaping out of your seat and covering your eyes with your hands, promptly turning away.

“What the fuck, Seresin!” you scream.

Jake jumps behind the counter. “What?” he shouts. “What the fuck, yourself! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you!” you screech. “But, like, not so much of you!”

Jake cringes, still in shock from the encounter. He grabs a throw blanket off the couch and wraps it around his waist. “Why didn’t you answer when I called down?” he yells, his temples pounding as if his head is housing a goddamn woodpecker.

“You called for Bradley!”

Jake shakes his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why are you running around naked?” you squeal, still turned away and holding your hands over your eyes.

“I thought I was home alone! You don’t walk around naked in your own home?” Jake cries in outrage. He’s not about to let you win this fight.

“Uh, sometimes, I guess,” you admit.

Jake, who’s about to retort to whatever argument you make, falls silent. He stares at your back, trying very hard not to picture what that particular scenario might look like. He gulps. “Well, alright, then,” he says. He steps away from the counter, the blanket securely tied at his hips, and walks around tentatively. “You can look now,” he says wearily.

Hesitantly, you turn to face him, although you avoid looking directly at him. “You’re still not wearing a shirt,” you say pointedly, keeping a hand up to block the view.

Jake grimaces. “Is it too exhilarating for you, princess?” he bites back.

You drop your hand and finally look at him – albeit with a scowl. You narrow your eyes irritably. “Get over yourself.”

Jake shrugs. “You can always return the favor,” he suggests, gesturing at your baby tee that’s hugging your curves just right.

You roll your eyes and make your way toward the counter, purposefully walking around the table – which is the longer route – to avoid getting too close to Jake. He watches you levelly. “Why did you want to see me?” he asks sourly.

You glance up at him, still frowning, and push a bakery box across the counter toward him. “I brought you breakfast.”

Jake doesn’t smile; one breakfast two weeks down the road isn’t going to magically repair the damage you’ve done. “Why?”

You gulp. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and drops his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he responds moodily.

You reach further down the counter and drag a paper cup into view. “I got you a coffee, too,” you add, as though this might tip the scales in your favor. “Americano.”

Jake, who is dying for some caffeine, responds with, “I’m not thirsty.”

You exhale sharply. “Don’t be a baby.”

He fixes you with a scathing look. “Don’t be a nuisance.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I bothering you?”

Jake scoffs. “Well, for starters, you’re still here.” He walks over to the refrigerator and takes out a carton of eggs. “You hungry?” he asks grumpily.

You turn to face him as he sets a bowl down on the counter and starts cracking eggs. He’s right next to you now so he can see you seething out of the corner of his eye.

“I brought you breakfast!” you cry in outrage.

Jake starts to whisk the eggs without looking at you. “I don’t want that, I want this.” He glances over at you at this point and adds spitefully, “We all have to make difficult choices from time to time.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jake!” you exclaim, pulling the bowl out from under his nose. Half-beaten egg splashes onto the counter.

Jake tosses his whisk into the sink and takes a step away from the counter. He releases a quick breath and sets his jaw; but he still can’t look at you. “What is your problem?” he says in a low voice, keeping his eyes on a random chip in the paint of one of his kitchen cupboards.

“What’s my problem?” you screech.

He can tell that you’re getting worked up and it’s taking all his energy to keep his cool. He clenches his teeth and rolls his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

“You’re so mad at me that you won’t even drink my coffee?” you yell, the bowl of raw egg still in your hands.

Jake stares harder at the paint chip because he’s on the verge of completely flying off the handle. But he could only devote so much of his attention to negligible bullshit until he finally breaks. Agitatedly, he meets your gaze and bellows, “I’M SO MAD AT YOU, I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU!”

Your mouth falls open at his words and you blink at him in shock. After a moment, you look away, silently replacing the bowl on the counter. You’re chewing on your lip as you do this, your gaze lingering on the bowl even after you’ve released it from your grasp, like you’re reluctant to let it go.

Jake briefly closes his eyes. You’re not facing him, so you don’t witness the fleeting display of regret that steals over his features. He doesn’t want to hurt you in a way that makes you go quiet. He wants you to react – loudly, obnoxiously, passionately. He wants you to yell back. Because that’s how he knows you’re okay.

“I’ll go,” you say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your shorts. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a resigned sort of look.

He nods. As much as he might've missed this kind of heated warfare, the lingering hostility is not in anyone’s best interest. “There’s an idea,” he says sarcastically, still keeping a safe distance away from where you’re standing by the counter.

Your mouth falls agape again. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to go. But, if you do, he wants you to leave angry; not sad. So, he provokes you. “And take your crazy with you,” he says, gesturing toward the front door with his entire arm.

You let out an indignant scoff that turns into a sort of cry. “What did you call me?” you shriek, stepping up to him aggressively.

Jake glances down at you, squaring his jaw to keep from smirking. “What’s the politically correct word for completely unhinged?”

Your eyes go wide and, for a split second, he thinks you might actually hit him. But you’re not one for physical violence; you can strike below the belt with your words. “As if you give a damn about offending an already stigmatized group of people,” you retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “At least I give a damn about the people I actually know.”

You let out a derisive laugh. “Oh yeah? So much so that you’re practically shoving me out the door?” you yell.

Jake rolls his eyes. “No one’s kicking you out,” he says gruffly, walking past you back to the counter. “Just stop taking my eggs away and we’re gravy.”

You fold your arms grumpily and stand there in his kitchen, fuming.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “What?” he says.

“You don’t like croissants?” you ask crossly, as if he’s gravely insulted you by opting for scrambled eggs.

Jake sighs. He reaches for the box of pastries on his counter and throws open the lid. He grabs a croissant irritably and brings it to his mouth, taking a large bite. “Happy?” he asks, chewing.

You watch him impassively. “You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“You’re ridiculous!” he yells. “You’re pissed because I won’t eat your damn food?”

Your eyes suddenly well up with tears. “I’m pissed because – because” – you suck in your cheeks defiantly, as if you’re not prepared to elaborate.

Jake swallows uncomfortably; he doesn’t like the idea of being responsible for making you cry.

You shake your head and sniffle. “I’m not mad!” you shout. “I came here to make up with you!”

Jake tosses the croissant onto the counter and it lands in the spilt yolk from earlier. He ignores this and steps toward you. “Why?” he yells back.

“Why what?” you scream as he approaches.

“Why make up with me?” he presses.

You stare at him angrily. “What do you mean? We were friends!”

Jake shrugs. “We weren’t close.”

You scoff. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Jake says levelly, then he adds, raising the volume of his voice as if the conversation could stand to get any louder. “I never wanted to be your friend!” You go quiet for a moment, your tears subsiding as you take in his words. But he doesn’t give you a chance to mull them over. “You’re a fucking nightmare!” he continues emphatically, taking another step.

You lift your face as he draws nearer, glaring at him unblinkingly. You don’t back away; you stay put, even as he towers over you.

Jake grimaces in a way that conveys disgruntlement and despair in equal measure. He lets out an uneven sigh, his eyes skimming over your face. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, much quieter now, as he meets your gaze.

You stay perfectly still, as if his immense frame looming over your body is completely insignificant compared to your ruthless glower. In all fairness, you’re probably right. “I hate you,” you whisper.

Jake nods with a slight smirk. “Likewise.”

The thrill of riling you scorches his veins, but he’ll be damned if anger is the only thing he can make you feel. He wants you so desperately, he can hardly think straight.

You’re scowling at him but all he can see is the fire in your eyes, fierce and unrelenting, daring him to make another move. Jake is game – enthusiastically, to boot. He’s mad, sure. But, truth be told, you could be engaged to fifty men – none of them him – and he’d still want to fuck you. Hell, this only makes things easier; no fucking strings, just fucking sex.

He slides an arm behind your waist and pulls you forward abruptly. You gasp as if you weren’t expecting it. But with the way you’ve been staring him down, there is no way you didn’t see this coming.

He waits a moment, anyway, allowing you the opportunity to give him a smack for being overly presumptuous. But the animosity on your face has already been replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity. You’re very still, staring up at him sympathetically, because you know – you know – what he wants. Because you want it too.

Jake lifts his free hand up to the side of your neck, sliding it up through your hair to cup the back of your head and gently pull you forward. This is exactly the kind of situation he was meaning to avoid. But the warning bells are fleeting, and his lips are on top of yours before he can stop himself.

You push into him slightly – almost imperceptibly, except he perceives it – and instantly this kiss becomes the single most thrilling experience of his life. He moves in, absorbing your body in a rushed, impatient embrace, and you mold against him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel the soft fabric of your shirt rubbing against his skin but all that he truly registers is how your tits are compressing into his chest. He kisses you harder, stifling an entire anthology of dirty words that suddenly materializes on the tip of his tongue. There aren’t enough terms in the English language to fully express the way he craves to handle every inch of you, anyway.

You withdraw, at this point, to breathlessly exclaim, “You think you’re not a pain in the ass?”

Jake pulls you back with a mild roll of the eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as you scoff in outrage.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you retort between the pecks he layers over your lips.

Jake grins against your mouth. “Shut up,” he repeats, dragging you backward as he steers you toward the staircase.

You let out a muffled – but distinctly indignant – cry. “Make me!” you exclaim as he stoops to wrap his hands around your thighs and lift you off the ground.

“I’m fucking trying,” he replies, closing his mouth around yours once he's picked you up.

Strategically speaking, making out while carrying someone up a flight of stairs is efficient. In practice, however, it’s a complicated task. Several times, Jake veers into one of the railings or nearly trips over his own feet. By the time he’s reached the second floor, his legs are tangled in the blanket he had wrapped around his torso, and the blanket itself is on the verge of unravelling. But Jake ignores the obstacles and resolutely marches you right into his bedroom.

He throws you unceremoniously onto the bed and retightens the blanket around his hips as though he means to keep it on. He looks down, pausing for a second to watch you catch your breath. Not because he thinks you might unexpectedly have a change of heart, but because he wants to savor the moment. He takes your legs and unhurriedly pulls you closer to where he stands. “You’re awful quiet,” he notes with a smirk, his fingers winding up the sides of your thighs.

You gulp with a relatively stoic expression for someone who’s about to be railed. “You told me to shut up,” you deadpan.

Jake raises his eyebrows. “You listened?”

You bite into your lips, nodding slowly, and Jake’s heart damn near somersaults right out of his body. For once, you want to give up the reins.

He reaches up underneath the fringed hem of your shorts, grabbing your ass and tugging you forward. “What, no instructions?” he says, his hands lingering on your butt cheeks because he’s waited oh so long to squeeze that flesh. The way your eyes half-close tells him you don’t necessarily mind.

“You need instructions?” you say in a breathy but still detectably mocking tone.

Jake chuckles. “Whether or not I need them isn’t likely to stop you.”

“I can do a post hoc analysis,” you say as one of his hands finally moves upward, bunching your shirt at your ribs to expose your stomach.

Jake grins at your words. “Hot.” So much for dirty talk. Apparently, the plan is to have sarcastic sex.

Your lips spread into a wry smile, and you reach up to the blanket tied around his waist to pull him on top of you. “Stop talking, Seresin,” you whisper.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he says, bracing himself on his forearm at the side of your head. He stares into your eyes, wondering if he could really go through with it. How much does he really need to understand the complexities of your situation with Mustang? Isn’t it enough that you’re clearly hot for Jake? Isn’t it enough to just fuck and forget that you’re technically taken?

You’re watching him back, probably wondering the exact same thing. Isn’t it enough?

The truth is, every single moment spent in your presence is enough for Jake. And he was a fool to think that he could ever stay away.

He glides his hand up your abdomen, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingertips every time he lets them linger for a moment atop your skin. Does Mustang know that you like it slow? That you want to feel the rush of anticipation? Jake is willing to bet that Mustang only goes one speed.

Jake traces the curve of your ribs, his exploration leading him eventually to the swell of your breasts. Your bare breasts. How he hadn’t noticed that you’d been braless downstairs bemuses him. He must’ve been too preoccupied with his own wardrobe to thoroughly examine yours.

His hand seizes for a moment as he gets used to the idea of touching you. Of feeling your chest flare into the palm of his hand every time you take a breath. Then, he wraps his fingers around your ribcage, his thumb grazing the side of your tit as he moves you upward on the bed.

“You comfortable?” he asks after repositioning you.

You nod, your eyes still locked on his like you’re trying to see right through to his soul. When his thumb sweeps underneath your breast, you let out a whimper that disturbs the air between your mouth and his. And there’s a dizzying note of desperation in your voice that paralyzes Jake.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, wondering how long before he’s completely lost himself in you. Wondering if that ship’s sailed. Wondering if Mustang has ever felt like he’s drowning and soaring all at once. If he’s ever been this gone. If you’ve ever moaned like that for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, realizing that he’s lost the upper hand. That he’s going to need a moment to recuperate. That there’s a debilitating weakness in his limbs that’s an extension of his weakness for you, and he can hardly hold himself up any longer.

He breathes heavily into your neck, his lips catching on your collarbone as his fingers skim across your nipple. You let out a breathy whine that vibrates his very core. You like being teased. Figures.

Jake drives his pelvis into your side, seeking a split second of relief. The blanket around his torso is a mess of twisted, sticky fabric that’s now pressing into your bare skin, hopefully arousing you. You move your leg up and down, stroking him through the fleece with your thigh, and Jake groans, spreading his fingers over your tit and finally giving it a squeeze.

You release a soft moan and Jake brings his lips to your other nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin cotton of your shirt. It’s not that he can’t be bothered to remove your clothes, rather, he very well might not survive the spectacle. So, he sucks on your nipple right through the fabric while continuing to massage your other breast, pressing himself closer and closer.

This is all that he could ask for, really. You, in his bed, at long last talked out. And yet, he can’t help himself; conversing with you has become second nature and, without even thinking, he mutters, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

You let out a laugh that morphs into a soft cry as Jake pinches your nipple.

“Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continues, smirking against your neck.

Your chuckle pleases him. “Maybe if I weren’t such a pain in the ass.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, cringing slightly as he nuzzles his head under your chin. “Maybe,” he agrees, dragging your t-shirt upward. He lifts his head and meets your gaze as you raise your arms, letting him remove it. “Maybe if you didn’t hate me,” he adds, somewhat hoarsely because you’re half naked now and he’s understandably distracted.

You bring your arms back down and slide your hands unhurriedly up his chest, linking your fingers behind his neck. “And you me,” you remind him gently.

Jake lets himself take you in for a moment, his eyes slipping southward before he looks back at you with a smirk. “At least the feeling’s mutual,” he says, slowly lowering himself until his lips meet yours.

You open your mouth, bathing Jake in your hot breath as you kiss him, and he reciprocates the gesture eagerly. Urgently. His hand is suddenly gripping your leg, sliding up the inside of your thigh. You’re moaning before he’s even reached the summit, tearing viciously at his lips with your teeth. Your fingers are twisting into his hair as you pull yourself into him, breathless and impatient.

Jake unbuttons your shorts with a couple of fingers and is hastily pushing them over your hips as your breathy gasps warm his ear. “What is it, princess?” he whispers, suddenly slowing his pace. He kicks your shorts off your ankles and places his hand on your inner thigh where he gently strokes your tender skin. He grins wickedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Jake!” you whimper desperately, shimmying yourself down to meet his hand.

Jake obliges, sliding his fingers up between your legs. He’s not about to make you beg for it when he can barely keep it together himself. Another time, maybe. Assuming there will be one. He’d like to hear you ask for it. Tell him exactly what you want, sparing no detail. He wants you to talk dirty to him. Talk, talk, talk.

But instead of talking, you reach out and grab him by the waist. You blink up at him silently and maneuver his hips until he’s right over top of you. Then, without taking your eyes off his face, you unravel the blanket that’s somehow still wrapped around him and shove it aside.

Jake has never in his life made love. He’s fucked, sure. He’s had plenty relations. And this time is no different. Except, he’s feeling something pure amidst the lewd temptation driving his corpus. It’s a buoyancy that’s both nauseating and distressingly pleasant and it radiates outward from his chest, nearly overriding his ever-present desire to make – fuck you silly.

And then, as Jake slides slowly inside you, you cling frantically to his neck and utter a shaky, monosyllabic nonword that is the epitome of less talk.

And Jake is suddenly making love.

…

“Y/N came earlier today,” Bradley says to Jake that evening, casually popping open a can of beer.

Jake lifts his eyes and looks over at his friend with a straight face. “She did,” he confirms.

“Oh.” Bradley nods. “She caught you, then.”

Jake stares at him mutely before turning away and clicking the kettle on the counter. “You could say that.”

Bradley nods, taking a gulp of beer. “She told you, then?”

Jake freezes with his hand on his mug. The only thing he seems to recall you saying is not something you would have also said to your best friend. “Told me what?” he says, slowly turning to face Bradley.

The latter furrows his brows. “Did you guys talk?”

Jake watches Bradley curiously. “Tons,” he responds. “You know how she never shuts up.”

Bradley narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You did see her, right?”

“I did,” Jake says confidently because he, indeed, saw you. All of you.

“Weird,” Bradley says. “She said she was hanging back so she could tell you too.”

“Tell me what, Bradshaw?” Jake asks impatiently, forgetting about the boiling kettle as he walks toward the table with an empty mug in his hand.

Bradley sets down his beer and leans back in his chair uneasily. “That she’s leaving.”

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[sweetiecutie]

AHHHH I NEED MORE KEEGAN IN MY LIFE PLEASE could you write some Keegan h/c?

