#that's why it's so hard for folks when they hit someone with their car

[not-poignant]

That excerpt got me excited to read the next chapter of UtB! Kadek is a character we didn't get to explore much in FFS so I'm pumped. Question: does Kadek's past actions at the other rehabilitation facility still effect him? Does he see himself as a perpetrator or deal with any self-hatred? Does he suffer from his PTSD or something like second-hand trauma? I know that being violent towards others/hurting others or seeing other people suffer can cause a trauma response. So I'm curious

Hi anon,

A person who can honestly call what they've done 'rape' instead of 'oh I mean technically it was rape and they still wanted it' is definitely in the arena of seeing himself as a perpetrator and still being affected by it. He literally says to Efnisien that he's allowed to think of Kadek as a monster, because Kadek was a monster. He calls the story 'a sad story.' The story is literally in relation to him talking about how fucked up the world is. So a lot of the answers to your question/s are actually in the excerpt that mentions all this stuff in the language Kadek is using.

People who haven't taken responsibility for their actions talk about the act of rape in a very different way. And Kadek will talk more about it and it should become a lot clearer even after those first two paragraphs talking about the story.

(More to follow, also just a correction that it's not at all secondhand trauma to hurt someone else, that is 100% primary trauma).

Also, being a rapist isn't 'secondhand trauma.' It's just straight-up traumatising to many people, and fractures their personality to a degree where they can often no longer confront reality afterwards. It's especially traumatising to people who don't realise they're raping someone (usually due to ignorance / lack of education / misogyny) and then become aware, and then have to deal with the aftermath of that. Intentional rapists experience a different journey to people who really don't think of themselves that way, and then find out they're in the category of rapist anyway, which is what Kadek is.

Accidentally inflicting trauma on someone and realising later is traumatic. It's not 'secondhand trauma' by default (though that can be there too - there's 100% primary trauma). If you hit an animal with your car and kill or hurt it, that's not 'secondhand trauma' because the animal was likely more hurt than you were. That's primary trauma, it often can cause post-trauma and even PTSD. If you hit/injure/kill someone with your car, that's not secondhand trauma, even though the other person died and you still lived, that's a hell of a primary trauma likely compounded with survivor's guilt.

Even Efnisien in Falling Falling Stars doesn't have secondhand trauma from hurting Gwyn. He has primary trauma over it, that's why he has panic attacks when he thinks about hurting people and animals in the future. That's just straight-up PTSD. You may not have read that though, anon! But it's a decent exploration of perpetrator + victim PTSD if I do say so myself. :)

People who learn they have hurt other people or animals, and who didn't want to do that, experience primary trauma if they're genuinely able to comprehend the hurt that they've caused.

So we know from the excerpt that Kadek sees himself as the perpetrator because he calls it rape and calls himself a monster, and talks like someone who has owned the reality of what he's done. When folks use this kind of language (and they're not intentionally being manipulative, and we have no reason to believe Kadek is), it means they're owning responsibility. It is people who defer or refuse to own responsibility who will not see themselves as a perpetrator. These people do not call what they've done rape. In fact they will go out of their way to call it literally anything else.

Generally, a person who calls themselves a monster has experienced some self-hatred over what they've done (Falling Falling Stars actually confronts this too!)

As for everything else, you'll find out in the chapter! :D Kadek's definitely talking about the story of how he found out that what he was doing was bad, so we will get to hear how that happened, and what the aftermath was.

[maiamore]

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya. 

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar,  handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar. 

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details. 

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him. 

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick. 

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings. 

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor. 

“Right. You’re the parent of…?” 

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

 “Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times. 

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison. 

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him. 

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve. 

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities. 

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night. 

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn. 

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you. 

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage. 

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively. 

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang. 

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard. 

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest. 

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes. 

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure. 

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words. 

“I’m just here to help—” 

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you. 

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you. 

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block. Not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. With candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt—god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show. 

"You ever learn how to listen?" 

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much. 

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting. 

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down." 

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your arms down.

Why did that…feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air before you fully completed your thought, the chains of lights comes tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you. 

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio, drawing everyone’s attention.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.  

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom.

Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asks in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."  

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it. 

You don’t answer him. Humiliated as is. Your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid. 

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard. 

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Or entertain Sarah and the rest of the kids. You’d turned his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland by the end of the night.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel. 

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers. 

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your thighs. 

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?” 

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. 

“Who said I was?” 

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him. 

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. Joel’s eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck does runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?” 

Joel shifts in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment. 

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind. 

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore. 

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.” 

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents. 

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws. 

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tightened around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path. 

A firm slam against the hood you were backed up against causes you to jolt. 

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again. 

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up. 

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.  

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch. 

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale. 

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck. 

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it. 

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties. 

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you. 

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds. 