Pairing: Keegan P Russ x fem! Reader

Warnings: just general stuff, language, bad driving, NSFW under the cut, mdni, spit kink

A/n: it’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing😌 Keegan is such a bad bitch, he deserves more attention

• Starting off - I’m pretty sure that Keegan would want a civil partner; someone not related to military and actually as far as possible from all the war stuff. First of all, it’s to avoid having constant fear of losing you on the battlefield - it’s a highly dangerous job, sometimes coming out alive is not only a matter of skills, but also pure luck. Secondly, the amount of trauma and emotional damage Keegan carries is more than enough for two people - he needs someone grounded and, well, more stable, someone who will be able to give him a piece of blissful domestic life, faraway from all the constant war Keegan lives in.

• Always referring to you as his girl in conversations with other people or when introducing you to someone new. “That’s Y/n - my girl” “That’s for my girl, she likes pink” “My girl doesn’t like the smell of smoke so I’m trying to quit”. It’s also a way of showing everyone that you’re his - letting others know from the very beginning that you’re taken and no one better try anything with his precious girl, otherwise a few bones will be broken.

• Gives off annoying older brother vibes. He’ll always playfully nag you, and it’ll only become worse once you start dating. Placing stuff on the highest shelves just to watch you struggle to get it yourself, drawing some silly doodles on your notes, messing with your makeup that you spent nearly an hour organising neatly, punching your favourite plushie just to get a rise out of you. And of course, constant bickering! “Keegan, can you pass me that book?” - “Fuck no” *passes the book*. “Keegan, I want some sushi” - “Well shit, what am I supposed to do about that?” *already placing an order online on his phone*

• Another amazing driver here. Keegan has horrible road rage, hitting the car horn aggressively, yelling most intricate insults out the window at whoever that happened to piss him off. I also have a feeling the he drives really fast and reckless, teasing you whenever you ask him to go slower - so you better always buckle up. And yes, he definitely got in a few minor accidents - scratching or leaving indents on other car’s bumper.

NSFW here~*•.

• And while we’re speaking of driving - just imagine giving him a sloppy noisy head while being stuck in a long traffic. Keegan is seething with hot anger, rolling his eyes on other drivers, lack of nicotine adding to his distress. And here’s a sweet lovely you trying your best to make Keegan feel at least a tad bit better, soothing his booming annoyance with your silky tongue swirling around throbbing shaft, cheeks hollowing to provide stronger suction, allowing Keegan to set the pace. And it seemed to work wonders on him - his nape against the headrest of driver’s seat, pretty blue eyes half lidded, staring at the car ceiling, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, feeling your throat wrapped around his cock.

• Oh, how nasty he is. Biggest spit kink ever - ordering to open your mouth nice and wide just to spit a thick globe of saliva in it, then closing your jaw and making sure that you swallow it. Will gladly let you spit in his mouth as well; loooves messy wet kisses - either during make out session or after you gave him head, slurping up your spit mixed with his cum from your lips and chin. Very often uses his spit as lube, or telling you to spit in his palm before spreading it all over his needy leaking cock, plunging it deep inside your warmth.

• A horndog. You never have to ask him if he’s in a right mood because yes, he is. He is always in the mood to fuck. Now, he always lets you know that it’s totally fine if you say no - Keegan will never pressure or guilt trap you into any kind of intimacy, no means no. You can always cuddle up together or do something fun like cooking, dancing or simply dorking around. But if your sexdrive happens to match his - oh boy, I’m sorry for your neighbours. Let’s just say - there’s hardly any surface in your flat that you didn’t fuck on.

• It’s nothing new, but this mug is cocky. Like, I don’t think he has unimaginably big dick - not small for sure, but not huge as well; but the way he works with it - a chef’s kiss. Keegan just knows how to angle his hips to massage that one spot within you, how you like your clit to be played with, how he quickly discovers and memorises all the sweetest spots of your body. “Aw, cumming already? I barely touched you, does it feel this good?” - he’d purr, curling three of his long fingers inside of your needy cunny, thumb flicking swollen clit while hot mouth sucks on perked up nipples.

• Daddy kink? Daddy kink😏

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important, give writers some love<3

[moamidzyism]

honeymoon avenue (k.th)

☆。.:*·ﾟwc 2812 anst ౨ৎ // repost ୨୧ established relationship, toxic relationship, little aged up but ages not specified, mentions of infidelity, taehyun is just really an asshole in this [masterlist • reblogs + feedback appreciated]

“thank you so much for having us.” you greet taehyun’s mother at the door about to leave their house. you’re holding a tupperware full of leftovers that she insisted you take with you. “taehyun doesn’t look like he eats much at home, so why don’t you guys take this with you?” you tried to laugh off her comment, but she pushed the bowl into your hand.

“are you sure you guys can’t spend the night?” she turned to her son, “they said the rain was going to get worse.”

“we didn’t bring anything to stay the night with.” you interjected.

one of taehyun’s best traits, in your opinion, was how much he cared about his family. simultaneously, his worst trait was his inability to say no to his mother.

“yeah, i don’t have to tell you how she gets when she doesn’t do her nighttime routine,” he joked. they both laughed while you stood in silence, looking back at the car, wishing more than anything that you could disappear from this place and erase this entire night from your memory.

“will you guys come to the house tomorrow before you leave?”

“prob—” taehyun began, but you cut him off.

“we don’t think so,” you feigned an apologetic tone. “we have to get out really early.”

“yeah, but we’ll try.” he finished.

you gave his mother a tight lipped smile and allowed her to say goodbye to her son for what felt like the fifteenth time that evening.

you walked to the car together silently.

you sat in the car together silently.

you watched as his mother entered the house and closed the front door.

he started the car, set up the gps, and turned on the radio, without saying so much as a word to you. you scoffed and he quickly turned the volume down.

“what?” he asked with genuine confusion, but there was an undercurrent of frustration beneath the surface.

“seriously?” you countered.

“what?” a hint of defensiveness crept into his voice.

“i can’t believe you said that.”

“what did i say?”

“you completely threw me under the bus with your mom. you know how she gets. please tell me how i get.” your words were sharp, biting with accusation, and taehyun rolled his eyes at your comment, annoyance flickering across his face.

“i’m really tired. i don’t want to do this right now.”

you watched him as he pulled out of the driveway and made his way out of the neighborhood, feeling the tension simmering between the two of you.

it was another rainy day and you were driving into your hometown to surprise your parents. it was hour six of your drive when your phone died and you noticed you were almost out of gas. you stopped at a nearby diner and asked around for a charger. taehyun was sitting by the window, focused on his computer, with papers sprawled on the table in front of him, a half drunk cup of coffee beside him. for the first time in thirty minutes, he looked up when he heard your voice and laid his eyes on quite literally the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. or so he tells everyone whenever he recounts this story.

“hey,” he called out to you. “i have a charger you can use.”

you sat opposite him in the booth, and he took this as an invitation to introduce himself to you. “hey, i’m taehyun by the way.”

“and i’m forever grateful to you taehyun.”

“your parents named you “forever grateful”?” he laughed at his joke and you joined him.

“yeah, it was my great grandmother’s name.” you joked as well. “actually, my name is y/n.”

against your protest, he ordered food for you and you sat with him for hours, completely forgetting that you were supposed to be surprising your parents that evening. when the rain cleared up, you took your phone from him, but not before asking for his phone number.

and now you’re both sitting in a rental car, stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. the air is thick with anticipation of the impending thunderstorm. you noticed the tension etched in your boyfriend’s features. frustration creased his eyebrows, his jaw clenched with each passing moment of immobility. his fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel as his impatience grew with each second you spent at the traffic light.

“what’s wrong?” your gaze turned towards him, searching his face for answers.

“nothing,” he responded tersely as he made an abrupt u-turn.

“tae, what are you doing?” a furrow formed between your brows as you watched his erratic behavior.

“nothing, baby,” he sighed. his eyes remained fixed on the road.

“why are you turning around?”

“too much traffic. this way is faster.” a hint of annoyance crept into his words, but that didn’t stop you from persisting.

“the gps just said you should turn around again.”

“i know where we’re going, baby, this way is faster.” though his voice was firm, there was a note of uncertainty in his eyes that betrayed his facade of confidence.

“tae, are you sure?”

“i don’t need you fucking second guessing me, y/n?” he snapped. you flinched at the tone of his voice, the sting of his anger hitting you like a physical blow. so you quickly muttered apologies to try and ease the weight of his irritation that was pressing down on you like a burden.

“fuck, baby.” he softened. “i’m sorry, i’m just really tired and i want to go to bed,” his hand reached out for yours in a gesture of reconciliation, but you gently pushed him away. 

“it’s fine, let’s just get home.”

“you further shrunk in your seat. things weren’t always this tense between you and taehyun, obviously. at first and for the longest time, he was so perfect – your relationship was so perfect. he was so thoughtful and sweet. there was never a morning where you woke up without seeing a text message from him. even when he was busy, he always made time for you – he always made you a priority.

but a year and a half into your relationship, you noticed him pulling away from you. it started out as him arriving late to dinners to him not even bothering to show up sometimes. you noticed him sneaking away to take work calls right before bed. you could go days without seeing or speaking to each other. some days he was out of the house before you woke up and you could hear him sliding into the shower in the early hours of the morning.

he wasn’t as involved as he was before and nothing hurt more than feeling like you were in a relationship with yourself.

and you did try to bring it up to him, on multiple occasions. but he would always shut it down with every excuse under the sun.

“i already said i was sorry, baby.” he groaned at you when you asked where he was. you got home from the restaurant he was supposed to meet you an hour ago to find taehyun on the couch in front of the tv. “i just wish you told me before i wasted an hour waiting for you.” you tried to push the tears back, but it was no use. “you know i’m up for that promotion. i was at work and it just slipped my mind.” he continued. he turned off the tv and walked out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch, tears staining your new dress.

sometimes you felt like maybe you were the problem. maybe you were the one who wasn’t working hard enough to keep him interested. you weren’t doing enough to make him stay.

and that brings you to tonight. you planned this trip to his hometown to visit his parents because he hadn’t seen them in months. honestly, you never really got on great with his mother, but you always told yourself that because she’s important to him, you wanted – you needed – to get on her good side for him.

you did everything for him.

everything was going to be perfect at this dinner. you were going to wow his parents – his mother in particular. you and him were going to get back on the right lane. everything was going to be perfect.

to your surprise, when you walked into the dining room, you saw an extra place setting. “i thought it was a family dinner, are we expecting someone else?” you asked your boyfriend, who just shrugged in response. he gave his mom the bottle of wine that you picked out, and you tried to ignore the idea that something bad was going to happen.

everything was going well. you were in the kitchen with his mom talking about the renovations that they had done on the house last month, while taehyun and his dad were in the living room. the doorbell rang and you stupidly and naively volunteered to get it.

and that was when you saw her, holding the tupperware you were currently nursing in your lap, with a big smile on her face. you turned around to see your boyfriend and his mother rush to the door. his mom squealed, “oh honey, i’m so glad you could make it.”

taehyun, on the other hand, looked like he just saw a ghost.

after ten minutes of tense silence, taehyun finally broke it. “you know, you could have been a lot nicer.”

“i could have been a lot nicer?” your tone was incredulous, eyebrows raised in disbelief at his audacity.

“yeah, you could have been a lot nicer to my mom. she’s really trying, you know.”

you wanted to laugh at him for insinuating that if his mother had any interest in being nice to you, tonight was the night she decided to make an effort. “she hates me,” you sighed, the weariness evident in your voice.

“she does not hate you.”

“she invited your ex-girlfriend to dinner.”

“she’s a family friend.”

“she tried to undermine me,” you began, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“you’re being ridiculous,” he said under his breath.

“and you do nothing to defend me every time she makes a snide comment about me.” the lump in your throat growing with each word.

he chuckled, the sound lace with bitterness. “okay, what did she say?”

“you want me to recount all the times your mother has verbally abused me since we started dating?”

“verbally abused,” he repeated, mockingly. “that’s definitely a phrase.”

“don’t do this to me,” you pleaded, feeling the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “taehyun, i sat for three hours while your mother broke down everything she hates about me and compared me to your ex-girlfriend that she invited to the dinner that i planned for you. so please don’t try to negate the way i feel.”

his silence only fueled your anger, the frustration boiling over inside you. “god, i don’t even know why i’m doing this.”

“doing what?”

“trying to make sure that this thing works.”

“this thing?”

“our relationship–” you exhaled, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “being in this relationship makes me so unhappy. and i– i keep trying to make this work. i keep trying to make you happy and you don’t give me anything in return.”

his scoff cut through the air like a knife, but he remained silent, refusing to engage with you. 

“can you please say something?” you begged him.

“i don’t give you anything in return?”

“no tae, you don’t.”

“i didn’t realize this relationship was a fucking business transaction.”

god, why do you always do this?” you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“what am i doing?” he scoffed again.

“every time i try to talk to you, you always try to make me feel like shit.”

“i’m sorry, i’m just not seeing the problems that –” his excuses grated on your nerves, pushing you to your breaking point.

“are you cheating on me?” you asked quietly, the words hanging heavy in the air between you.

“what?” his voice carried a note of surprise, but his eyes remained fixed on the road ahead.

“are you cheating on me?” you repeated, turmoil brewing inside you. you studied his face intently, searching for any hint of deceit.

“you’re fucking ridiculous, i’m not having this conversation right now.” his response was curt, his tone was laced with irritation as he refused to meet your gaze.

“why? because you’re fucking your ex? why can’t you answer my question?” your voice rose, desperation creeping into your voice as you implored him to give you a straight answer.

“no, i’m not fucking my ex.”

“but you are cheating on me?” you tried to calm yourself down, your voice returning to its regular volume.

“no, i’m not cheating on you.” he briefly turns to look at you. “i’m not fucking cheating on you.” he made another abrupt turn, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“where the fuck are we going?”

“i told you, i’m trying to fucking go home.” he hit the gas, the car lurching forward. you could tell that you pissed him off.

“then why aren’t you following the gps?”

“because i know the fastest way to get home, just fucking trust me.”

“stop the car.” you demanded.

“what?”

“you heard me. stop the car. right now.” you told him again, you heart pounding in your chest as you steeled yourself for what comes next. he slowed down and brought the car to a halt, pulling over at the side of the road. without a word, you got out of the car.

“can you get back into the car?”

“no, i’m going to find my way home.”

“y/n, please stop being ridiculous and just get in the fucking car.”

“can you please stop calling me ridiculous?”

“well, if you stopped acting ridiculous, i wouldn’t have to call you that.” he countered. “can you please just get in the car? let’s go home.”

you turned to face the side of you. the rain was beating down on you, helping you mask the tears streaming down your face. “i can’t keep doing this. i don’t want to do this anymore,” you repeated to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper. you don’t really know if you’re talking to him or to yourself but the words were heavy with finality.

he unbuckled his seatbelt and met you on the side of the road. he wrapped his arms around you. “you don’t want to do what? go home?”

“i don’t want to be in this relationship anymore.” you turn around to face him

“come one, don’t say that. please just get in the car. we can talk about this when we get home.” he pleaded with you. the threat of actually losing you sobered him up quickly.

“get home? tae, we don’t even know where the fuck we’re going.” you screamed in his face, but he didn’t even flinch. he just wrapped his arms around you and you fell into his shoulder at his embrace.

“you’re gonna get sick, baby. please let’s just talk about this in the car.” you nodded and complied with him, getting back into the car.

you both sat in silence in the parked car at the side of the road.

“i’m sorry,” he finally broke the silence.

“you can’t keep saying that after you hurt me.”

“i know, i know, but i don’t want to lose you,” he confessed.

“i’m sor–” he started but shut up when he saw you wiping the tears from your face.

“did you know?” you looked up at him. “did you know that she was going to be at the dinner?” he looked back at you blinking. you took his silence as an answer.

“my mom told me a few days before we got here, but i didn’t think she would actually invite her or that she would actually show up.” it was your turn now to not give him an answer. “i never cheated on you. you have to believe me.”

“i don’t know, tae.” you sniffed. “i don’t know what to believe. i just know that i’ve never felt this sad ever in my life and i don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“i don’t want to lose you.” you could see the tears build up in his eyes, even though he looked away from you quickly.

“we’re both miserable in this relationship. this isn’t working for either of us anymore. we should just get out while we don’t completely hate each other. take a break from each other.”

“okay,” he softly conceded.

and with that he put the car back in drive, and followed the route back to the hotel. the only sound in the car is the pitter patter of the rain on the window.

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[rottenrosethorns]

I see your looking for request, so I was more than happy to show up in your inbox

I came up with this randomly - anyway. Leon plans a weekend getaway/vacation for him and the reader. Somewhere where they can go swimming (beach,lake etc etc). Leon needs to relieve some tension. Leon and the reader share romantic night swim together totally on a whim, and just enjoy each other’s company, and tiny bit of smut just to top it all off.

much love x

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x afab!reader 

Genre: Fluff, Smut 

Synopsis: Disaster after disaster, Leon’s weekend plans seem to come to an unfortunate end; however, you convince him to try one last resort at a secluded campsite off the side of the road. 

Word Count: 4.4K 

Warning: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT; swimming, bugs, unprotected sex, vanilla romantic sex 

A/N: all of my a/n are like “sorry for taking so long” and “it’s longer than expected” lmao. Thank you anon for requesting, i hope you like it! I really hope i got the romance translated through the story (if its subpar, im sorry, im tragically single LMAO) 

__________

- masterlist - 

__________

“Hey, hey, look at me,” You reached across the center console to cup Leon’s cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, “Everything’s going to be okay, alright?”

Your voice hushes into a comforting whisper as you rubbed Leon’s cheek with a sad pout. Thankfully, your kiss seemed to soften his disarray of emotions as his frustrated wrinkles eased away as he let out a quick huff. Leon’s eyes were set looking through the windshield, avoiding your eyes at all costs as he wanted to avoid you picking up on his embarrassment. But, even without looking at him, you always knew what emotion he was feeling. You could clearly tell that Leon was disappointed in himself despite your attempts at reassurance. Leon sighed loudly, resting his elbow on the driver’s door as he looked down with his forehead resting in his left hand, “Everything was supposed to be perfect.” 

Optimistically, you tried to offer him a smile, but even you knew that you couldn’t argue with him about that one. Nothing was ever perfect, but this weekend trip was far from smooth sailing. Leon – being the vacation desperate man that he is – took the first chance to get out of town and booked a picturesque shoreside cabin for the extended weekend. It’s been way too long since he’s had a break, and all he wanted to do was spend time with you while reconnecting with nature. Well, the latter part was more so a suggestion from Leon’s therapist to which you essentially forced him to start seeing. Although he deemed it unnecessary even with his success of departing from the hardships of his trauma, Leon only agreed to comply with the treatments if you were doing them with him which included you enjoying the calmness that nature offered as well. A win is a win, you suppose. 

However, not everyone could be winners without losing once or twice, and Leon seemed to be on a streak today. With the cabin site a hefty four hours away from home, you were bound to run into some mishaps. But those mishaps quickly turned into mayhem as you faced the tribulations of Leon losing and finding his wallet, changing a flat tire on the highway, getting pulled over and let go with a warning, nearly missing a deer kissing the front bumper, and much, much more. Leon felt like he was fighting for his life more so on this road trip than being on an actual work mission. The only difference being that his enemy was the invisible universe instead of the normal mutated creatures and undead humans. 

Upon struggling to reach the cabinsite, Leon was relieved to pull into the parking lot of the front office and finally settle down after the hectic events of the day. But as if his trip couldn’t get any worse, the receptionist at the cabinsite pitifully informed you both that Leon’s booking confirmation never went through and that there were unfortunately no vacancies for the rest of the weekend. So now, you were both back in Leon’s car as he tried his best not to blow a fuse from the abundance of misfortunes. 

Just as you were about to respond back to him, your eyes shifted from Leon towards your phone screen that just lit up from being drained of its battery. Leon mistook your untimely silence as if you were condemning him at fault for being the reason why this trip was so disastrous. As he went to shift away from you, you quickly reached out and embraced his hands in yours, “We’re still going to have fun, okay? We’ve got a couple hours until sundown and I think I have an idea.” 

“You sure? If you don’t want to, we can go back home,” Leon offered with a downward turn on his lips. As much as he hated the idea of going back home and sitting idly within those same four walls of the house, Leon didn’t want you to feel as if you were being forced along with him to share the unexpected hardships of the road-trip. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to reconnect with nature?” You laughed to yourself, already finding the imagery of Leon frolicking in the grass like some Disney princess amusing, “Let’s go here, I saw it on the way.”

Leon leaned over to look at the location you’d pull up on your phone, showing a small and secluded campsite hidden on the side of the road. Leon inspected the images with a skeptical look, “Are you sure? Those pictures seem kinda old, what if it’s not what it looks like anymore?”

You shrugged, “Then, we’ll find out and see.” 

“We don’t even have camping supplies.”

“Then, we get them.”

You and Leon stared at each other in silence as the proposition sunk in. After a moment, Leon sighed and started the car’s engine to drive off wherever you directed him to go. A part of him hoped that you wanted to tell him to turn around and go home, but the other part of him still wanted the weekend events to work out. After a bit more convincing, you managed to dissipate all his doubts and initiated yourself to take the responsibility for the rest of the trip. Although he was disappointed that his plans fell through, Leon couldn’t bring himself to put in more effort in the trip. During the ride, you constantly reassured him that nothing bad would happen although you both knew you really couldn’t promise that. It didn’t stop you from believing nonetheless. 

You directed Leon for a while until the car stopped at the nearest department store where you gathered all the necessary camping supplies and whatever food you wanted to last you the weekend. Thankfully, Leon’s mood started to brighten up as he chose your favorite snacks and even offered to buy you a cute stuffed teddy bear to keep you company. Was he slightly jealous that you were beaming at the plush? Maybe. But, he’d buy you anything to keep that smile on your face. 

Once satisfied with the purchase, you both departed the parking lot and drove until you found yourselves going down a tiny dirt path. The further you went down the road you started to second guess whether or not this was a good idea. It was a good half of a mile drive from the main road, and you were skeptical if there was even going to be a nice scene at the end of the road to settle in. The dirt road quickly started to disappear as the path became more and more overgrown as if no one had driven over it for quite some time. You cringed at the sound of the tree branches scratching the sides of Leon’s car as the edge of the forest got narrower. You really didn’t want the campsite to be bad and dampen Leon’s mood even more. You knew how much he needed a break, and you wanted to help make that happen. 

As you progressed deeper into the forest, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach worsened. Leon seemed to notice your skepticism, “You sure this is the right place?”

You let out a nervous giggle, tightening your hold around your teddy bear, “Yes?”

Leon shook his head, unsure whether or not to believe you, yet he continued to drive forward blindly. You felt yourself holding your breath in anticipation as the thick trees looming over the road started to clear up. You lurched forward in your seat, rubbing your eyes from thinking that you saw something in the distance. As Leon approached, a laser flash of the sun’s reflection flashed your squinting eyes before you started to piece shining ripples on a water’s surface, “Is that a lake?”

Upon completely entering the clearing, your eyes were welcomed with a wide yet humble campground peacefully secluded from the main road. The campsite was equipped with a circle of rocks acting as a firepit with a small path leading down towards the sandbank and access to the lake from a wooden dock at the shore. Utterly breath taken from the sight before you, you awed the sheer capacity of the view. The lake was essentially crystal clear surrounded with rocks, cliff ledges, assortment of lush green trees, and a mountain. It was exactly what you’d see in a painting.  

Leon pulled off to the side, parked the car, and hopped out eagerly to deeply inhale the fresh scent of pine. You quickly followed after Leon and leaping into his arms for an open hug while laughing, “Is this okay?”

Leon snuggled into you, feeling happy for the first time today, “No, this is perfect, maybe even better than the cabin.” 

Leon tightened his arms for a moment as a silent thank you for your suggestion before putting you down and turning to soak himself in the view as well. While he was looking away, you couldn’t help but put yourself at ease from watching the smile on Leon’s face grow as the relief washed over him. 

You kissed his cheek and glanced at the campsite again, “Let’s set up for dinner before the sun goes down.” 

You and Leon tagged team setting up the tent and making dinner before sitting yourselves at the edge of the dock to eat and relax. 

“Can you believe that there’s places like this that actually exist?” You breathed a sigh of awe as you watched the reflection of the setting sun shimmer against the breeze induced ripples on the lake's surface. 

Unfortunately, your moment was partially ruined by some flying insects invading your vision and coming a bit too close for comfort as you swatted them away chaotically. Just as your bravery was set to dissipate, Leon aided in swatting the small swarm away. Shivering from the imaginative feeling of bugs crawling on your skin, you groaned in discomfort while rolling your eyes, “My knight and shining armor.”

“Is this your token of gratitude?” Leon feigned hurt by putting a hand over his heart dramatically, “Even after I aided your distress?”

You pushed him away with a laugh, yet your arms returned to rub them over your skin subconsciously. Even when you knew you were safe, you still felt vulnerable, especially out in the open, “I hate bugs.”

Leon hummed in acknowledgement as he intensely peered out into the scenic lake before perking up suddenly, “I have an idea!”

You eyed him suspiciously, moving your torso away and holding your hands up cautiously, “Uh-oh.”

“It’s not even dangerous,” Leon rolled his eyes, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

You blinked, “Yeah, I don’t know about that one.”

“When have I ever put you in danger?”

“Let’s see,” You pointed each finger up, counting off the events as you recalled them, “Vegas, New York, LA – oh, don’t forget China too!”

“Alright! Alright!” Leon huffed with an exaggerated pout, “You have a point.”

“I always have a point,” You smiled in triumph, “Now-”

Leon cut you off by suddenly standing up and offering you a hand. You peered at his hand for a moment before shifting your eyes to his as you both silently communicated. Eventually, you decided to take his hand and let him lead you to wherever he planned to; however, instead of helping you stand up like you anticipated him to, Leon had pulled you forward and used the momentum of your imbalance to throw your body against his as he engulfed you in a hug and threw your bodies into the lake. 

Closing your eyes and holding your breath, you were completely submerged in the cool water. As quickly as it happened, you felt Leon’s hands grab your waist and help you break the surface and take a deep gasp for air. 

“Seriously, Leon?" You wiped the water droplets off your face and pushed your hair back,  "What are you like ten?" 

Leon’s hands moved from your waist to the back of your thighs and guided them to wrap around his waist as he floated around in the water. Leon smirked as you securely wrapped your arms around his neck, afraid to drift too far from him although you were safely near the shore’s edge, “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You were about to question what he meant by that before you realized that the cool sensation of the water wore off the icky feeling of the bugs crawling on your skin. Upon seeing your face, Leon laughed in satisfaction, knowing that he was right. 

“Shut up,” You mumbled. 

Leon leaned into you closer, teasingly hovering his lips near yours, “What was that?”

“I said-” You took your chance to release his neck, cup a pocket of water in your hands, and splash Leon in the face. 

Leon released you, giving you a chance to swim away before becoming a victim to his revenge. You can’t remember how long you were in the lake for, but you definitely are going to remember the memories of laughing and smiling with Leon for the rest of your life. Before you knew it, the sun was barely over the horizon as the black and blue sky began to overtake the pink and orange hues. While distracted from looking at the sky, Leon swam towards you. 

“Come on, you’re getting cold,” Leon helped you gain your footing as you both trudged towards the firepit soaking wet. 

You squeezed out the hem of your shirt in efforts to reduce the amount of water on you; however, you remained drenched no matter how much you twisted and wrung the fabric. Turning towards Leon, you meant to ask him which bag he packed the towels to retrieve them but was promptly stopped upon seeing him sling off his shirt and wringing it out. You gulped as you watched the veins trailing down his arms to his hands enhanced as he tightly gripped the fabric of his shirt. Now with the moon high in the sky, Leon’s bare skin seemed to glitter as his muscles flexed. 

You felt like you would’ve stayed there forever had your thoughts not been interrupted from Leon’s chuckle, “Can I help you?”

Adverting your eyes and clearing your throat loudly, you awkwardly pointed towards his car, “Um, I'm gonna get the towels. Which – uh, which bag did you put them in?”

“I didn’t pack towels.”

“You,” Your jaw slacked, “You what?”

Leon shrugged, taking a nearby stick and propping it upwards in the ground near the fire and hung his shirt to dry, “I figured the cabin would’ve provided some, so I didn’t pack any.” 

You stood there dumbfounded, knowing that Leon did have a point despite his lack of preparedness, “We can’t stay wet like this, we’ll get sick.”

“There’s a fire right here,” Leon stated like it was obvious before hooking his thumbs around his waistband and stripping himself from his pants and undergarments. 

You gasped loudly, turning your back towards him as your wide eyes did their best to avoid being flashed, “Leon!” 

Your voice echoed out into the forest as Leon’s boisterous laugh filled the air as he slung the rest of his clothes over another stick, “Come on, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.” 

Heat flushes your face as you bite the inside of your cheek from the imagery of Leon being completely unclothed, most times from events when you both were getting intimate, “T-That’s different!” 

You knew Leon rolled his eyes from the tone of his voice, “You can turn around now, I’ve got clothes on.”

Slowly, you peeked at Leon, making sure he was telling the truth before committing to fully view him. True to his word, Leon had dressed himself with his previous outfit hanging near the fire. He handed you your clothes he managed to grab and set up another row of sticks to set your wet clothes to dry. 

When he noticed you were still frozen in place, Leon asked, “What’s wrong?”

Quietly, you mumbled, “Can you turn around?”

Leon paused his movements before a wide smirk flashed across his lips, “What was that?”

“I said,” You huffed, annoyed, “Turn around!” 

Leon snickered at your embarrassment but ultimately complied as he turned his back towards you and patiently waited until you handed him your sopping clothes to be hung on his makeshift clothing line. Once you finished dressing and hanging your clothes to dry, you noticed Leon shuffling about inside the tent. You watched as Leon basically disassembled the bedding setup and placed it outside near the campfire, “You know those are supposed to go inside the tent, right?” 

For a while, you tried to decipher what he was doing while urging yourself not to scold him for placing the sheets on the dirt. Leon would set the sheets in one spot, crane his neck upwards before moving the sheets to another spot before doing the same thing again and again until he settled on a spot to his liking. He was a bit of a perfectionist and his wide smile proved that point even more as he sat down and patted the spot next to him eagerly. Playing along, you seat yourself next to Leon and follow suit as you both laid on the sheets to look up at the night sky. There you saw the blanket of darkness with billions of stars that seemed to glow brighter than it did in the city.

“See the big dipper?” Leon took his hand and placed it over yours with your pointer outwards as he stretched your arm out towards the sky and traced the shape of the constellation, “And, there’s the little one.” 

Leon continued to look up at the stars and educate you about the history of each constellation and the mysteries of outer space. You listened intently, soaking every story and fact that he had to tell, “Since when did you know all this stuff? I thought you hated astronomy and horoscopes.”

Leon shrugged, “I do, but then I watched this documentary.”

You laughed incredulously before returning to awe at the glittering specks above you, tracing the constellations’ patterns over and over again. From the forest to the lake to the stars, you felt at peace in the countryside and a part of you wondered whether you could make a life with Leon out here far into the future. While looking at the stars, a quick linear flash of light darted across the tail end of the Little Dipper, “Leon, a shooting star! Make a wish!” 

Instinctively, you brought your hands up to your chest in a mock prayer while dragging Leon’s hand in yours as you closed your eyes and made your wish. After a moment of silence, you turned towards Leon, only to be surprised that he was looking at you the whole time. Leon chuckled at your reaction, “What’d you wish for?”

“I can’t tell you, silly, or it won’t come true.”

“Fair,” Leon said without glancing away at you, “You want to know what my wish was?”

“It won’t come true if you tell me,” You said in a hush just above a whisper, noticing the twinkling in Leon’s eyes became brighter than the stars above you.

“What if it already came true?” 

Leon’s eyes traced the features of your face as the campfire’s flames illuminated your complexion. Slowly, Leon brought up a hand to cup your cheek as his thumb softly traced your bottom lip, “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask,” You whispered. 

Immediately, Leon pressed his lips to yours in a loving embrace, only moving his lips slowly as if to slow down time and relish the feelings of this moment. You melted into his kiss much like all of his others, but you yearned for more as you broke the kiss to straddle his lap. Sitting up, Leon rested his hands at your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kisses you gave him. Grinding yourself onto Leon’s hardness, you helped each other take off your shirts before Leon dove forward to pepper kisses along your neck and collarbone. You arched your back, easing access for Leon to leave a few marks behind. Leon trailed his hands up and down your exposed back before dipping them into the hem of your shorts and gathered the fabric of your underwear in a gentle tug, causing the friction to rub against your clit. 

Leon pulled back for a moment, chest heaving from lust, “Are you sure you want this?”

“This isn’t our first time,” You giggled, running your fingers through his messy hair. 

“I know,” Leon said with his eyes flickering from your eyes to your swollen lips, “I’m just checking.”

“For?”

“If you want this,” Leon hesitated, pressing his lips in a fine line, “If you want me.”

You sat back, arms dropping to your sides as you peered at your lover confused. Leon rarely ever questioned your reasoning for staying with him despite all his history and his flaws. But, it was when the crackle of the fire paired with an extra large flicker of flame flashed the raw emotion of uncertainty in Leon’s eyes when you understood that it was the insecurity of all his history and all his flaws which clouded his mind with doubt. You had to step back and see things from his perspective for a moment. Of course, Leon was used to disasters in his everyday life, but now with all the great memories he’s created today, he was scared to lose it all now that the night was coming to an end. 

Knowing this, you smiled at him, holding his jawline with both hands as you pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. Leon responded with equal passion, but you could still sense a twinge of doubt within him. You pulled away, just enough to hover your lips over his as you rested your foreheads upon another, “Let me show you that I want this, that I want you.”

Leon gulped, eyes flickering between yours before slowly nodding and letting you take the lead. Taking his hands off your hips, you slid off his lap to fully undress yourself and guided him to do the same before reclaiming your place. You sat back, allowing enough space for you to dip your hand between your legs to grab Leon’s dick and slowly pump him at the base. Leon took a sharp inhale, eyes focused on your working hand. It didn’t take him long to get fully erect before you trailed your hand further up his shaft to drag his tip and spread your lubricant from pussy lips to clit. You spread the slickness along his shaft, causing him to hiss from the ease, “Don’t you need to prep? I can-”

You hushed him, “I’ll be fine, I need you in me right now.”

Leon twitched at your words, salivating from your eagerness. He didn’t want to lose his composure so quickly especially since you seemed to be holding on so well, but he was just as desperate to be in you and you were for him. Taking him back in your hand, you raised your weight in your knees and positioned yourself to take him in. Slowly, you sank down, allowing yourself the luxury of the initial painful stretch before using your body weight to bottom out. Leon’s face contorted with pleasure, using every ounce of self control that he could muster not to move your hips up and downwards as you took a moment to adjust to his size. Leon closed his eyes, taking shaky deep breaths in and out. 