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles. 

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation. 

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly? 

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both. 

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full. 

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears. 

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you. 

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come. 

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point. 

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight. 

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips. 

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down. 

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit. 

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips. 

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs. 

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck. 

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks. 

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

[sofiareidings]

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

Summary: At the New Year's party at Rossi's you have a little to much to drink and Spencer has to take you home. What will happen when the clock strikes midnight though?

A/N: Stated in the title but I'm also stating it now, this one-shot does mention alcohol. Also, thank you so much for all the love on yesterday's post! I'm going to try and post a story everyday until I start school, (September 6th) once I get back into the rhythm of school I'll try and make a posting schedule.

Word Count: 0.9k

Song Suggestions: Pacific - Sleeping At Last

Rossi had invited the entire team over for a New Years party. It had been a tough year, and everyone needed it. You spent the evening having fun, talking, dancing, and drinking.

Maybe a little too much drinking. It was thirty minutes to midnight and Garcia had finally cut you off. “I love you sweetie, but you’re sticking to water for the rest of the night.” You sighed at her comment and decided the best idea would be to vent about it to someone else.

“…and now she’s only giving me water!” You slumped back in the chair while Spencer just shook his head. He was completely sober that night and could tell how drunk you were. He knew it was time for you to go home. He stood up, putting a hand out for you to grab.

“Come on, it’s time to go home.” Taking his hand you groan and reluctantly grab your stuff while mumbling to yourself about the injustice. Once you got to Spencer’s car you turned on his radio, the first channel was a strange classical music channel and immediately changed. The next channel was counting down to midnight while playing what you assumed was the top 100.

Rossi’s mansion wasn’t far from your apartment complex and Spencer had gotten there in less than ten minutes. “Fifteen minutes till midnight! I wonder who my Near Year’s kiss will be. This next song is…” When the song started you stopped listening and turned to Spencer.

“I don’t want to be alone at midnight, can we stay here until then please?” The sentence came out a lot sadder than you expected. “And then if you’re here at midnight…I can have a New Year’s kiss.”

“Y/N…you’re drunk.” His face was red, you were drunk. He knew that but, the quote, ‘drunk words are sober thoughts.’ was all he could think of. He didn’t want to take advantage of the state you were in and didn’t dare try to make any advances. “We can stay here until midnight.”

“Only ten minutes until midnight folks! Here’s number two on…”

You were at the emotional stage of drunkenness, it was quite evident by the way you cried a little while talking. “You’re so cute, Spence. Whenever you make that little confused face when I talk about pop culture I can’t help but die inside because you look so pretty. Like a lost puppy…and when you wave instead of shaking someone's hand because shaking hands are gross or whatever I just melt. And everytime you wear your glasses I can’t focus on anything other than your cuteness…”

He was blushing hard but was still making sure not to take anything serious. “T-thanks Y/N, I really appreciate that…” His sentence trailed off as he watched your hand grab onto his arm and stay there. The butterflies were going crazy and he knew he needed to get out of here. “Why don’t I take you up to your apartment? I’ll stay till midnight but I want to make sure you make it the full way home.”

“That’s such a good idea, why didn’t I think of it!” You groaned while going to open the car door. The handle was jammed, when Spencer noticed he got out of the car leaving you alone in the car for a second.

“Six minutes until midnight! Here is the last song of the night folks…”

The door opened and there he stood, holding your bag and jacket waiting to take you upstairs. Opening the front door of the building you looked at your phone clock.

“11:57” You stated while he hit the elevator button. While waiting you managed to make your way to the live broadcast of the ball drop in New York.

“We are two minutes and fifteen seconds away from midnight!”

The elevator opened and you hit the button to take you to the third floor.

“Would you look at that, only a minute and twenty seconds left everyone.”

Spencer grabbed your hand and walked you towards your apartment while you listened to the announcer blasting from your phone.

“Thirty seconds!”

A loud countdown started on your phone while Spencer looked for your house key in your bag. You watched him try every key.

“Ten!”

You hear a little click and he starts turning the key.

“Nine!”

The key gets stuck in place.

“Eight!”

He jimmies with the key.

Seven!”

The lock finally opens.

“Six!”

The door opens and you walk in.

“Five!”

You lean against the wall while Spencer shuts the door.

“Four!”

He turns your hallway light on.

“Three!”

You hear the sound of your purse hitting the table.

“Two!”

Spencer walks back over to you, preparing to say goodnight after the countdown.

“One!”

In a moment of drunken boldness you wrap your hands around his neck and press your lips against his. He’s shocked and stumbles back a little, not sure what to do. You can feel his arm wrap around your waist tightly. After a couple seconds you let go and stagger backwards smiling. “Happy New Year’s.”

“Yeah, happy New Year’s…” He’s still in shock but makes sure that you make it to bed before leaving.

‘Drunk words are sober thoughts.’

Walking back down to the parking lot his mind is full of so many different thoughts. He’s not sure how seriously he should take your advances. What if you won’t remember them in the morning? What if it isn’t what you really feel? The final thought, one that had been coming back to him all night.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place in the Sun 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Summary: Trouble in the big city follows you back to your sleepy village home.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’ve been to the city once in your life. Your parents were never really well off. Your dad works at the lumberyard, still, and your mom sells some crochet gloves and hats here and there, or tailor a few pieces for the neighbours for a buck or two. It isn’t much but they work hard and you can’t want for much. Life is simple but not unhappy. 

Your second trip to the city isn’t much different than your first. You were a kid then and only came with your dad so he could get new work boots. You don’t remember much except for the very tall people and the honking cars. Now, it’s just as chaotic and you feel just as small, but you’re all by yourself. 

There’s a gathering at the mall. You’ve never been to a mall. They don’t have any of those in Hammer Ford. As you steer the beaten-up Bronco into the lot, you shift the stick and check your mirrors. The cars here are all tiny compared to the mammoth truck you borrowed from your dad. He only let you take it after you filled the tank, and with a little coaxing from your mom. 

You don’t see why it’s a big deal. You’re an adult. You make your own money. Enough to help out. You do what you can with your seasonal pay but they don’t need a custodian at the school when there’s no classes. 

Still, you scrounged enough for the collector’s edition. You pre-ordered and everything. It’s so limited they only let people pick it up in-store. 

You park and shut off the engine. You watch a group of teenage girls giggling as they enter the mall. You should’ve brought some friends but you don’t have many of those. Everyone you knew in high school is married or busy growing up. There is that girl you see now and again, she lives with her grandma, but she’s always got her head down. She’ll see you waving one day. 

You open the door and hop down. As you do, the keys jangle out of your grasp and hit the pavement. You huff dramatically and swing the door shut. You go to grab the keyring but it’s swiped up by someone else. You stand and face the man as he holds them out. 

He’s taller than you and older. You think. He has the boldest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and a shadow of stubble across his square jaw. His hair is neatly trimmed and he wears a dark blue suit with a white button-up. He outshines your brown khaki skirt and gingham blouse. 

“Oh, hi, thank you, sir,” you chime, “clumsy me!” 

He nods and narrows his eyes, “keep those close. Someone else might just run off with the truck.” 

“Ha, this beat up old elephant,” you take the keys and slap the side of the Bronco, “I doubt it, but thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” 

You smile brightly but he hardly seems impressed. More confounded. His mouth slants and his eyes roll to the side. 

“Another piece of advice,” he intones as he leans towards you, “don’t smile at strangers.” 

“Oh, uh,” your mouth straightens, “right. Sorry, sir.” 

His brows rise and fall but he doesn’t reply. He brushes by you and you turn to watch him go. Your ma warned you that city folk weren’t very friendly. You spin back and lock the truck up, taking his warning to heart. You never know and your dad would never forgive you if someone did decide to highjack the rusting beast. 

You head towards the mall and follow a rabble of children with their moms into the air-conditioned space. It’s nice compared to the thick humidity outside. You think back to that man and wonder how he could be wearing a jacket in all this. He must be on the way to somewhere important. 

You look around, your heart pumping as the bright marquees and shining shop windows refract through your lenses. Oof, you didn’t expect it to be so big! You search around, walking along with your knitted purse clutched tight. Oh, a map! 

You go over to the touch screen directory and search for the bookstore. Right, a left and then straight, and another left. You recite the directions to yourself over and over as you continue on. You barely dodge out of the way of your fellow mall patrons as the criss cross the wide hallways and mill outside the booths and windows. 

Finally, you spot the familiar logo of the bookstore. You only really see it on a screen but you know it well. You stroll in through the broad open archway at the front and once more, you’re struck by the flurry of activity and expanse of the space. You trail after a pair of girls toward the service desk, delineated by the floating sign above. 

You bounce on your feet as you join the queue. You overhear the girls talking about the same book you’re there for. You curiously lean forward to eavesdrop and the redhead cranes to glare at you. You retract and give an apologetic look. You weren’t snooping, you’re just excited. 

When it’s your turn at the counter, you give your name and wait. A figure approaches the next till and sighs. You glance up at the sign; Returns/Exchanges. It’s the man in the blue suit. He taps a plastic card on the wooden countertop. 

As the associate searches for your order, you stare over at his agitated expression. He doesn’t seem very happy. His blue eyes drift and he meets your gaze. His cheek dimples in recognition. 

You give a small wave and smile and he shakes his head. He turns back to the till as a woman nears the other side. 

“Back,” he flicks the card up between his fingers, “should be the one I paid with.” 