You knew it was evil, but you purposefully prolonged your adjustment just to see Leon in this state. You found it endearing to see him so frustrated as you essentially cockwarmed him, but you knew you couldn’t keep this up for too long before Leon would turn the tables on you and make you regret testing his patience. So, with one last look of desperation on his face, you finally pumped your hips against his and took all of him. You hugged his wide shoulders and bit down on his skin as you dragged your walls against his veiny cock. The heat of your core plus the heat of the fire ignited a flush within you as the ember glow filled the air around you. 

Leon chose to show his appreciation by gripping your waist to push you back and leaving open mouth kisses on your breast and nipples. You arched your back, using his shoulders to hold for leverage as you continued to pump yourself on him. You could feel yourself beginning to tightened as you approached your finish and surely Leon could feel it too; however, Leon repositioned his hands to lift you off of him and on the blanket, so that you were lying on your back. 

“I was almost done,” You looked up at him with a pout from your stolen climax before a moan from your lips pierced the air as Leon entered you again. 

“I know, baby,” Leon hovered over you, lips on the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I just wanted to show you how much I wanted you too.”

With newfound passion, Leon rose back up and relentlessly pounded into your cunt. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with pleasure as you gripped his veiny forearms to keep yourself from shifting away due to his force. You cried out into the night air as your moans and whimpers became lost in the wilderness. Lost in the feeling of Leon’s heavy thrusts, you hadn’t realized he took your hands in his as he continued his pace. 

“Please,” You gasped, “I’m almost there.”

You felt the familiar clench in your gut as Leon aimed at an upwards angle, deliciously pressing against your g-spot. You gripped his hands harder as you begged him not to stop. Leon edged you on by whispering more dirty thoughts in your ear as he groaned between his speech. Once again, Leon’s lips found your their way up and down your neck before leaving hickeys around the soft skin of your breasts 

“Cum, baby, cum for me,” Leon thrusted one last time into you, hips stuttering as he held your hand and pushed himself impossibly deeper into you. You moaned loudly as you wrapped your legs around his sides and clenched around him as he pumped into you. You both laid there, taking a moment to catch your breaths before removing yourselves, cleaning up, and laying covered up to bask in each other’s after sex glow by the fire. 

“Thank you for a memorable weekend,” Leon caressed your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You kissed him lovingly and snuggled into his side to share his warmth. Although the fire was more than enough, it could never compare to the warmth and comfort that Leon gave you. 

“What should we do tomorrow?”

“Probably, get that tire properly fixed.” 

[darkseidex]

How Austin Met His Girl

LA, the land of hopes, dreams, and ridiculously overpriced coffee, was a place Luella had grown to love; or at least that was what she kept telling herself right now. The scent of motor oil and gasoline filled her senses, the red light seemed to taunt her, and the drivers at the back tailing her did nothing to ease her temper. She got this for driving at five p.m., otherwise known as hell hour. Her hand remained on the steering wheel of her Dodge Challenger, the privacy glass doing a remarkable job at keeping her concealed.

She groaned as she fought the urge to hit a U and return to her home. She sighed as she dialled Callum's number, letting the Brit know she'd be a bit late, hoping he wouldn't chew her out because he did tell her about the traffic beforehand. However, her being her, she thought she could outsmart it ( she couldn't).

The familiar dial tone sounded before resting him on her empty passenger seat as she lightly pressed on the acceleration to move forward.

"You're late, Lu," Callum's clipped British accent came through the speaker. She rolled her eyes, muttering, "No kidding."

"You know, the point of telling you about traffic was so you'd avoid it, not dive in headfirst," he quipped.

"Look, I've got it handled, okay?" she shot back, her tone sharper than intended. The red light finally flickered to green, and she eased the car forward, the rumble of the Challenger's engine almost soothing.

"Handled," Callum repeated with a snort. "The same way you handled that detour last month and ended up halfway to San Diego?"

"That was one time," she grumbled, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

The faint sound of mumbling came from Callum's end, followed by the rustling of what sounded like papers. She sighed, the faint feeling of guilt etching at her soul. The Boys in the Boat—his latest project.

Callum had poured his blood, sweat, and tears into it, meticulously crafting every detail. She'd promised to go see it with him, swearing she wouldn't flake this time. But here she was, stuck in traffic with the clock ticking and a shadowy SUV breathing down her bumper.

"Lu?" Callum's voice brought her back, sharper now, cutting through her spiralling thoughts.

"I'm still here," she said quickly.

"Good. Just focus on getting here in one piece, yeah? We'll deal with the rest when you arrive."

Her grip tightened on the wheel. The SUV behind her wasn't letting up, inching closer each time she tapped her brakes. She tried to shake the thought of what Callum would say if she told him she was ditching him again. Worse than that, she hated the thought of him sitting in an empty theatre seat, watching the dream he worked so hard for come to life without her.

"Dinner on me?" she offered, hoping to soothe both her guilt and her nerves.

There was a pause, then a soft laugh from Callum. "Bribery now, is it?"

"Call it an apology in advance," she replied, easing her grip on the wheel as the SUV pulled ahead and merged into another lane. For a moment, she felt relief, though her eyes lingered on it disappearing into the distance. "I owe you for dragging me out of my cave anyway." Callum snorted, "I'd argue you need to spend more time there; you're never home for more than a month."

Luella shrugged; it was true, ever since interstellar she'd been booked and busy for as long as she could remember, and truthfully ever since she'd graduated she'd felt like she'd been able to get more time at home, more time to enjoy the home she'd bought and fill it with flowers, charms and trinkets; to make it her own. They'd just wrapped Barbie and the second season of House of The Dragon; it was roughly a year of back-to-back filming with very little time off, but it'd pay off; it always did.

"You owe me more than dinner, Lu," he said, though his tone had lightened. "But I'll take it. I'll even let you pick the place this time, as long as it's not that dodgy taco truck you keep swearing by."

"Hey, those tacos are life-changing," she retorted, her smile returning despite herself.

"Life-ending, more like," he countered, and she could practically see the smirk tugging at his lips. Her pulse quickened as she caught the glint of the SUV's tinted windows in her side mirror. "Maybe you just have a weak stomach," she said, forcing a casual tone. "Can't blame you; you're used to British food, I guess."

Callum's laughter died down at her quip, and she could feel him roll his eyes. "Touché," he said dryly, though there was still a trace of amusement in his voice. "But you're dodging the fact that you've got shitty taste when it comes to street food."

"Please," Luella shot back, navigating past a merging car. "My taste is impeccable; thank you very much. I'll have you know I've never gotten sick from those tacos."

"Yet," he emphasised, drawing out the word. "Give it time."

"So," she started, trying to redirect her thoughts, "have you gotten the script for Masters of the Air yet?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Callum replied, his tone carrying a hint of excitement, "I have. Just came in last week."

Her grip on the wheel loosened slightly, her smile widening. "Finally! It's been sitting on my desk for days, and I've been dying to dive in, but I've barely had the time. You've read it, right?"

Callum continued, his tone now laced with playful intrigue, "I invited a castmate to the screening tonight Austin Butler, you know, from Elvis?"

"Elvis, as in the biopic? The one that gained all that traction?" She asked him, and he heard his hum of confirmation.

Luella wracked her brain for the familiar film; it'd been on her watch list for way too long, gathering digital dust as its number one place changed to seventh within the next month. She'd meant to watch it; truly she had, but she'd gotten another script dropped into her lap, which soon consumed her life and became her bread and butter. When that'd ended, Murphy, her Daschund, had gotten a minor cold that'd worried her sick, and that took up a solid week of her time and bonus to ensure he was alright.

Looking through her rearview window, she noted the black SUV still hot on her tail; unease flowed through her veins as she turned off the road and opted for the longer route, adding fifteen minutes to her journey, but she didn't mind; there was less traffic this way, and she'd gotten rid of the heebie-jeebies that'd crept up her spine at the sight of the blacked-out vehicle with no number plates

"Austin Butler, huh?" she said flatly, her mind already shifting back to the SUV as she moved further away from it. Another star in the endless revolving door of Hollywood's elite. It wasn't that she didn't respect his craft—she did—but the novelty of meeting 'big names' had worn off years ago. If anything, she'd rather be home with Murphy right now, pulling his small body into her bed and forcing the disgruntled dog into her embrace.

"Yeah," Callum replied, the amusement in his voice clear. "He's a great guy, easy to talk to. He's really into the project, and he was in town, so I figured, why not?"

Luella hummed and grinned, "And here I thought I was your only American friend."

Callum laughed, the sound light and teasing. "You are my favorite American, don't worry. But Austin's a good guy. We got along pretty well when we first met, and, well, I thought it'd be nice to have him there tonight. Plus, he might be interested in some of the upcoming projects we're working on... and he's single."

Luella groaned as she made a left turn and got closer to her destination; sure, she'd broken a few speed limits, but she'd pay for those later. "You're not pimping me out to this man, and vice versa. What happened to me embracing my single era? Y'know, being happily unattached?" She glanced at the empty passenger seat. "I thought you supported that."

"Oh, I do, believe me, however, your counterparts are a bit concerned that your commitment issues are-"

"Commitment issues?"

Callum sighed. Oh, here they go.

"Yes, Luella, commitment issues," Callum said, his voice laced with the kind of patience that always felt condescending. "You've had, what, three dates in the last year? And you ghosted two of them before dessert."

"First of all," Luella shot back, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, "that second one was an accident. He talked about his crypto portfolio for thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, Cal. I had to fake a phone call just to escape."

Callum chuckled. "And the first one?"

"That was..." She trailed off, searching for a reasonable excuse. "Okay, fine, maybe I wasn't feeling it. But that doesn't mean I have issues. It just means I have standards."

"Standards so high even Everest looks up at them," Callum teased.

Luella rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. She navigated through a roundabout, her thoughts briefly flickering to the SUV that had been tailing her. Even though it was gone, she couldn't shake the unease it had left behind.

"Look, I'm fine on my own. I've got Murphy, a solid Netflix queue, a rose, and enough wine to survive a minor apocalypse. What more could a girl want?"

"Oh, I don't know," Callum said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe companionship? Someone to share those tacos with before they kill you?"

"You're so funny, Callum," she deadpanned, pulling into the venue's parking lot at last. Her Challenger growled as she shifted into park. "Anyway, I'm here. You can stop playing Dr. Phil now."

"You brought it up," he countered. "But fine, I'll drop it. For now. Just be nice to Austin, alright? He's a good guy. Not everyone in this business is an egotistical nightmare."

"I'm always nice," Luella said, grabbing her bag from the passenger seat.

"Debatable," Callum replied.

Looking into the mirror, she reapplied an even coat of her gloss before checking her hair and giving herself a once over before picking up the phone, ending the call and switching off her phone. Finally, the black SUV that'd been tailing her pulled up, and on sync, their cameras rolled down, and the familiar shuttering of cameras was heard. With a roll of her eyes, she met the eyes of the cinema attendant and gave her a gentle smile as she guided her out of the public eye and into the warmth of the cinema.

With a gentle smile, she accepted their hand and walked into the space, the smooth sound of jazz filling her senses as she grabbed a glass of wine off one of the servers trays, sooting him a small 'thank you as she was walked into the cinema, thankfully she wasn't too late, but the pitch blackness would prove to be a challenge, she took the hand of the server as they guided her to one of the top boxes where Callum would be waiting.

She adjusted her baggy jeans with her free hand as she made her way to them, finally, her eyes caught those of the dark-haired Brit.

...

Austin Butler was just a man. Don't get him wrong, but he was still just a man. After his breakup, he never truly shied away from his meaningless hookup now and again, eachrve a purpose to blow off steam get into character and get out of character. He'd never truly thought of entertaining someone for longer than that.

His three-month-long friend, Callum, had invited him to his newer movie showing and he was in town, so he figured, why not? A quiet evening at the cinema beat spending another night scrolling through scripts and nursing a half-empty whiskey glass. He wasn't expecting much—just a chance to unwind and offer Callum some support. What he didn't expect, however, was her.

Austin leaned back in his seat, the quiet hum of conversation around him doing little to break through his thoughts. He wasn't expecting much tonight—Callum's movie was sure to be good, but these industry events were more obligation than excitement. He scanned the darkened theater, his gaze briefly flickering to the other attendees. Familiar faces, polished smiles, the usual.

Then she walked in.

At first, it was just the faint click of her heels on the carpeted floor, barely audible over the smooth jazz playing in the background. He turned his head casually, expecting yet another well-dressed figure blending into the crowd. Instead, his gaze landed on a woman who somehow seemed completely out of place and yet utterly commanding.

Luella.

Callum had mentioned her once or twice, but always in passing, like a footnote in his usually animated stories. A force to be reckoned with, he'd said. Austin hadn't thought much of it at the time.

Now, seeing her, he understood.

She moved with a kind of quiet determination, her bag slung over one shoulder, her other hand tugging at the hem of her baggy jeans as if she didn't care to fit into the glamorized mold everyone else seemed so eager to embody. Her hair caught the faint glow of the overhead lights as she followed the attendant to the upper-level seating. There was no effort to put on airs, no false pretense. Just... her.

And then she stumbled.

It wasn't dramatic—just a slight misstep as she climbed the last stair. Austin didn't even think. He stood, steadying her with a light touch on her elbow before the moment could tip into embarrassment.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice low enough not to draw attention.

She looked up at him then, her gaze locking with his for the first time.

"Yeah," she murmured, brushing abraid out of her face. "Thanks."

Her voice was soft but carried an undertone of something unspoken—like she wasn't used to needing help but appreciated it nonetheless.

"Austin," he said, introducing himself as he released her arm.

"Luella," she replied, a polite but distant smile tugging at her lips.

He offered his hand, and for a moment, she hesitated, her gaze flickering down to it before slipping hers into his. Her grip was firm, her skin warm against his.

"Callum's been hyping you up," he said as they made their way to the seats.

Her laugh was quiet but genuine. "That sounds like him. I'm not sure what there is to hype, though."

He arched an eyebrow as they settled into their seats. "Maybe he just knows good company when he sees it."

Luella didn't respond immediately, her attention seemingly caught by the faint flicker of the movie starting on the screen. But there was a small smile playing on her lips, one she didn't bother hiding.

Austin leaned back, his focus shifting between the film and the woman sitting beside him. She didn't make small talk, didn't force conversation to fill the silence. Instead, she seemed content to simply be, her presence quietly magnetic in a way he hadn't expected

[battleangel]

A History of Violence

I wonder if Kris Jenkins who was recently drafted in the second round by the Bengals, same name & same position as his father who was a Pro Bowler who played 10 seasons for the Panthers, Patriots & Jets, ever bothered to read what his father told the New York Times in 2011 about what it was like playing in the trenches in the NFL?

Kris Jenkins - View of Life in the NFL Trenches

Article Excerpt

"N.F.L. fans, people outside, they have no clue what goes on. This isn’t like playing Madden. This isn’t like being the popular kid in high school. When you do those things in the real world, and it don’t work out, you still have your health. The thing about football is you’re directly playing with your life, the quality of it and the longevity of it. The stakes are up there.

You ever been in a car crash? Done bumper cars? You know when that hit catches you off guard and jolts you, and you’re like, what the hell? Football is like that. But 10 times worse. It’s hell."

Nothing is questioned, nothing is learned.

Cycle and history of violence from father to son continues.

The son will just repeat everything his father went through.

Life in the trenches, on the line.

His fathers New York Times article was only written 13 years ago — did his son even bother to read it?

Article:

"The debate about concussions wasn’t there yet. I’ve had more than 10, including college and the pros. Nobody cared. And that’s the thing. We play football."

Are we as an audience, as fans, as a nation of football loving fanatics so blasé about the same violence that was visited upon the father being visited upon his son?

Does that not even get us to collectively pause before checking pre-season match ups in preparation for Week 1 next month?

America's collective Christmas in September — footballs back!!!!!!!

Do actual thoughts ever creep in amongst the unbridled ebullience, enthusiasm and unchecked joy of, "Football!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Or is the unthinking emotion inherent in football fanaticism across all levels, players and non-players alike, the point?

The pure emotion and the short circuiting of logic.

Its probably not a great idea for me to go bash my head against that dudes head 70 to 80 times a game, every game, every season.

But, its football!!!!!!!!!

So, nothing else matters?

Unlike rules now protecting quarterbacks and other positions from helmet to helmet hits, absolutely nothing has changed for offensive & defensive linemen and running backs — you're still smashing yourself head first into a concrete wall — as a running back, 20 to 30 times a game and as a lineman, 70 to 80 times a game.

No matter how much the NFL lies about this and tries to pretend the issue is concussions, its not — the existential issue threatening the sport of football itself is the repetitive SUBconcussive head impacts involved in every blocking and tackling play in football.

They are absolutely unavoidable and occur literally over a thousand times every single season.

It is these repetitive subconcussive head impacts — average 1500 hits to the head per season in high school, football & the pros — that 10 to 15 years after their playing careers are over, can cause neurological disorders and conditions like CTE, Parkinsons disease, Alzheimers disease, ALS and dementia in former players.

We have seen the movie before.

Im pretty sure Will Smith was in it.

And even that movie was nothing but masterful subterfuge from the NFL as they named it as their eternal smokescreen — Concussion — instead of what actually turned Mike Websters brain into CTE mush — Repetitive Subconcussive Head Impacts.

Doesn't have the same Hollywood ring to it, does it?

But it doesn't make it any less true or the NFL any less deceptive.

The NFL's own disability paperwork for former players says players can be compensated as early as 36 for early-onset dementia.

Is a game really worth someone losing their literal mind at 36?

When do we question the every day violence inherent in every tackling and blocking play in football?