You return your attention to the order counter. You shouldn’t be so nosy. You’re there to get your book and go. Oh, and maybe a soft pretzel at that place you saw on the way in. It’s a good day and you’re going to enjoy it. You peek over once more as the man snarls at the credit card machine. You hope his gets better too. 

[wh0re43van]

Heart Shaped Box- (Warren Lipka X Reader)

Description: Your childhood best friend surprises you at work with a gift on Valentine’s Day.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none, unfortunately. (Besides weed use)

A/n: I was going to make this a longer fic with smut but I just really wanted to get this posted tonight 😭

Oldies Country tunes and static buzz from the outdated stereo as I restock the candies at the check out. I glance at the wooden analog clock above the exit; 9:00pm

“One more hour,” I sigh to myself as I trudge back to my stool behind the register. Working for my parents at their corner store is nice. It’s slow, I’ve known all of the regulars my whole life, and if I completely flunk out of college; at least I know I have a job. But something about sitting here alone on Valentine’s Day with the smell of stale (possibly mildewed) air and my Ma’s collection of taxidermy squirrels dressed up to look like the seven dwarves doesn’t seem fitting for a 19 year old girl. Especially since my parents went to Dollyworld for valentines day, leaving me completely alone. (Dollyworld is like Disneyland for people in Kentucky)

The rusted bells hanging above the door chime as cool air floods into the small store. I don’t bother looking up until the footsteps stop in front of me. My mood immediately lifts when I see a familiar face

“Hey, man! No date tonight?” I ask my best friend while he slips his lighter into his flannel pocket. I can smell the lingering smoke of a cigarette on his fingers as he reaches for a pack of gum on the display near my head. He flashes his dimples as he leans down onto the counter.

“Eh, it’s a stupid capitalistic holiday,” he shrugs as I reach down to grab him a pack of Newport 100s.

“Mmm okay Casanova,” I laugh as I take his cash. “So did you pick up from that new guy?” I ask excitedly when I remember that he was supposed to have picked up bud from out west.

“Mhm,” Warren smiles as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “That’s why I’m here, nerd. Let’s go spark,” he says as he turns on his heels.

“Warren, I can’t. I still have almost an hour until I can close,” I frown at the boy who’s slowly stepping towards the door.

“Oh, come on. Your folks are out of town, they’ll never know,” he smirks as he rests a hand on the door handle. I bite my lip, looking around the store, then back at Warren.

‘He’s right. I mean it is a holiday, after all, Most places close early on holidays,’ I look at Warren and do my best to fight back a smile. He looks at me with a shit eating grin, knowing I can’t say no to him.

“Give me 5 minutes to lock up,” I giggle as I pull the cash drawer out.

•

•

I closed the store faster (and worse) than I ever have. Within 5 minutes I’m hopping into the passenger seat of Warrens car. The familiar scent of stale smoke hits me in the face as I settle into my seat.

I shake the few snow flakes that found their way into my hair out as I turn all the heat vents towards me.

“Someone oughta’ shoot that groundhog for lying to us,” I joke as I rub my hands together hoping to get some warmth from the friction.

“Here, this will warm you up,” Warren laughs, fighting back a cough as he hands me the joint. His voice comes out raspy as the smoke rolls out of his mouth. I take the paper from his hand that’s cast in a yellow haze from the dim light shining from the side of the store.

As I take a hit from the joint I lean back in the seat before exhaling. The smoke tastes piney and almost a bit floral as it fills my lungs. After coughing so hard that I drool a litttle, my muscles relax almost instantly as the buzz fills my body.

“Damn, this really is good shit,” I laugh with my scratchy voice as I accept the drink warren has offered to me.

“Oh good. I’m glad you like it,” he smiles before twisting around his seat, reaching into the back. As he scrummages around his car, I take another hit.

“Dude, what are you-“I begin to question the boy but he cuts me off.

“Here it is!” He exclaims, before sitting back properly in his seat with a red heart shaped box in one hand and a mixed CD in the other. I quirk an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “Uh, happy Valentine’s Day, er, whatever,” he says with a small laugh, handing me the box. “I know I said that it’s stupid but, uh, ya know you’re a good friend or some shit,” he mutters with lidded eyes as he sets the red box in my lap. I can’t help but giggle at his awkwardness.

“Oh! Uh, thanks dude! I didn’t know we were doing presents or I would have gotten you something,” I say as I focus my attention on the red box.

“Nah don’t worry about it. Open it,” my best friend nudges me, seemingly very excited about his gift for me. I side eye him before handing him the joint so I can pop the box open.

I Take off the lid to reveal the expected assortment of cheap chocolates, but some of the spots of have been replaced with nugs. I look at Warren with a shocked smile and droopy eyes.

“Wow,” I laugh, trying to think of something to say. The THC in my system makes it a bit difficult to find something genuine to say to this unexpected kind gesture. “You really know what a girl wants,” I nudge him as I pop a piece of chocolate into my mouth. Warren chuckles as he inserts the burnt CD into his stereo.

“Yeah well I got hungry on the ride over here… figured I had to fill the empty spaces with something,” he teases. I laugh as I lay back into my seat. My ears perk up when I hear the intro to ‘November Rain’ by Guns N’ Roses. I lazily turn my head to quirk an eyebrow at Warren who looks almost nervous.

“You hate Guns N’ Roses,” I say with a small, confused smile, awaiting him to offer an explanation as to why he’s playing a band that he constantly complains has ‘sold out’. Warren let’s out a breathy chuckle.

“Yeah, uh, I do…” he looks away as he scratches the back of his neck. “But this is the song that was playing when the principal chased me around the gym for spiking the punch at our 8th grade dance, remember?” He explains, finally mustering up the courage to meet my eyes at the end. A laugh bubbles up through my chest as the memory comes flooding back to me. Warren had seen some kids do it in a movie, so naturally the 13 year old boy thought it would be brilliant to dump fireball into the fruit punch.

“Oh my god I forgot about that!” I wheeze, laughing so hard at this point that tears are coming from my eyes. “You got suspended for a month because you were convinced that ‘the cinnamon would complement the tropical flavor,’” I shake my head, finally catching my breath after my fit of laughter. As I wipe the tears from my cheeks, I notice Warren just staring at me with a goofy grin. There’s a glint of something in his eyes that I just can’t quite put my finger on… admiration, maybe.

“Yeah I was pretty stupid,” he laughs as he relights the joint. “But don’t forget that while he the principal was chasing me, you laughed so hard you pissed yourself,” Warren challenges as he hands me the spliff. My jaw drops before I slap him on the arm in mock defense.

“Hey I almost pissed myself. A little bit running down your leg doesn’t count,” I laugh as I blow the smoke out, watching it ricochet off the foggy windshield.

“Sure whatever,” Warren playfully rolls his eyes.

The conversation goes silent for a moment and when I look back at Warren, he has a more serious expression on his face. “I, uh, I think about that night a lot. I remember seeing you for the first time with your hair and makeup done, wearing that JCPenny dress that you hated but your mom forced you to wear… I remember thinking how beautiful you looked,” Warren says while he’s laying back in his seat, gazing through bloodshot eyes up at the roof of his car.

“Yeah that dress was the worst,” I say with a light laugh as I take a sip of his water. “I remember watching our moms hold you down and plucking your little unibrow before the dance. You screamed like a little girl and your forehead was red in all the pictures,” I laugh fondly at the memory. Warren scoffs, looking over at me.

“Woah that’s low. I compliment you and you bring up the most scarring moment of my life,” he snickers. “Uhm seriously though,Y/n. I’m, uh, really happy that you’re in my life,” his tone drops to a more serious one again.

‘What the hell is his deal?’ I think to myself in a moment of silence as ‘November rain’ continues to play in the background.

“God this song is long,” I sigh, furrowing my brows. I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about, my mind clouded over with this extremely strong weed.

Judging by Warren’s huff and shuffle in his seat, I don’t think that he was pleased with my response. Then it clicks. The chocolates, the mixed CD, the heart to heart talk that he’s trying desperately to make work even though I’m stoned out of my mind, the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day.

“Are… are you flirting with me?” I ask, almost positive that that’s what’s happening, but still doubting myself. A large part of me is hoping that I’m right- larger than I’d like to admit.

“I’m fucking trying!” Warren laughs, his cheeks going red. I look at my best friend, seeing the handsome man that he’s growing into. A single moon beam shines from the sunroof, reflecting a sparkle in his ink pool eyes and illuminating his unkempt curls that frame his face. The car is filled with nothing but a long guitar solo as I get lost in my admiration for the boy.  I didn’t notice how uneasy my silence was making him. “But if this is weird for you-“  Warren looks away, awkwardly scratching the stubble on the side of his face.

“Then kiss me,” I say simply, interrupting him. Warren Looks at me as if his eyes are going to pop out of his skull.

“What?” He asks, shaking his head, obviously unsure if he heard me correctly.

“Kiss me,” I shrug, not elaborating anymore. Warren stares at me like a deer in headlights. I roll my eyes, then lean over the console. I place my hand behind his neck, pushing his lips against mine. It’s a small, sweet kiss but it still fills my stomach with butterflies. I pull away, leaving my face just inches from Warrens. He’s still just staring blankly but a small smile creeps onto his face.

“Spencer owes me so much money,” he laughs and then as If a switch flipped, he places his finger under my chin, then goes back in for another kiss. I’m shocked that he takes the lead this time, moving his mouth against mine in a heated exchange.

Warrens hands make their way down to my hips, holding me as if I could slip away at any second.