Article:

"I remember one game, at Carolina, my second year. We played Arizona, and the double team weighed 780 pounds combined. They just kept double-teaming me, hoping I would fold and cave in. I didn’t. But that was probably the most painful day I had.

From the double teams, over the years, I wore the left side of my body down. I was past hurt.

I was at the point of numb. Like my body was shutting down nervous systems, so I didn’t have to deal with pain.

The numbness started at the very beginning. I couldn’t feel part of both arms. I couldn’t feel part of both legs. It was worse on the left.

I’m just starting to get feeling back in my left side. Look, football is no joke.

But I’m going to say this much: somebody has to be the grunt. That’s why there’s no better position on the field than interior defensive line. Forget quarterbacks or specialists. They’ve got it easy. If we don’t come to play, nobody else on defense can do their job. We’ve got the toughest job on the field. We don’t care about our facial hair. We play a grimy position.

Piles, oh, my God, they’re brutal. I’ve had my ankles twisted. I’ve been bit. I’ve done stuff. I’ve tried to break guys’ elbows, pinching people, twisting ankles, trying to bend up their arms, pop an elbow out. Why? I had to fight back."

Tackle football is cognitive dissonance & constant dissociation.

The inherent violence of football is never seriously questioned nor is it held up under a critical lens.

The most violent, punishing plays are casually dismissed post-game by players waving their hands and saying, "It was just a football play."

Yeah — thats actually the exact problem.

Ah, pile ups. Just a good old fashioned rugby scrum.

Nothing dehumanizing, nothing to worry about.

As long as its not my dick being grabbed at the bottom of a pile as I dig my way through my second bag of Fritos Scoops, safe and secure on my couch, while those dumb fucks kill themselves for an oblong shaped ball for my entertainment.

Exploitative, much?

The spectacle of the pile up.

The brainwashing so clearly evident when grown adult men who would be ashamed to act this way publicly over anything else suddenly leap in unison into the air like feral animals as Troy Aikman shouts with unfettered glee, "The ball is loose!!!!!!".

So is our collective humanity in watching a several ton mass of flesh undulate, eye gouge, scrotum twist, bite, spit and hurt each other for...what?

Us? Them? Football?

Article:

"Mentally, we’re conditioned to be tough. We’re conditioned to feel no pain. The only injury I ever felt while playing was when one of my knees tore. That’s the only time I felt pain and was like, O.K., that hurt.

But Mondays, you wake up, and it’s hard to get out of bed. It hurts wherever you got hit. I remember one time getting hit by Edgerrin James. He put his head in my chest. I woke up, and I couldn’t even move, because it felt like my chest was going to collapse. It was sore for days. All you want to do is get the blood circulating.

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub."

Hot tub. Cold tub. Hot tub. Cold tub.

That's brainwashing.

A dissociative brainwashing ritual to dissociate the self from the pain & violence of the game.

It's like Junior Seau when he referred to himself in third person when he was mic'd up for NFL Films before every single hit for the duration of an entire game.

Very creepy if you can find it on youtube.

It literally sounded like he was programming himself to hit, then he would hit the hole, collect himself on the ground and do it.

Hard. Goddamned hard.

Again. And again. And again. And again.

If thats not brainwashing, what is?

Article:

"The brain fog? It still hasn’t stopped. It feels like you’re punch-drunk, like someone hit you over the head. It’s like you knock yourself stupid. When you have to concentrate on things, then it becomes an issue. My head gets foggy to the point where I really can’t function."

And yet you put a helmet on your son's head and you sent him out to play the same position.

Like father, like son.

Just like fathers in the military who have sons who "follow in their footsteps".

Often, articles will speak of a newly drafted player's heritage and lineage in the sport and if his father had a storied career, the hyperbole of the newly drafted son "being born to play" is routinely trotted out.

Smacks of eugenicism, genetic determinism, militarism, rigid heirarchies, dynasties.

Capitalist masculine toxicity.

Article:

"We know it’s going to hurt. We know because pain in football is consistent over time. You’re still hurting in the off-season. You’re hurting when the next season starts.

I mean, guys play hurt, but it’s a choice. They do a pretty good job now, with all the scrutiny around concussions.

On the line, it’s still painful. By the end of the year, half an offensive line might be getting shots, draining fluid from their knees. Most stay away from cortisone now, because it’s degenerative.

Everything gets off center. Bulging disk. Herniated disk. For linemen, it starts in the lower back. Throws everything off."

What did Jason Kelce recently say on his podcast with his wife?

His back is so fucked up from playing football that he cant bend down to pick up his 1 year old daughter nor can he hold her while standing.

Kelce also played on the line as the center for the Eagles.

Is it worth it?

Should children be playing this game?

Should anyone in its current incarnation?

Has science shown that the risk of repetitive subconcussive head impacts causing neurological conditions & disorders is too high for any child to assume?

What about teenagers in high school who are legally minors and not adults?

Should they be able to assume risks as teenagers that can mentally incapacitate them later in life as soon as their 30s?

Potential suicide due to CTE in their 20s?

1500 hits per season every season starting in high school.

So, that's 6k hits to the head in four years of high school football.

Another 6k more hits to the head in four years of college football.

12k hits to the head before the pros not counting youth football prior to high school which is ages 5 to 14 aka Pop Warner.

Even 5 year olds endure on average 336 hits to the head every season in Pop Warner.

5 year olds!

Kindergartners!

Ask yourself where else you could hit a 5 year old child 336 times in the head over the course of a few months without being arrested and jailed?

Is it really okay just because it's football?

Does that truly justify that amount of head impacts to a 5 year old child?

Wouldn't we call that abuse if it was happening in the Boy Scouts or any organization other than Pop Warner?

Should it be happening at all?

In service of whom and for what?

Football? Glory? Masculinity? Manhood? America? Pride? Militarism?

All of the above?

Article:

"I can’t blame anybody for my death. I made the choice to play football. I made the choice to walk through the concussions. I could have stopped. I could have said, my head hurts. It was my choice, as a man."

But who told you that playing through permanent brain injuries is what makes you a man?

Can't we blame that person?

Your father and your coaches from youth, high school, college all the way to the pros?

Militaristic views of masculinity kills boys and young men for the game of football.

It's a militaristic war game that simulates combat yet kills people in slow motion for real.

The violence suffered by players in football is as celebrated as militaristic ideals of what soldiers suffer through in war: valor, courage under fire, physical courage, endurance, stoically fighting through unimaginable injuries & pain, the quarterback heroically leading his squad as their captain marching his troops down the field to victory just like any military commander complete with a chevron like system that awards stars for each year or season of service very similar to how stripes function in the military.

This militaristic ideal of masculinity is endlessly promoted, encouraged, rewarded and valorized in football just as it is in the military.

Football is Americas killing fields.

High school players — teenaged boys, not adult men — die every year playing football.

Over a million boys play high school football each year and only a handful die or suffer permanent, disabling and/or catastrophic injury.

Would you be so glib about the numbers though if it was your son or your brother or your boyfriend or your best friend who died playing high school football?

What if they were permanently paralyzed from the neck down playing college football?

It's easy to treat the above numbers as a statistic or rounding error when you can close out of the Facebook support page for the now dead or disabled high school or college player and get ready for Chiefs/Ravens next month.

What if you couldn't just X out of the Facebook page because you had to quit your job to take care of your disabled son for the rest of your life?

Or what if your brother killed himself from having CTE from playing college football?

The reality is, we can drop a "sad crying" emoji on a Facebook status and move on — the families of the young boys and men sacrificed to this sport definitely can't.

Go ask Tyler Sash's mom if she's "moved on".

Hasn't science proven at this point that tackle football just doesnt work the way it is currently played?

Why are we okay risking future Junior Seaus, Mike Websters, Justin Strelczyks, Phillip Adams, Tyler Hillinskis with every boy and young man that straps on the pads and helmet and charges on to the field?

Is it 10% of players that get CTE? Is it 20%?

Is it more? Is it half?

More than half?

The truth is we wont know until a CTE test is developed for living players.

Pop Warners Chief Medical Director is working with the FDA to develop the test as I type this.

Why do you think that is?

The NFL's own study funded through a university admits that NFL players are 19 times more likely than non-NFL players to develop neurological conditions and disorders.

19 times!!!!!

As long as its not your brain getting scrambled right?

And you can just sit there and watch the leagues reigning back to back MVP and reigning Super Bowl Champ slowly deteriorate their minds while accumulating permanent brain damage for your entertainment.

Pass the chips.

Article:

"We consider football a gladiator sport because we understand you’re going to get hurt. You’re putting your life on the line.

You might not die now, like in an old Roman arena, but 5, 10 years down the road, you could. You know that.

I wouldn’t change anything.

During my career, I kept my mouth shut. This now, speaking out, it’s about telling you my life. There’s no agenda, no vendetta. This is what football’s really like.

The first warning is the first meeting you have with an agent, when you realize this is real. My choices count at this point. I’m going to be prostituting myself for the next 18 years of my life.

That’s the first warning.

The next one is that good old combine.

That’s when you realize, when you march in that room half naked, I’m a number now."

No, thats when you realize that the NFL is MODERN DAY SLAVERY.

It's a modern day meat market.

6% of the US population is Black male. 75% of the NFL is Black.

0% of the owners are Black. Only 2 out of 32 coaches are Black.

Almost all of the NFL owners are white with very few exceptions and exactly none of them are Black.

The NFL is a modern day plantation.

Article:

"I loved New York. I loved playing there. I loved the spotlight. I was fine in New York, but I also played for Eric Mangini. We started 8-3, Brett Favre, all of that. Everybody told Mangini, stop with the long practices, you’re killing us. You practice too hard. We’re on turf."

36% of all injuries that occur in the NFL are due to turf & 1/4 of all concussions are a result of players heads slamming against turf.

So...

Why won't the NFL replace turf with grass in their stadiums as the NFLPA has been asking for for years?

Because they're cheap as hell and would rather injure their own investments then pay for grass.

The owners & the league have the same exact disregard and disdain for their own players.

The NFL has agreed to switch out turf for grass for the World Cup because the soccer players refused to do what NFL players are forced to — fuck their bodies up on turf.

It proves the NFL and owners could do it and, in fact, they did do it so they could host the World Cup in their football stadium — unless it's actually for the players in their own league.

In that case, you're shit out of luck.

Should have played soccer.

Article:

"What you hear from guys like Ray Lewis, James Harrison, what they’re saying is we’re well aware what we’re signing up for. The violence, we love it. The madness, we love it. We love measuring ourselves in it.

Those guys express themselves with their pads. You soften the game, you’re taking away their freedom of expression. Nobody wants to see flag football, and now, you might as well give guys flags, tell them to hug afterward, all that."

Did he even read the beginning of his own article???

Constant cognitive dissonance is the distillation & essence of tackle football — by the players, the audience, coaches, trainers, medical personnel, announce team, play by play, color, pre-game & post-game hosts, team & network journalists.

I see no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I hear no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

I speak no repetitive head impacts causing CTE.

Article:

"The violence is what I remember. Like against Buffalo in 2009, when I had the game of my career. Or the time I slapped a lineman out of the way in Houston with one arm. Winning, the physical part, the mayhem, finding the line between insanity and sanity, that’s the exact reason why you play. That’s the reason fans like football in the first place.

A guy like James Harrison, he’s possessed, and that’s the guy you love to play with, love to watch. He doesn’t need to be babied."

Protection from permanent brain damage & trauma, fans bloodlust, coaches unreasonable demands, neurological disorders & conditions, neurological symptoms including suicidality, depression, memory loss, confusion, irritability, volatility, aggression, amnesia, mental incapicitation, deteroriation & decline is being "babied"??????????

Article:

"The N.F.L. is too big to fail. If that happened, it would be a slow death. It’s still the ultimate game. For us, it’s like legal prison rules. You have to protect your manhood, your well-being. You’re going to be challenged. You’re going to be tested."

"You have to protect your manhood."

Protect The Shield.

Brainwashed into the cult of American masculinity.

Just like all the other 2.6 million young boys & adolescents playing youth football.

Another million playing in high school.

100k playing in NCAA college football.

1600 play in the NFL.

All brainwashed into the cult of masculinity.

Millions of young boys and teenagers sacrificed on the altar of tackle football, Americas true religion.

Article:

"There aren’t too many places a 400-pound guy with an attitude can go and beat the crap out of somebody and not get locked up for it. I have a violent streak. I have to fight it out of my system. We signed up for it. All of it. We’re not trying to be sane or rational."

What does an 8 year old playing tackle football for Pop Warner sign up for?

Tradition, rigid authoritarianism, toxic masculinity, ideals of manhood worth sacrificing your body, mind, memories, personality, self and literal life for.

A 13 year old football player committed suicide after an egregious hit and post concussion symptoms that lasted for over a year in 2018.

He played through the hit and practiced in pads the very next day — think that might have made his concussion worse?

Prior to the hit, he was a straight A student, a voracious reader, erudite, sociable & well-liked.

After the hit, he became withdrawn.

He lost vision in one eye. He lost his balance frequently.

He was unable to read for more than a few minutes at a time.

He started tackle football at 9.

He played two ways as a linebacker and running back and was known as a ferocious hitter who never complained of pain.

He attempted suicide, was hospitalized, seemed to be improving, then the second suicide attempt was tragically successful.

Dead at 13 for the sport of football.

When is enough enough?

Football is a game, it's a magical talisman, it's a sport, it's a crucible, it's a maker of men, it's the distillation of manhood and masculinity, it's what being a man is.

It's worth bashing and battering your brains repeatedly.

It's worth your mind.

It's worth not knowing who you are at 50.

It's worth you committing suicide.

Just remember to shoot yourself in the chest so your brain can be donated and studied.

[iboatedhere]

It's been exactly 1 year since I posted my first RWRB fic, Baby, All At Once (This Is Enough) , and I've been so overwhelmed by the lovely comments and support on not only that fic, but every fic I've posted since. I really appreciate everyone that has showed me love this past year and I can't wait to see what the next year will bring, starting with this fic! Inspired by a request from @pragmatic-optimist from so long ago I can't even find it anymore :)

--

“Fuck,” Alex mumbles as he checks the live traffic radar on his phone for the hundredth time. A solid red line all the way to Heathrow. “Fuck. Hey,” He calls up to his Uber driver as he zooms in on the map. “Could you get off at the next exit and then take side roads? We’re cutting into my three-hour cushion time.”

The driver twists all the way around in his seat and then gestures out the window at the bumper-to-bumper traffic, which is being made worse by the heavy rain hanging over London for the past week. “What exit, mate? We haven’t moved in thirty-five minutes. Where exactly am I getting off?”

“I don’t know,” Alex groans. “I’m sorry. I'm stressing the fuck out because Heathrow is built above the gates of hell, and I thought I gave myself enough time to navigate it. It hasn’t stopped raining in a million years, and if I miss this flight, I’m royally fucked because there isn’t another flight until tomorrow morning. I really don’t want to spend another grand on a ticket plus whatever a hotel room would cost, so I just really need to get to the airport as fast as possible.”

The driver blinks at him.

“Also,” Alex continues, feeling more than a little pathetic, “I didn’t have a chance to get coffee this morning, so that’s fucking me up too.”

The driver eyes him warily before he turns around. “Pal, I think coffee is the last thing you need right now.”

Read More on Ao3

[winchester-girl67]

Wild Hearts (Part 2)

Summary: Dean steals his father's car to give Y/N a ride home. The next day Y/N tags along to the dunes for sand surfing. 

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader 

Word Count: 3,771 

Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16, Dean is 20 but closer to 21), mentions of physical abuse by a parent, past injury (bruising/scars), mentions of death and alcoholism, John is an asshole in this one, underage drinking, angst, language, slow burn, mutual pining, a hint of jealousy, a bit of fluff 

A/N: Sand surfing looks really fun. Didn’t think I’d get this finished before the new year. Happy holidays! 

_____ 

Dean grabbed your hand every time the headlights of a car came into view and pulled you off more to the side of the road. Placing himself between you so the car would have to go through him to hit you. The last time he did it you held onto his hand and he didn't let go. Until you came up to a driveway that led to a small ranch style house sitting amongst the evergreens. 

You spotted a cherry-condition, black muscle car sitting in the driveway, "No way! Is this your car?" 

"Uh- yeah," he smiled, "-I mean, no. It's my dad's but yeah that's what we're taking." He stumbled out his words as if he was nervous. 

You trailed your finger up the hood of the car, "Sixty-seven?" 

"You know your cars." He smirked. 

"My dad used to drag me to every car show he could when I was younger. On those days he did get off work." You said, admiring the freshly waxed black paint. "And as a result, I developed a thing for pre-seventies muscle." 

"Baby's the only thing my father has ever loved." Dean said and you frowned, "Aside from my mother. She passed away when Sammy was born."

"Baby?"

"It's what he calls the car." 

You nodded. "Who's Sammy?" 

"My little brother," he explained with an edge of protectiveness, "He's sixteen, too." He bit the split in his lip until it bled and kicked the front tire with a glare. "He's probably passed out by now," and somehow you knew he was talking about his father again, "But you better wait out here." He said, pushing you off to the side of the house so you blended with the shadows of the trees lining it. "Y/N, if you hear anything... Do not come inside." 

Then he turned around and headed for the door, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your gut. The way he spoke about his father, loving four wheels and engine more than his sons. Dean looked pained at the thought and his eyes greener when they glided over his father's Impala. 

Then it hit you, his warning. His father wasn't a good man. 

You left the shadowed tree line and peered through one of Baby’s windows. Fast food bags littered the front bench seat and a half a bottle of liquor lay on the floor. Your skin started to crawl at the thought of Dean's father coming home half-pissed and taking his day out on his sons. No doubt Dean only stuck around for his little brother. You wondered if Sam had endured the same type of injuries or if Dean always stood between them. Somehow you already knew the answer. 

The screen door shut with an audible creak and Dean reappeared on the porch, "Y/N?" He whisper shouted as he scanned the area you were supposed to wait. "Y/N." 

"Over here," you matched his tone. 

"Got 'em." He jingled the keys for you to see. "Let's push her out onto the street before we start her though." He opened the driver's door, "Here, you steer, I'll push." 

"You're not gonna get in trouble, are you?" You hesitated, you didn't think you could bear to see more bruises on him, or worse. 

He gave you a cocky smile, "I'm not gonna get caught." 

You slid in behind the wheel and shifted into neutral, taking a moment to appreciate Baby's beauty despite the mess of trash in the front seat. Meanwhile Dean ran around to the bumper and started pushing the car down the driveway. You braked when you got to the edge of the street, throwing open the door and letting Dean take over as you slid over to the passenger side. 

The car grinded to a stop as he pulled up in front of your house. It was a beautiful car but the whole ride felt like a tin can rolling over bumps in the road and the muffler rattled against the undercarriage the entire time. His father didn’t seem like the type to put his time or money into anything that couldn’t give back to him. Which apparently included keeping up maintenance on Baby. 

"For someone who's supposed to love this car," you flicked a used ketchup packet onto the floor and wiped your sticky fingers on your jeans, "He's shit at taking care of it." 

"Imagine if he didn't love her." Dean's eyes were lost on the dashboard, deep in some solitary thought. "He didn't deserve her and he doesn't deserve this car." For a moment you thought he must've been talking about his mother. You wondered if the abuse started before or after her passing. You didn't ask. "Are you busy tomorrow?" 

"Um."

"It's fine if you didn't mean it. About being my friend. But I was gonna go sand surfing and I thought that might be something you'd like to do. Something friends do." He shrugged. "I-I'm not trying to be creepy. Just friends." 

"I don't think you're creepy," you shook your head and met his sad smile, "I'd love to go, sand surfing? What is that?" 

He laughed, "It's like snowboarding but down a sand dune. It's easy, I'll teach you. Fall's the best time for it because the sand won't burn you." 

"That sounds fun." 

"Good, I'll pick you up," he said and then added, "My friend's driving. There'll be others there too, but they're not like your brother's friends." 

"I don't like my brother's friends." 

"These are good people," he smiled, the bruised part of his face hidden in the shadows of the car and you almost forgot about it. He had a nice smile, he didn't show too many teeth or too much gums. "I'll give you my number, in case you decide to cancel." 

You laughed silently but let him enter his phone number into your cell. Then you texted him so he'd have yours, too. 

"Thanks for the ride, Dean." You reached over and gave him a quick side hug. He didn't even have a chance to react but stared at the dash again and nodded when you pulled away. "Text me when you get home or I'll worry." 

"You don't have to worry about me, Y/N, I'm not a child." He said cordially. 

He'd obviously picked up on you putting the pieces of his home life together, his injuries, his father, how much he was risking by stealing Baby tonight. Dean was tall and built enough to protect himself, but nobody should stand alone and clearly his father was still bigger and stronger. 

"People worry about you in every stage of life, Dean. At least they should. I will." He looked over at you and matched your frown. 

"But you only just met me." 

His words echoed in your ears well after you showered and crawled into bed. Dean brought about so many feelings in you that you didn't know which to follow. You felt butterflies, and mutual affection like you'd known each other longer than you did, and an untethered desire to protect him, which was absurd because although he was skinny, he could toss you over his shoulder and spin you around if he wanted to. His bruises and scars made you feel helpless, but his smile made you happy because you could tell he felt lighter, too. 

You checked your phone and found a message from him. 

Dean: Mission impossible accomplished. See you tomorrow. 

Y/N: Thanks for texting. Goodnight, Dean. 

Dean: Night, Y/N. 

You'd be lying if you said you weren't developing a crush. You sighed and rolled over in bed. What could you do, nothing. He'd get into a lot more trouble than you. 

Sleep did not come easy after that and you woke up before you thought you'd even fallen asleep. You groaned and rolled over in bed when you heard your phone buzz. 

Dean: Good morning, Y/N. 

Y/N: Geez, you wake up early. What time is it? 

Dean: You're literally looking at your phone. 

Y/N: Omg! It's 6am, what is wrong with you?! 

Dean: You know the saying, early bird... 

Y/N: The sun isn't even awake yet, Dean. 

Dean: You're grumpy in the morning. 

Dean: Just wanted to let you know we'll pick you up around noon. 

Dean: Y/N? You still wanna come, right? 

Y/N: Yeah! Sorry, I'm tired. 

Dean: Awesome. Just one question before you pass out on me. Benny's bringing a grill, so we're making hotdogs for lunch. You're not a vegetarian are you? 

Y/N: Yeah...

Y/N: I'm joking. No, I'm not. 

Dean: Good, our friendship might've ended right there. 

Dean: Just kidding. Go back to sleep. 

You smiled at your phone a little too long before you locked it and went back to sleep for a few hours. 

"Hey, sweetie. You're awake early." Your mother said when you walked into the kitchen around ten. It was early compared to your typical Sunday morning. "Have fun last night?" 

You nodded, not wanting to get into the events of your brother or his friends from the bonfire. Your mom seemed to accept the answer and you assumed your brother made it home at some point without her noticing the hour. 

You got along with your parents well enough. You never really got into any trouble and you weren’t sure they even knew how to ground you if you did. Besides, your dad wasn’t around much lately, it seemed his new promotion kept him at the office longer than necessary. Which was where he was now. On a Sunday, at ten A.M. 

You didn't know what you wanted to do when you grew up, but you knew you wanted to have balance in your life. Something you thought your dad didn't understand. You couldn't remember the last time he brought you to a car show, you couldn't remember the last time you'd asked him to bring you either. 

"Your dad said he'd be home for dinner and your brother probably won't be up until mid-afternoon. What time did you two get in last night?" She asked, sipping on her coffee. 

You didn't have a curfew because you never had the need for one and your parents oddly trusted you. You didn't do crazy shit to make them worry about you but sometimes you wanted to, if only just for the attention. So you knew she was just curious when she asked. 

"I dunno," you shrugged, not wanting to get into why you didn't know and that you didn't come home with your brother. "I'm going out with some friends for lunch." 

"That sounds fun," you weren't sure if she was even listening anymore or just saying that. 

Your family had gotten better at not actually listening to each other lately. But you ignored that fact yourself and grabbed a bowl of cereal for breakfast. 

At eleven-thirty, you threw on a pair of high-rise jeans and an oversized t-shirt that you knotted at the waist. You also pulled on a flannel shirt in case it got chilly which was the way the weather was turning lately. Then you texted Dean. 

Y/N: Text when you get here, I'll come out and meet you. 

You wanted to avoid an awkward interaction with your mother. Especially since your brother was awake now and slamming the kitchen cupboards. He wouldn't really care but he was nosey and would start something if he saw how much older Dean was. And you doubted a few hours would've helped much with the bruising on his face. That wouldn't be fair to make Dean explain how he'd got them to complete strangers. Especially since you were pretty sure you knew how he'd gotten them. 

Dean: We're here. 

You shouted a 'Bye' as you ran out of the house, hearing your brother ask your mom where you were headed before the door slammed shut behind you. You shoved your phone into your back pocket and ran down the driveway to where a red Jeep waited. Dean stood outside, leaning against the door. 

He smiled when he saw you run up, "Hey." 

"Hi." You said, noticing his face falling, "What's wrong?" 

"I feel like we're sneaking around," he glanced back at your house as if he expected someone to come running out after you. "Feels wrong." 

"I just didn't want you to have to deal with the inevitable questions about, you know," you pointed to the left side of his face. "But if you want I can introduce you before we go... Or you could come over Friday for family dinner and give that a little more time to heal." 

He stared at you for half a second then shoved his hands in his pockets, "Family dinner sounds nice." 

"Great, I'll set it up tonight!" You smiled brightly and touched his arm, "Feel better?" 

He swallowed and nodded and you heard someone shout impatiently from inside the Jeep. Dean opened the backdoor for you and climbed in after you. You sat in the middle next to a guy with black hair and blue eyes who looked about the same age as Dean. 

"Hey, I'm Cas." The guy greeted you as you settled in. 

As soon as the door was closed the Jeep pulled out onto the road with a bounce from a pothole the tire hit. 

A small brunette in the middle front seat turned around and waved, "I'm Ruby, Sam's girlfriend," she pointed to a lanky guy with long brown hair next to her who offered you a smile. 

They looked about the same age as you, at least you knew Sam was. You noticed right away Sam didn't have any bruises or obvious scars. You felt a bit proud of Dean for that and also a little sorry that he didn't have someone like himself to have his back. 

"That's Benny," Dean said, pointing to the guy driving. "Benny say ‘Hi’."

"Hi." He glanced in the rearview mirror. 

"He's quiet until you get to know him." Dean explained. 

Benny, by far, looked the oldest of the bunch. Maybe it was because he hadn't shaved in a couple of days or maybe it was because he was built like a linebacker. But either way he didn't seem to like you. It was just a vibe you got in the split second your eyes connected. It practically radiated off him and you wondered if you were the only one picking up on it. 

"So, Y/N, how come I never see you at school?" Ruby asked, spinning around in her seat to face you completely and bumping into Benny who growled. Maybe it wasn't just you. "You're not home schooled are you?" 

"No, I go to one near my dad's work." You explained quickly, not really wanting to talk about school. 

"Where does your dad work?" Sam asked this time. 

“At Sandover Bridge and Iron. He’s the Director of Sales and Marketing.” You bounced your eyebrows. Really all that means is he’s barely around anymore. 

"That's cool," he said, shifting his eyes to Dean for a second. 

"Oh," Ruby’s brown eyes widened for a second and you knew what she was thinking. 

"Yeah."

"Am I missing something?" Dean asked, glancing between the two of you. 

"It’s a private school." You explained and it seemed to dawn on him. "What are you smirking at?" 

"You have to wear a uniform, don't you?" He smiled so wide the split in his lip threatened to pull again. 

"If you must know, yes, and it is the bane of my existence." You rolled your eyes dramatically to make your point. 

"So, like a plaid skirt with those long socks?" 

"Careful, Dean. We're friends, remember?" You whispered to him and he opened his mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut and turned to stare out the window. 

Ruby pouted, resting her chin on the back of the seat, "That's too bad. You could've sat with us at lunch and I would've shown you around. Dean says you're new." 

"Yeah," you sighed. That would've been nice to know someone in school. You had begged your parents to let you go to a public school this time, but they insisted. "Too bad." 

Dean had gotten really quiet and you nudged him with your elbow. He turned to smile and swallow thickly before turning a cold-shoulder and staring out the window again. You had only been teasing, but you didn't want him getting any ideas that would only result in him getting in trouble. 

"How do you guys know Dean?" You asked, directing the question at Cas since Benny didn't seem to be much of a talker. 

"We grew up together. Well, me and Dean did." Cas explained, "Benny just kind of showed up one day and we couldn't get rid of him." Benny growled and Cas winked in the rearview mirror. "He really is a teddy bear once you get to know him." 

Once you got to the beach Benny didn't park in the parking lot, instead he drove out onto the beach and down the shore for a long time until you were surrounded by only dunes of sand. It would've taken forever to walk there. He parked at the top of the dunes and everyone filtered out of the Jeep. The guys grabbed the boards from the trunk and Benny got to setting up his grill. You guessed he wasn't really into sand surfing. 

Dean said he was going to teach how to surf, but he was already halfway down the dune with Cas when you looked. And Sam and Ruby were flirting as they carried their boards over to join them and you didn't feel like third wheeling it today, so you hung back with Benny. 

"Need a hand?" Your voice was softer than you'd like it to be but you found him intimidating, even if he wasn't nearly as tall as Dean or Sam who was a moose at sixteen and probably still growing.

"Thought you came for that," he pointed at the dune where the others had run off to and you saw a couple extra boards stuck in the sand at the top. But you still didn't know how to surf, never even been snowboarding. And those surfboards looked a lot more like snowboards. You'd hurt yourself for sure without knowing how to turn or stop. "I hope you know what you're doing with him." 

Your eyes snapped back to Benny's and you squinted, "Excuse me." 

He raised his hands and his eyebrows, "His home life is... undesirable. I know you know what I mean. Last thing he needs is your parents on top of his own." 

You didn't think your parents would bat an eye at Dean. Mainly because they were wrapped up in their own lives and didn’t pay you much attention. But if they did notice, you wondered if they would dislike Dean enough to turn what you have with him into something wrong and indecent. You'd like to think they wouldn't because it wasn't. But it's a parent's job to be protective of their child.

"We're just friends." 

"Not the way he looks at you." Benny cocked his head and started setting up the foldable stand for the grill. "He's not thinking when he's around you. And don't get me wrong, I like seeing him happy, he's been there for me more times than I can count, but- Do you have any idea what his father would've done if he knew Dean took that car out last night. If that's the way he looks after spilling paint in the garage..." You didn't know what to say and opened your mouth like a fish out of water before he continued. "Dean's never done anything like that before. I'm just asking you to be careful with him. He has two years left and then he and Sam can get the hell out of there." 

"Why two years?" That's all you could manage to ask. 

"Dean's tried to get custody of Sam since he turned eighteen but the lawyers always tell him the same thing. He's too young himself, with no steady income and no decent living quarters. Going through courts takes time and money and Sam would likely age out before that time." He explained as you fiddled with the knot in your t-shirt. 

"How'd you know about the car?" 

"I live next door, I helped him push it back up the driveway so his father wouldn't wake up and hear the engine." 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I mean, I kind of knew but I guess I believed him when he said it would be fine." You watched your shoes and tried to still your bottom lip. "Just so you know, I'm not trying to cause him any more pain. We just kind of connected last night and I like him. I'm not gonna do anything that'll get him in trouble though. I promise." 

"Kid, I'm not worried about you doing the dumb shit. I'm worried about him." He scratched his slight beard. "It's not fair to ask you to think for the both of you." 

"It's not fair to ask me to not be his friend either." 

"I couldn't ask that of you." 

You kind of missed quiet Benny and the afternoon was starting to feel a lot like last night with your brother's friends. You wiped a tear threatening to fall down your cheek when you were sure Benny wasn't looking; everyone else taking a second run down the dune after climbing back up. You stood around and kicked at the sand until you could feel grains in your shoe. 

"Hey, cher, can you grab me the hotdogs from the cooler?" Benny asked and nodded towards the cooler next to the Jeep. 

You didn't bother digging around and just brought him the whole cooler. He split open the pack of hotdogs and started grilling. Then pulled a can of beer from the cooler and opened it. He handed it to you and grabbed his own. You wondered if you actually had to drink it, but he clearly saw that you were upset and it was a peace offering of sorts. So you took a sip. 

The fifth sip wasn't so bad and the seventh went down even easier. But it still tasted gross and you still didn't see the point. Maybe just a little warmth in your cheeks. 

Sam and Ruby were the first to run back over when Benny rang the dinner bell. Followed by Cas and Dean. Dean eyed the beer can in your hand and you took another sip before you grabbed a hotdog and walked away.

_________________________

Part 3

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 22)

Part 23

Tw: Monty being a creepy lil shit, mans can't take no for an answer, short chaprer

Tell me what y'all think of the series so far i loce reading the comments and anon asks plpplsplps thanks

"(name)-" Yves's eyes were blank when you hung up. He slowly puts his phone down on his desk. He starts disassembling it, pulling the battery out and carelessly tossing it to the side of his laptop. You're not going to call him again.

He drummed his perfectly manicured fingers onto the table. Yves sighed heavily as he massaged his forehead. He extended his hand to grab a luxury bottle out from a metal pail of frosty ice.

He uncorked it and poured his champagne flute full of alcohol. It was filled to the brim, but Yves is skilled enough to pick it up without spilling a drop.

He walked up to the massive, crystal-clear window that allowed him to see the skyline and the city from a bird's eye view. The sky is dark but devoid of clouds. It's picturesque, but its beauty means nothing to Yves now. You aren't here to appreciate it with him and neither will you appreciate it from the pictures he sent.

He stared past his reflection as he sipped on his drink.

In his vast, lavish hotel room, he is the only occupant within it. Yves doesn't see the need to switch all the lights on. Just enough to see, but it made his room rather dim and ominous.

He continued staring out into the distance wordlessly and unblinkingly as he drank from the special glassware.

Silence envelopes him like the deep ocean. He wished that it also engulfed his mind. But alas, a man can only pray to receive such mercy.

__

The three of you laughed at a joke Evangeline said. She seems to be quite the comedian, her brain spins fast to think of witty sayings and comparisons.

The rain somehow worsened since, stuck in traffic and with nothing to do, you, Evangeline and her father resorted to singing along to songs, albeit off key with cracking voices.

Perhaps Mr. Jones was having a bit too much fun. So much so that he didn't pay attention to the road ahead of him.

You and Evangeline were forcefully jerked forward upon impact of the front to the bumper of someone's car.

Mr. Jones gloved hands were gripping tightly on the steering wheel and his hat is not on his greying head.

He turned to check on his daughter and his client.

"Is everyone okay?" He asked. Evangeline nodded and you did so too. You felt a bit sore where the seatbelt wrapped around your body, but otherwise, you're unharmed.

"Oh no... I hit someone..." Whined Mr. Jones. "I hope they're alright." His voice has much more guilt than fear or annoyance. He quickly pressed the emergency button with the triangles to signal the surrounding cars to move around him.