“Come here,” Warren demands against my lips, his voice laced with lust as he begins to lift me over the center console onto his lap. His tone makes my stomach flip, but I force myself to pull away.

“Warren, I’m extremely into this, but I don’t really want our first time to be in the parking lot of my family’s corner store,” I explain as I catch my breath, resting my hand on his thigh. The disappointment is evident on Warrens face, but he attempts to hide it.

“Yeah, no. I get it,” he laughs, running his hand through his hair. “I can die happy now honestly. I’ve been waiting to kiss you for seven years. I can wait another-” he begins to ramble- something he often does when he’s nervous.

“My parents aren’t home,” I interrupt with a mischievous grin. Warrens eyes widen.

“You mean-“ he asks as if he can’t believe what I just said.

“Yes, dumbass,” I nod my head, biting back a laugh. With that, Warren throws his car in reverse, whipping out of the parking lot as if the cops just pulled up. I attempt to scold him through my eruption of laughter as he jostles me around in the car.

[seat-safety-switch]

Why don't people ride public transit more often? There are many excuses provided, but I think the big one is ownership. When someone else owns the bus, it is hard to feel pride about it. Someone else takes it to the mechanic. Someone else washes it. Someone else waits for a tow truck when they climb on the throttle a little too hard on the interstate and blow up the injection pump.

Wait, I hear you say, surely everyone owns the bus? Every single taxpayer owns a fractional share of the public transit infrastructure, so everyone can be proud of what we made as a group. You're certainly right, but nobody is proud of the power lines, or all the pee we clean up before it hits the river. Shareholding isn't thing-holding: just ask all the folks who own a teeny tiny bit of Microsoft, but can't point to the specific chunk of the building they're responsible for. We're weird that way, us apes.

Don't worry. Like I told my first boss, I don't like to bring problems to you, only solutions. Have you ever been by one of those charity things where you can get your name on a brick, or a bench, if you donate? I think they should do the same thing about buses. Nobody stirs the imagination about ol' #7345, even if it does have a page all to itself on the transit-aficionados wiki. If it has a name – a real citizen, just like you! – things are different. What is their life like? Maybe they're riding on this bus, in secret? They could be any of these people. An instant celebrity, immortalized by some letters painted on the side of a white box with wheels.

Sure, there are some gaps in this plan. Some people won't want to have their names associated with a bus, because their lives are terrible and sad and very small. We don't really have enough buses to give each contributor one. And some will get downright weird about it, demanding to ride only on "their" bus.

I, too, have a solution for this: make all the buses much smaller, roughly Power Wheels-sized, and have them seat only one person at a time. Then we'll just put them on a big track, like at bumper cars, and let everyone go hog wild on each other on their way to work. I just so happen to have recently taken delivery of a large quantity of bumper cars from a reputable former amusement park...

[twig-tea]

Love in the Big City TV Series Episodes 5 & 6: Kylie Once Again Recontextualizes Everything

Thanks as always to @lurkingshan and @bengiyo for the wrangling and discussion questions!

I already wrote about the relationship between Gyu-Ho and Yeong in this part, so I wanted to focus on something else for book club. And after working on the timeline in the series, I decided to revisit my meta for Part 3 of the novel, in which I wrote about how Kylie recontextualizes everything that came before we knew about her. I’d like to do the same here for the series while reflecting on the differences.  Knowing when his mother died, the T-aras being present through the whole story, and starting the story after Kylie are the three big changes that I think worked really well in this adaptation, and all of these changes mean that the revelation about Kylie in episodes 5-6 hit a little differently than in the book. 

[screenshot from this post by @how-to-be-a-tree]

With the revelation in this part that Yeong went to the military a few months before the T-aras, we now know that Yeong had recently contracted HIV just before the series began.The hints in episode 1 that he was struggling (hadn’t been going to class, doing odd jobs and asking for the extra clothes) make more sense. It also recontextualizes the aggressive kiss in the club where he kissed that stranger so hard he bled. This also means that, unlike in the novel, he meets and befriends Mi Ae after he was already diagnosed, and since he tells Gyu-Ho that he’s the only one Yeong’s ever told, we know he never told Mi Ae either. Watching them hold each other’s hands as they whisper their secrets in the dark takes a new sad tint to it knowing that Yeong could not trust her with his deepest shame.

[screenshot from this post by @maletimbe]

I wonder if part of his strong reaction to her outing him to Jun Ho was because he had been wanting to tell her, and it was painful knowing he could never trust her with that secret. I wonder if that’s why he doesn’t go to the T-aras after his fight with Mi Ae, but goes to Nam Gyu instead, because he wouldn’t be able to explain to the T-aras why he was so hurt, and on some level the T-aras have already rejected that part of him so he can’t trust them with that vulnerability. 