Among the downpour, you heard a car door slam shut. Followed by incessant knocking on the window at the driver's seat.

Mr. Jones gulped as he rolled down his window.

"Hey, what the fuck!? You just hit me!

"I am so sorry, Sir--"

"It'll cost me an arm and a leg to repair it, my paycheck isn't going to be ready until next week! I can't drive around without my bumper- look! The entire thing is gone!" The stranger with a sickeningly familiar voice but unfamiliar accent ranted at the older male.

"I-I'll give you my details. My deepest apologies sir, I will cover all the damage incurred. I am so sorry for this." Stammered Mr. Jones. He rushed to pull out a pen and a notepad.

"Yeah, you better! Today cannot get any worse." He grumbled to himself. He's standing under the rain, getting more and more drenched by the minute.

The man stuck his head into the car to avoid the pouring rain. But immediately snapped his neck to the back seat.

You and Evangeline had blood drained out of your faces. Montgomery's eyes lit up so bright that you thought he was actually illuminating the car.

"Hi Darlin'! Fancy meetin' you here!" His southern accent returned. You gave him an awkward wave.

"And yer friend too! Hello! Thanks for givin' my sweetheart their lunch." You looked to your friend, she has the most natural and confident smile on her face.

"Glad I could help, Sir."

"What are ya doin' in a fancy car like this?" Montgomery turned to you. "And where are y'all goin'?"

You struggled to answer. You don't know what to do.

It's times like these you wish Yves is here.

"We are going to my house for a little playdate." Evangeline answered for you.

You let out a discrete sigh of relief. But then you considered the possibility of him tailing you three. Your muscles started to tense up again.

"Well, ain't that fun. I'm goin' to the mechanic to get my car fixed 'cause of him!" Montgomery replied with a snark. Mr. Jones apologized once again as he handed Montgomery a piece of paper with his details on it.

"I'm sorry, Sir Montgomery. It was our fault, we were distracting dad and caused him to hit you." You appreciate that she is keeping his attention off you.

"Your daddy, eh?" He looked around the well-kept interior of the car. "Must be nice to be this rich." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I wouldn't say we are rich. We definitely are comfortable though. I'm grateful to have such privileges and stabilities!" She beamed, you don't know if she's ignoring Montgomery's obvious spite towards her financial status or she's oblivious to it.

Montgomery visibly rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to you. "(Name), baby!" He addressed you in a sing-song voice.

"Why haven't ya' called? And, I missed ya' to death. Where were ya'? I hope you ain't skippin' school." You stammered and stuttered, you squirm under discomfort. You don't want to be around him any longer.

"Sir Montgomery, I suggest heading to the mechanic soon if you want to make it before it closes." Mr. Jones scribbled on something. "Here. Please accept this." He handed Montgomery a cheque. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Thank you." He stored the cheque somewhere that it wouldn't get too wet.

"As for ya, my sweetheart. What time will ya' be going home? I'll give ya' a lift back." He now stared at you, not caring that droplets of rain dripped down from his eyelashes and into the car.

Evangeline hooked her arms around yours. "They will be staying over. Isn't that right, (name)?"

His facial expression darkened. Montgomery did not like how she was touchy with his partner.

You meekly agreed.

"Well damn. Gimme your number then, sweetheart, I'll call ya."

Since you have two witnesses and you are in a car, you straight up told him no. You said that you're not comfortable with him contacting you and you never agreed to be in a relationship with him.

You thought that would be enough to either send him to a fit of rage or quit.

But instead, he rolled his eyes and huffed. Pretending that this is just a trivial matter.

"Can you cut the hard-to-get act just this once? It's rainin' cats and dogs out here, I wouldn't chase you any less if ya' handed me your phone number. In fact, I'd pursue ya even more!"

Horrified, you looked to Evangeline.

"Sir. (Name) is serious. They're not comfortable with you, they're not in a relationship with you. Please stop, you're being a creep!" She defended you.

"Shut yer' trap! You don't know squat about our love!"

"Don't speak to my daughter like that!" Mr. Jones finally came to her aid.

"What the- You should smack some sense into her! Talking to people like that--"

You interrupted the argument telling him that you are not giving him your phone number or any other information about yourself.

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and gave up for the time being.

"Fine. You ain't wanna give it to me? I'll find out my damn self, I'll prove how devoted I am to ya'." He grinned and winked at you. Which made you want to vomit.

Evangeline is baffled how Montgomery isn't taking anything except his car bumper seriously. He's barely angry that you humiliatingly rejected him in front of two people, but instead sees it as a couple's game. Just mildly annoyed that you're making him work for your basic information, but otherwise determined and playful about it.

"Mark my words, I will win this challenge and take my prize!" He declared to you. "Have fun at your tea party with goldilocks over there. I'll see you tomorrow, honey."

Montgomery waved and then returned back to his car. The brake lights lit up before he sped off to the nearest mechanic.

You began hyperventilating, which led Mr. Jones to hand you a brown paper bag. Evangeline tried to console you by putting your hair and squeezing your hand.

Why do these things always happen to you?

[homestuckreplay]

acrobatically fucking pirouetting off the handle so hard i turn into my best friend

(page 607-614)

9/7/2009 Wheel Spin: Sburb Lore Verdict: i fucking wish :(

9/8/2009 Wheel Spin: Character Switch Verdict: HELL YEAH JOHN’S BACK !!!! :D

A couple of shorter updates compared to the bumper 13 pages on September 6, but it’s all relative, and would be silly to complain about.

The narration on p.607 tells Dave, ‘It is time to face your destiny.’ In the short term, this obviously refers to the trap that Dave’s bro has set up for him, but it also gets me thinking about whether destiny more broadly will play a role in this story, and if so, what Dave’s might be. On p.293, GG – who appears to have knowledge their friends don’t share – theorizes that saving the world is John’s destiny. Nannasprite in her exposition refers to John’s ‘purpose’ (p.427) but it’s left very unclear whether this is a fantasy-novel style Prophesized Destiny, or just a result of John choosing to play Sburb.

I think this might be intentionally vague in the story right now, either to allow for readers to theorize, or because Hussie hasn’t yet decided the exact nature of the story. However, when destiny is a theme in fantasy, a chosen one's destiny is usually to defeat a great evil. I think it'd be neat if Dave's destiny was actually to defeat Bro once and for all - probably the most evil character we've seen yet, and certainly the one who's most affected Dave's life - which would make this line on p.607 end up looking really prophetic and bringing things full circle.

I am wondering just how many Smuppets Bro owns, and what the turnover rate is like. There’s at least 20 in the puppet pile Dave’s stuck in, and a lot of them get sliced in half. Bro needs these for work and has a large collection to draw on at any time, but they’re regularly getting destroyed, so logistically I am imagining a large crate of a couple hundred Smuppets showing up at the apartment each week, which is a horrendous thought. No wonder they are in Dave’s dreams. The ‘puppets per square meter’ and ‘new puppets per day’ are probably much higher numbers than the equivalent for harlequins or wizards in John and Rose’s houses. If these decorative choices represent sources of alienation and anxiety for the kids this could suggest that Dave’s mental state is even worse than that of his friends.

Also I think that if Bro really wants to be Jigsaw so bad he needs to put some variety into his traps. Puppets every time is nowhere near as creative as the saw traps in the movie.

Page 611 repeats a Dave-Rose Pesterlog from p.522. I like when this happens – it clarifies where we are in the timeline, as well as giving the characters equal importance while showing both perspectives. Earlier when Dave referred to himself as ‘enrobed in chafing, wriggling god fucking damned puppet pelvis’ I did think he was exaggerating for effect, and was just describing the puppet-strewn living room with an overactive imagination. Reading this for a second time knowing that Dave is being extremely literal is very different – it feels like someone begging to be taken seriously and failing, instead of someone committing to the mutually constituted bit.

Dave’s bro referencing Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff – ‘where doing it man where MAKING THIS HAPEN’ – on a sinister note pinned to the crawlspace hatch with a weapon feels really insidious. Taking this piece of art that Dave made and is proud of, and turning it into something threatening, is upsetting to me. What does Dave get to have for himself? Is there an aspect of his life that his bro doesn’t twist into something evil? Does Bro know about Dave’s friends, and if so, does he work them into his schemes too? And yet it’s effective despite all this – it does provoke Dave into action, jumping up and escaping the puppet prison, leaving Dave’s story on the cliffhanger of what exactly Bro wants to ‘make hapen’ as we smashcut to John.

I am very excited to see what John and Rose get up to and I hope it is not famous last words to say that it will surely be less disturbing than what is happening with Dave. At the very least, I feel lighter and freer knowing that I don’t have to think about Dave’s bro for a few days.

[cereusblue]

https://gofund.me/96bce824

Hi, all. So, I've had a day from hell and I'm too exhausted to re-explain on another platform. But here, I'll copy paste the story here. TLDR at the bottom. If you can't help, pass it on. Literally everything helps. Love you all.

Good day all, thank you for stopping your busy day to check my page.

Let me lay out the situation as best I can.

First off, some background for myself and my family. My fiancee and I only have(had) one functioning car between us when we took in a family member of his in an emergency CPS case. We are trying our hardest to take care of her and teach her how to be a person, but our schedules and only having one vehicle has made that a struggle. She has gotten a job just last week and is working hard to get on her feet. It's great and we are very proud of her! It's part time for the time being while she learns how to manage finances and how the world works.

However, since October things have started taking a turn for the worse. Between my fiancee and I, we both worked minimum wage and in October I bent over to put on a shoe and my back made a horrible crack noise. I went to the ER in immense pain and despite having insurance, I still got dumped with a hefty bill that to this day I am still trying to pay off. I have gone through physical therapy as requested by my doctor, since he didn't want to operate on someone of my age. However, it did nothing but agitate the problem. While I can now move around again, bending over and lifting anything past 15 pounds is strenuous. I'm in pain every single day and even sitting up is difficult most days. I can't stand up for long anymore before it becomes too much on my back. But things continue to happen, as they do. I was set to come back to see my surgeon this year but on Dec 29th in the last hour of the day, my job decided that an AI system could completely take over my job and laid me off. Getting unemployment as well as answers back from my previous work has been very difficult. My benefits were cut off with no chance to refill medications or see my surgeon. So, now my continued treatment to fix my back on top of my other health issues have all been put on pause. I've been working for almost two years now to get treatment and figure out what's wrong with my health, but I am now on a desperate search for a new job.

Which leads us to today. We are already strapped for money, and on a trip to an interview and my fiancee going to work, we got taken down a gravel road that looked deceptively fine. Driving across, the ice was far deeper than it appeared and it destroyed the grill, bumper, and wheel well (I believe that's what it's called) aka part of the frame that covers the front wheels broke and are hanging. That's not where it ends. So, I took the car to get it temporarily fixed so we could hopefully figure something out to get repairs done. The car got a temporary fix, and then I proceeded to take the car to pick up my fiancee from work. He and I began our drive back home, and as we were passing train tracks a doe jumped out into the road way too close to us. She only came into view as she appeared in the lights of the car, immediately getting bodied by the car. As you can see from the image, she destroyed the hood of the car and much more. I feel horrible for the poor thing and I hope she went quickly, noticing the fur and blood on the front bumper. We managed to get the car home, but the check engine light came on. This car is a Toyota prius. Anyone who knows anything about a prius knows they are basically tin cans. So, the worry is that the cooling system is busted now too. This will exponentially increase the amount we need to pay to repair the vehicle.

The worst part is, is that this is the only car we have to go to work and for me to go to interviews. I do have a car, but it's not in running condition right now. The poor thing is a 1999 and needs some parts replaced that we have not had the funds or availability to get a list of parts and have them replaced. The car also can't move anyway right now and would need towed. The prius is our only vehicle we have, and I don't have the funds to drop on fixing it. Insurance won't pay for it as far as we have been made aware by the body shop because of the type of insurance we have.

So, this is the current estimate we have to work with in regards to repairs. The entire front, hood, coolant system, and I know a few more pieces need replaced. The prius can run and be moved to a body shop at least, but paying for it will be a nightmare. If he can't get to work, we are in major trouble. My fiancee, his little sister, and I all rely on this car for work. While I'm still looking for work, I'm very limited because of my current physical state. We've spent a lot of money on my Healthcare already and every day are worried I'm going to reach for something and have my back crack again. While we are working on Medicaid, these things are proving a slow process. They also don't cover previous medical bills when I did have insurance. So, our only choice is to live off his income currently while I'm on a search for a new job every day. Our lives depend on this one car. Especially since we live out in the woods and work is 40 minutes away.

If you've read this far, I appreciate every single second of your time. Every single hand this gofundme goes through will be a huge help. If you can't help, that's okay, please don't stress your own financials if youre in a tough spot. If you can pass this along to anyone you can, that would be more than enough. Thank you again, and I wish you all better fortune this 2024.

For those who can't read the whole thing;

TLDR; Me and my family are already going through a lot of financial troubles with my health and being laid off, our only mode of transportation is severely damaged from an unmaintained roads massive pothole and hitting a deer in the same day. Three people rely on this one vehicle for all our jobs and interviews that are far from home. Donate if you can, if not, please share and thank you so very much.

Also including another picture here for you all to see. Thank you all again, I wish you better fortune this year.

[l0t4n]

CAN THEY DRIVE??

a/n this is my first time posting to this account... Exciting... Please feel free to lmk any of ur thoughts I feel like I kinda exaggerated certain characters teehee

Contains the brothers + dateables. Occasional mentions of gn mc. Truly about their driving skill

LUCIFER

-yes, has his driver's license

-puts on the appearance of someone who is good at driving and well-adjusted

-when he's alone or when things ramp up even a little, however, his road rage is actually insane

-will literally lay on the horn at anyone who slights him, even a little

-when he's not alone and feels the need to protect his pride, will still be an angry driver but in a far more subtle way

-turns on his high beams, rides people's bumpers, cuts people off and break-checks them any time he can't quite make a big scene

-even when he isn't driving, he's an insane backseat driver, but to different degrees depending on who's driving

-occasionally backseat drives for Beel, Asmo or Satan but definitely plays it up just to mess with Mammon in particular

-will backseat drive for mc out of concern rather than jest

-still annoying

-good at driving on the surface but his anger makes him far more prone to accidents than most, third best driver out of the brothers

MAMMON

-Yes, has his license - otherwise the car in his room would be redundant

-surprisingly good at driving, understands and obeys traffic laws, overly cautious at times

-not out of genuine respect for those laws, just out of care for his car

-wouldn't bother being subtle if another driver pulls a maneuver that has the potential to mess up his paint job, will scream out the window or lay on the horn

-immediately stops and speeds off if the other driver tries to reciprocate

-will be SO annoying if anyone tries to eat or drink in his car

-even water he'll demand is thrown out before entry

-his brothers hate it. Isn't as harsh about it towards mc, but will quickly revoke their special privileges if they end up actually spilling something

-constant cycle of those cologne-y tree air fresheners hanging from his rear view mirror

-has a million more unopened ones in the glove box

-car is clean at a glance, but trash is just barely hidden out of sight under car seats and in cup holders

-honestly pretty reliable driver, second best out of all his brothers

LEVIATHAN

-no, doesn't have a driver's license or a car

-says it's because he wouldn't even have anywhere to go, is partially correct in that assertion

-Mammon and Asmo tried to teach him to drive a while ago, he wanted to drive to a convention that was farther away

-couldn't so much as put the car in drive without panicking that he was imminently at threat of hitting something

-any time his foot even grazed the gas, he'd slam the breaks to the floor

-didn't take long to start crying about it

-Mammon stopped the short-lived lessons there, didn't want Levi's tears to ruin the interior of his car

-any time Levi needs a ride now, he'll either walk (very short distances), use public transportation (only if he can secure an isolated seat away from everyone else), or ask one of his brothers for a ride

-prefers when Barbatos drives him places the most and Mammon the least, although probably ends up being driven by Asmo the most

-if he did have a car, it would undoubtedly be painful

-COVERED in anime decals, maybe a custom wrap of Ruri-chan

-would probably be decent at driving if he got over his initial fears, but that's not going to happen

SATAN

-yes, he has his driver's license - it's just frequently suspended

-unlike Lucifer, will not wait until he's alone to exhibit severe road rage

-even worse than Lucifer, isn't above getting out of the car and slamming his fists against the driver's side window of whoever he's mad at

-backseat of his car is piled high with books he doesn't have room for at the HoL

-”sorry, you can just throw those in the back” -Satan, any time mc is trying to get into the front seat of his car

-seats and interior are probably also coated in cat hair, he can't stand to get rid of it

-so anyways back to his horrible road rage

-his repeated verbal (and physical) assaults on other drivers means his license is repeatedly (often) suspended

-when he needs transportation during these times he usually defaults to Beel

-on the few occasions he needs to resort to riding with Lucifer, he intentionally does shit to get him into trouble - diverting his eyes from the road and ruining his focus, reaching over and wiggling the wheel from Lucifer's hands, etc

-doesn't seem to truly question why his license, after being repeatedly suspended, has yet to be permanently revoked from him

-nor why it keeps getting reinstated faster than promised

-hint: it's Lucifer

-not a very good driver at all - being on the road has a way of bringing out anger even in people who are not normally prone to it, and sadly, Satan is nothing if not prone to anger

-when he isn't angry, he's exceptional at following traffic laws and probably has obscure details about them memorized

-jumps out of his car, even on the busiest intersections, whenever he sees a cat on the side of the road

-takes it home every time without fail

-this is actually a more pressing reason to keep him off the road compared to the traffic violations in the mind of Lucifer

-fifth best driver out of the brothers

ASMODEUS

-yes, has his driver's license

-his car is fucking insane

-fluffy pink steering wheel cover and dashboard cover AND seat covers, maybe a little leopard print thrown in, but only a little he's not an animal

-car is more heavily perfumed than Mammon’s, his air freshener hanging right next to the fluffy dice off of his rear view mirror

-backseat windows are tinted and one-directional, for Reasons

-will not drive unless music is blasting at full volume

-you can feel the vibrations from Britney Spears’s (or devildom equivalent) dulcet tones in your seat

-constantly on his phone while driving, taking photos and videos of himself, occasionally livestreaming

-projects the image of someone who does not care about traffic laws

-secretly a very good driver, never gets into accidents

-significantly more forgiving of other cars and much less prone to road rage than his brothers

-the best driver out of all of them

BEELZEBUB

-yes, has his license

-probably the most unremarkable driver out of all of them

-only got his license to take Belphie places, since he was the only one out of the two who could actually stay awake behind the wheel

-his shortcomings do not lie in his sin like Satan or Lucifer, but instead just from being a beefbrain

-not very perceptive, especially when he's driving to a restaurant or something - easily distracted by other goals and forgets the most important goal of driving

-don't hit things

-doesn't ever end up in a major accident, but may need to slam on the breaks from time to time

-apologizes accordingly for these instances

-car is overall not notable, depending on when you enter

-Lucifer makes him clean it weekly, otherwise fast food wrappers accumulate to the point of blocking the windshield

-keeps a pillow and blanket in the car for Belphie to nap with

-not a terrible driver, but not excellent either - fourth best out of the brothers

BELPHEGOR

-no driver's license

-literally no way he's going to stay awake behind the wheel

-tried to learn how to drive first so he could drive Beel places, but fell asleep while driving enough times and ran into enough things that they will not let him anymore

-felt apologetic about it at first, but got used to being driven by Beel everywhere quickly

-the movement of the car lulls him right to sleep anyways

-even if it isn't Beel driving he will fall asleep

-would prefer to sprawl out over the back seats but can fold himself up in the front seat if need be

-if he was capable of staying awake, would probably be a decent driver, if not very passive-aggressive

-would chronically drive under the speed limit like he's elderly

DIAVOLO

-Yes, has a driver's license - Barbatos insisted he got one, yet he hardly ever uses it

-almost always escorted places by designated chauffeurs or, less commonly, Barbatos himself

-thought getting his license would be his ticket to freedom, his teenage girl escape

-was so upset when he found out he wasn't even allowed to go to the DMV, everything was filed from the castle

-felt deprived of yet another commoner experience, still doesn't know why everyone hates the DMV so bad

-(stands for “devildom motor vehicles”)

-driving was fun for him at first, but since he doesn't really get the chance to drive normally it stopped being fun after a while

-even when he does get to drive, Barbatos’s backseat driving is insane

-double whammy if Lucifer is in the car too

-actually a pretty good driver, made sure to be responsible and study laws and techniques in advance

-doesn't even understand the concept of road rage, probably laughs it off every time someone pulls a dangerous maneuver in his proximity

-better driver than Lucifer, yet not on par with Asmo

BARBADOS

-yes, of COURSE he has a driver's license

-he's the one virtually everyone defaults to when they need a ride, anyways

-primarily transports Diavolo, but frequently helps the brothers get around too

-literally the safest possible driver you could ever dream of

-always doing the exact speed limit. Predicts unsafe drivers in his vicinity before they're even in his line of sight. Never slams the breaks or swerves for any reason

-got distracted once while parking, lightly scraped a curb

-the most horrified he's ever been

-dedicated the next few years to improving his driving skill, even though it was already exceptional

-dedicated driving gloves for every time he gets in the car

-very anal retentive about cleanliness in the car, especially

-hates having to crawl in there to clean shit up

-will obviously end up doing it eventually anyways. Sigh

-easily the best driver out of every other character, if not in the entire devildom

SIMEON

-no, he doesn't have a driver's license

-so fucking scared of cars

-he can hardly use a phone properly, still manages to cause problems with that, although understands how it could be worse

-a car is where it gets worse

-if he misclicks something on his phone, he may end up embarrassing himself a little, worst case scenario is a virus or needing to buy a new phone

-operating a car incorrectly could result in injury or death

-nobody bothers teaching him regardless, although he did greatly consider learning for a while, to help Luke get around easier

-just defaults to Barbatos instead

-it's probably a good thing he doesn't drive - without that fear of technology, especially of technology with high capacity to be harmful, he would probably be one of the worst drivers overall

SOLOMON

-yes, has a driver's license. Regrettably

-hardly uses it, only has a human world license, never bothered getting licensed in the devildom

-just teleports everywhere. Wiggles his fingers and does magic and goes where he wants instantly

-he literally predates the invention of cars so massively anyways so that's definitely what he did before cars too

-got a license because he thought it would be fun

-also the human world started actually cracking down on ID, he couldn't get away with the trust-based system that humanity used to operate off of

-human world officials are confused when he presents them with a driver's license twenty whole years out of date, however

-especially when his face is the exact same as the photo on his crazy old, visibly weathered license - as if he mysteriously hadn't aged…

-probably ends up in some kind of “man from Taured” style myth eventually

-might be the man from Taured actually

-fucking sucks at driving also

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 25 - Flashbacks - Ted Lasso

cw - flashbacks, PTSD, past child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks

Jamie had been working with Doctor Fieldstone on the things that his dad had ruined for him and that caused his panic attacks. But every so often he still accidentally stumbled on something that set off a memory he had forgotten about

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

“Fuck!” Jamie cursed, dropping down onto the moist grass. He didn’t even do anything. He was just running, stopped and was stepping down the curb. His body went down the curb, his ankle didn’t agree with that as an idea and so his body crumpled.

“Shit!” Roy continued the swear word roulette. Before Jamie could think about moving, Roy had his arms underneath Jamie’s and was pulling him back upright.

“I think I’m,” Jamie winced before testing putting weight down on the irritated appendage. “Nope, nope,” Jamie cried out as it buckled again under his weight. He squeezed his eyes shut and let Roy manipulate him. All Jamie’s focus was on making sure his foot did not touch the floor. Until the back of his legs hit on the rear bumper of the G Wagon. The feeling was like a jolt of electricity, piercing through his veins leaving destruction in it’s wake. He couldn’t breathe, his chest was collapsing in on itself. There were hands on him, he didn’t want hands on him.

“Just get the fuck in junior.”

The hands weren’t letting go. He couldn’t struggle. It would hurt more if he struggled.

“We’ve got places to be and you’re the smallest. I’d do it if I could but I won’t fit you hear.” Jamie could feel his dad’s breath on his face and smell the stench of cheap cologne and stale beer.

“I’ll just walk,” Jamie whispered, hands finally reconnecting with his brain to reach up and grip tightly onto his hair.

“Jamie.” Hands gripped at his wrists, trapping him in place.

“Jamie do not embarrass me. If you will not get in there then I will make you. So stupid.” The grip on his wrists was becoming bruising as Jamie struggled in place lashing out with his elbows, his feet, his head anything that would move. But the grip wouldn’t release. The growling of displeasure continued. He was lifted up of his feet and then everything went black.

It was too tight. His dad had said with pride just a few days before that Jamie was a growing lad and would be taller than his dad in no time. That growth spurt height now was betraying him as Jamie tucked his knees into his chest to stop whatever else was in the boot digging into his legs. His head was already throbbing from the hit against the old opened paint can that had been leaking into the boot of his dad’s car for months. It was so dark. Jamie couldn’t even tell if he had is eyes open or not. “You’re lucky mate, kids just ain’t built like they were when I was a young un,” Jamie could hear his dad’s abrasive laugh over the rumbling of the engine turning over.

“Tell you the number of times my old man would take me out and I’d have to sit in the boot as there wasn’t room,” Denbo laughed and there was a chitter of mirroring chuckles from the other occupants of the car.

“Just a part of growing up, George fucking spoils the little leech. Needs a bit of toughening up,” James huffed. Tears prickled at Jamie’s eyes. He pressed his fist against his mouth to bite and try and stifle the pained and scared sobs. He couldn’t be seen crying, not by his dad’s friends, that would just make it a million times worse. He wasn’t some little baby that was scared of the dark. It was his own fault. His dad would have taken off the parcel shelf and there would have been more room if he hadn’t had been a whiny brat. He just needed to get over himself and …

“Jamie, can you hear me?”

Jamie froze in place. That wasn’t one of his dad’s friends. It was too soft, too caring to be someone that would associate with James Tartt.

“He’s stopped the biting, that’s something right?”

Roy? Roy was here? But wasn’t there? Where was here?

“Jamie I need you to open your eyes for me?” the nice voice, not Roy, asked. But Jamie couldn’t do that. He shook his head slightly, too worried about hitting the paint can again to do it further. If he opened his eyes he would just see the darkness and Roy and Not Roy would go away and he would be trapped and alone again. “Jamie, you are on a side road near Richmond Green leaning up against the wheel of Coach Kent’s car. If you don’t believe me you can reach out. Just move your right hand off your lap and you’ll feel the tarmac.” Jamie shook his head again. No matter what the nice voice in his head was saying he couldn’t move his arm because it would hit something and what if it was the bolt cutters?

“Jamie, could you try? I’m, I’m starting to get really fucking worried mate,” that was Roy Kent that time. Jamie would know that voice anywhere. But Roy Kent was worried about him, why was imaginary Roy Kent worried about him and asking him to move his arm. But despite that his arm moved seemingly of it’s own accord. It stretched downwards and collided with a rough, bitty surface. It did feel like a road.

“There you are Jamie. See what that feels like. Focus on that feeling and open your eyes.” Jamie rolled a loose piece of the fine rock over his fingertips. His eyes did inch open to look down at the piece in his hand. It was dark grey and jagged and despite the prickle, felt good in his hand. He wasn’t in a car boot. He was sat on the side of a road with a very concerned Roy Kent holding out a phone with Doctor Fieldstone’s face peering back at him. “Are you back with us Jamie?” Doctor Fieldstone asked and that was enough to start the torrent. Sobs ripped their way out of Jamie and poured all over the pavement like someone had taken a knife to him and just started ripping things out.

He could faintly here Roy thanking Doctor Fieldstone then a hand settled on his knee. Roy could surely feel the small flinch at the contact but he kept his hand there, a settling weight. It was easily identifiable as Roy Kent’s hand, not anything that could be kept in a handyman’s car boot.

“I just want to go home,” Jamie choked out through his tears.

“Ok then lad. Let’s get you home. You wanna choose the music?” Roy offered, opening the passenger seat door with his free hand and leaving it there inviting for Jamie. Jamie nodded, that would help. He could do this. He wasn’t scared of cars. He could get in the passenger seat like the passenger princess Roy always muttered about him being and he could annoy Roy with his music selections. He could do this. This wasn’t going to be another thing ruined by James Tartt.

It was the topic of an emergency session with Doctor Fieldstone the next day, another trigger that Jamie hadn’t been aware of. Another thing ruined by James Tartt Sr. But when he stood a respectable distance away and saw a loving uncle lift a fantastic little blonde veterinarian for wild animals to sit on the edge of the boot so he could clean a scraped knee, Jamie felt like it might be one he could fix.

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 1 - The Liminal Moment

Dean's managed to completely screw up his back. Bobby sends him... somewhere?

Suptober prompt: Liminal

(Read on AO3)

The pain isn't getting any better.

Okay, understatement.

The pain is getting worse every day. The last couple of mornings it had hurt so much just to get out of bed that there had been tears in his eyes by the time his feet were on the floor.

He'd manged to torque himself somehow, moved in exactly the wrong way by half an inch a few weeks ago, and something in his lower back had seized and squeezed and it hasn't let go since. What started as a sharp but localized ache has spread, more and more of his muscles going into spasm as he's held himself in increasingly awkward ways in search of relief. At this point his entire left side, kneecap to earlobe, is a hot line of agony, centered on a spot near his kidney that feels like a rusty rebar's been shoved straight through it.

But Dean's no wimp, and he's no whiner, either. No matter how bad he hurts he's showing up for work every day, putting in the hours, pulling his weight. Maybe he's not too fast on his feet right now, shuffling from car to car on the shop floor like somebody's decrepit grandpa, but he's still covering the floor. He's got a lifetime of experience with suffering in silence, after all, and nobody needs to know his business except him.

He's hunched crookedly over the engine of a '93 Chrysler LeBaron when Bobby yells for him, “GODDAMMIT DEAN!!” cracking through the shop so loud and so unexpected that he immediately straightens up on reflex. The sudden movement brings pain so intense he's briefly nauseated. His eyesight swims, and for a few seconds he worries he's about to pass out. By the time he feels steady again his boss is standing in front of him, looking equal parts irritated and worried.

“Boy, what's gotten into you lately?” he asks gruffly. “You look like hell, and you've been actin' like you're half-dead for days. You sick or somethin'?”

Dean tries to play it cool, but as he reaches to lean on the LeBaron's bumper a tremor in his hand betrays him. Busted. He grits his teeth and fesses up. “Kinda threw out my back a week or two ago. Pain keeps getting worse an' worse. I didn't mean for it to affect my job, though. I'm sorry if–”

Bobby cuts him off with an impatient gesture. “Y'ain't got nothin' to apologize for, son. You're more than just a shop hand to me, you know that.” He pulls off his grimy trucker cap, runs a hand through his thinning hair, and sighs. “You gotta take better care of yourself, Dean. You ain't nineteen any more. God knows none of us are.” He turns to his left and calls, “Garth, come take over on this Chrysler.”

“What? No!” Dean tries to block his lanky coworker's access to the engine, but Garth's got the advantages of height, reach, and a functioning muscular system and Dean can't even slow him down. Bobby tugs him carefully toward the office door. “It's fine, I can still work!” he protests.

“Not today you can't,” he says. “Go wash your hands, and then I want you to head on over across the street.”

Dean looks out through the open doors of the garage bay and across the two-lane blacktop that runs by Bobby's shop. There's a tiny strip mall on the other side of the road: four bland storefronts and an Italian restaurant. “You... want me to go... pick up a pizza?” he guesses.

His boss brings his hand up like he's about to dole out one of his trademark slaps to the back of his mechanic's head. Then he seems to think better of it and stops himself with a huff. “Try two doors down from the pizza place, idjit.” He gives Dean's shoulder a gentle shove. “Wash up and go. I'll call ahead. By the time you get yourself dragged across the way there'll be somebody waitin' for ya.”

Aching, dazed, and confused, Dean complies. It takes him a good five minutes to shamble his way up to the cheery yellow door he's been directed to. The sign above it declares this place to be The Liminal Moment and Dean has no idea what the hell that's supposed to mean. He turns the knob and walks inside as a collection of small bronze bells tinkle above his head.

He finds himself in a generic waiting area – a couple of chairs, a small table with some magazines, a reception desk (currently unmanned). There's an assortment of potted plants on the desk and the windowsills, and a small electric fountain burbling in the corner. The walls are painted a softer shade of the door's yellow. Behind the desk, someone has stuck up one of those cutesy inspirational stick-on decals. It reads “Honor the space between no longer and not yet – Nancy Levin”.

Dean still does not know what this place is or why he was sent here.

“I'll be right with you,” calls a rough voice. A few moments later a breathtakingly beautiful man strides in to the room with a gummy smile and a “Hello, Dean.”

Off balance and befuddled, Dean offers a limp wave in response.

The man continues. “I just got off the phone with Bobby. He says you're in a great deal of pain?”

“Yeah, I, uh, fucked up my back? What is this place, man? Bobby told me to walk over. Why am I here?”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, we're doing this all out of order. Welcome to The Liminal Moment. My name is Castiel. I'll be your masseur today.”

This story concludes here!

[keendaanmaa]

.

i could have died today. that's a surprisingly sobering realization to have once the adrenaline of the situation wears off.

backing up: my dad and i are on our way back from helping blue move, which means we were doing 110 down the highway in his pickup, towing my uncle's trailer. and then when we were approaching an intersection, the Absolute Idiot coming from our right pulls out in front of us. i'm talking like, he's halfway across our lane and we are maybe 30 feet away. still going 110. cue one of the sharpest swerves i have ever seen and then those precautionary videos about why you don't make jerky turns while towing a trailer are coming to life and i'm in the vehicle attached to it. thank God my dad was able to maintain enough control to pull back over to our shoulder and stop. with everything juddering and smashing the whole time. we get out to inspect the damage and the tailgate is mostly off, the bumper looks like it's been pulled halfway off the truck, and the trailer is only still attached by one of the two safety chains. the biker who was in the opposite lane and the guy in the car behind us both stop to check that we're alright, before the biker keeps going. car guy stays to help us get the trailer rehitched and tells us that Idiot took off as soon as we had come to a stop - or maybe before. he also offers to follow us for the next twenty miles until our turn off to make sure the trailer stays hitched, since all the jerking and swerving and bouncing did a number on the hitch and we can't get it properly locked in. so now we're safely to my uncle's yard and unhitching. it's just.

we could so easily have been killed. the truck could have rolled, the trailer could have rolled, we could have hit the Idiot straight on. he could, probably would, have been killed if we weren't able to swerve. the biker in the oncoming lane could have been killed if my dad hadn't been able to keep what control he did. there could have been a larger, closer vehicle in the oncoming lane.

praise God for His protection because this could have been so so so much worse than it was. as it is i'm shaken up and feeling so so grateful for my family and friends. so grateful that the only damage was to things, and that they are fixable. that we were coming home with an empty trailer and not going with a full one. that we are alive.