I wonder if sending the T-aras off at Karaoke reminded him of Kylie and is part of what pushed him to break up with Nam Gyu. After his fallout with Mi Ae, when Yeoung is telling Nam Gyu to find someone braver than him, I wonder if he was thinking about Kylie.

When he goes to Nam Gyu’s funeral and asks how he died, I am pretty sure just by the way that scene was performed that he was thinking about Kylie and wondering whether he killed him–and it makes that revelation hit double-hard, that Nam Gyu was killed in a car accident speeding, because it just reinforced his worst fear: he had gotten Nam Gyu killed, just not in the way he thought. [I don’t actually hold Yeong accountable for Nam Gyu’s decision to speed, but I can imagine Yeong took it that way]. 

I wonder if Yeong was attracted to Yeong Su partially because of the way he tries to help his mother, who is an addict–there’s something in the way social stigma against addicts and poz folks is similar (partially because needle sharing is a way to contract HIV), and how acceptance of those states of being can often come together. I wonder if that's why he could take Yeong Su's more heteronormative kdrama lead style romance when it irritated him in Nam Gyu.

In any case, Yeong having HIV through that relationship and hiding it from Yeong Su makes his reading of Yeong Su’s article about the  immorality of being gay hit even harder. I also think about how irregular his schedule was then, and how bad he was at taking his medication regularly and on time. And knowing that there are restrictions to travel and to moving places, I wonder if part of his rage at Yeong Su moving to America was about knowing that even if Yeong Su had asked, he could not have joined him (you can travel to the USA with HIV but it can be difficult to get a green card). Honestly he was probably too hit with the betrayal and callous rejection to do that full calculus in his head in that moment but I wanted an excuse to use this gif because watching Yeoung punch Yeong Su is good for the spirit:

It also recontextualizes the scenes with his mother, and how much she cared about appearances and judgment, and how she contextualized her own disease as a punishment from God, so how could he not do the same about his own? When overdoses on pills, and his mother tells him not to be in a rush to die, I wonder if the hospital successfully did not disclose his HIV status to her during that period.

Seeing the T-aras there and so worried about him must have been healing even if they still don’t know about this major part of him; he knows they love and care for him and want him alive. Yeong not telling the T-aras about his application to the company because he’s afraid of being rejected for his HIV status tells me that he still hasn’t told the T-aras about Kylie through Part 3; I’m not sure he ever will. But there are people in our lives who we love and who love us in return who we keep secrets from; it means there will always be a level of distance, but it does not mean we aren’t important to each other. 

His mother dying at the beginning of Part 3 is a significant detail that we don’t get in the book, and it made me rethink why Parts 1 and 2 did not mention Kylie at all. In the series, we have Yeong writing Part 1 in episodes 1-2, Part 2 in episodes 3-4, and Part 3 in episodes 5-6. We know he wanted his mother to never know about Kylie, and we know that she followed his literary career and kept copies of his work even if she won’t read them. So it makes sense that he could only write about having HIV and incorporating that into his narrative after her death. I also wonder if Yeong being willing to open up to Gyu-Ho about Kylie has to do with his mother’s death: One of his reasons for keeping the secret so carefully is no longer present.

This isn't recontextualized because by the time we see this we know about Kylie, but how much of Yeong's fixation on Gyu-Ho's silent sleeping and needing to check he's still breathing has to do with his fear that Gyu-Ho still hasn't settled into the relationship and is tip-toeing around him, and how much of it has to do with his fear of giving Gyu-Ho HIV and making him ill? They're barely having sex so it's a pretty irrational fear but that's not how fear works. We know he's thinking about Kylie all the time through this section because he asks Gyu-Ho about how he feels abut Yeong being "dirty" more than once.

One last moment of painful reflection: The first two parts of this series had clear relationship pairings and parallels: Mi Ae and Nam Gyu in Part 1, and Yeong Su and Yeong's mother in Part 2. I was thinking about whether Kylie and Gyu-Ho are our pairing in Part 3, and while I don't think we get enough reflection about Kylie to make this case strongly, I'm struck by how Yeong characterizes Kylie as something he is "stuck with forever", and how he is determined to let Gyu-Ho go.

[cellu-lightreading]

43% (The Vultures Diet)

Walter had been warned by everyone at the weight loss center about those dudes. They called them vultures. A group of skinny and muscular dudes at the edge of the parking lot watching clients go in and out the front door. The dieticians, the trainers, the doctors and the secretaries all told him that when someone becomes their victim, they never lose the weight, they just keep blowing larger and larger. Once he noticed the vultures once, he noticed them everywhere: at weight loss centers, at health food stores, at the gym. Their gaze was fixed on every jiggly roll they saw in January. Legend has it that they watched diet infomercials and weight loss shows, twisting their tips for weight gain ideas and watching with lust and desire in their eyes. They came out to wait on guys like him to waddle through the parking lot when their willpower can’t take anymore. That’s when they go on the attack.

Phase 1: Recruiting 

According to the numbers, 43% of people will give up on their New Year’s Resolution by the end of January, and an overwhelming number of resolutions failed will be attempts at losing weight.

Walter didn’t want to be one of them. The holidays had hit him pretty hard and by most estimates, he was already in need of a good diet plan before it started. October was a non-stop barrage of Halloween candy and then at the start of November, it’s all discounted. The end of November is Thanksgiving- the office Thanksgiving party, Friendsgiving, the family Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving leftovers. Before you know it, it’s December. Everyone is hosting a holiday party and offering special candies and homemade treats. If it’s Hanukkah themed, there’s destined to be doughnuts and latkes deep fried in oil. If it’s Christmas themed, anything and everything can end up being served. The month dead ends in a giant feast and a week of eating leftovers and doing absolutely nothing that might burn a calorie. The whole season was a long cycle of Walter eating a lot, folks offering him lots of food, him never saying no to food, and him eating even more.

So at the start of the year, Walter decided he would try to lose some of the 325 pounds he carried. He joined a weight loss program with centers so they could see him and pressure him into staying on track. And after just the first week, Walter was already slipping.

Walter already knew he was playing with fire when he came to the Vultures the second week of the month. He had reached his limit. All of the solid food he had eaten all day could fit in the palm of his hand. He was supposed to walk in to meet with his support group and be positive, though he’s never been so miserable. He spent all of his willpower earlier in the day when someone brought in cake for a birthday party, and they announced that they got a larger size just so he could have as much as he wanted.

When Walter saw the Vultures cooking, he knew God was pushing his buttons. The smell of burgers and fries crept through his car’s air vents. He parked away from the doors where someone might spot him, but now there was no one to protect him from the pure desire in the Vulture’s eyes. Walter thought he had been self-conscious about his size before, but that was nothing compared to having them measure him with his eyes. Every cellulite dimple on his thighs and ass, every fold stacked on his love handles to form his rotund gut, every single stretch mark was already known to them by the time he reached them.

One of them stepped up to greet Walter. He had a beard that framed his face well and captivating eyes that twinkled like the stars in the sky. “Hey my name is Oliver. What brings you in?”

Walter hated how he blurted out “the smell of that grill” before he could even think of a smart answer. Oliver and his friends chuckled at the outburst.

“Yeah,” Oliver said, “the grill gets more visitors than any of the rest of us. Why don’t I fix you a plate?”

“Thank you. You know, you all seem much nicer than people make you out to be.”

“I’m guessing your friends inside told you about us.” Walter nodded in agreement. “We’re really not that different. We just so happen to think men are better off when they’re built nice and wide. We think it’s sexy when a man likes to eat. Fat men are beautiful to us. Guys who have listened to us instead of them tend to be much happier. I know we’re going to make you happier already.”Oliver handed over a plate with two double cheeseburgers and a brown bag filled to the brim with fries. Walter could see the grease stains but he didn’t care. Walter licked his lips and devoured the burger in less than ten bites. He licked his fingers clean.

“That might have been the most delicious burger I’ve ever had. What’s your secret?”

“Well, we don’t skimp on flavor or quality. We’ll give you what you want by any means necessary. There’s no need to deny yourself with us. In fact, I think you’ll like our diet plan.”

Walter’s curiosity was piqued. “You have a diet?” 

Phase 2: How It Works

Walter had been working through his new diet for about two and a half weeks, and he still had questions. Oliver, his coach, was happy to walk him through everything.

Should I have a slice of the cake in the break room? No, have two. 

Should I have a salad for my appetizer? No, have mozzarella sticks.

Which chocolate bar should I have? Both and pick up the king size.

Oliver’s choices all felt so much more natural than Walter’s old diet. His old diet had a long list of foods he couldn’t eat that got rid of all his favorite foods. He was only allowed tiny portions at set times which left his stomach empty and mad the rest of the day. The old dietician found something new to chastise him for every single week he came in. Oliver never chastised him for eating what he liked; Oliver always wanted Walter to treat himself. 

One day, Walter was texting Oliver about all the cravings he was having while he was stuck at work. There was a big deadline coming up and he couldn’t take the time for one of his usual mid-day binges. A coworker had ordered sandwiches for the office, but that was far from enough for Walter’s big boy stomach. Walter tried to power through, but his mind kept wandering to all the meals he would normally have in an afternoon. His mind switched from burgers to fried chicken to quesadillas. He thought about the pizza and cinnamon stick combo at the place around the corner from the shop. 

At around 3 o’clock, there was a delivery for him at the front. Walter snuck downstairs and found a bunch of the Vultures holding bags of all the things he was thinking about. 

“Oliver told us that you were feeling a little hungry, so we thought we would help you out,” one of the Vultures said. 

“Oh you guys didn’t have to do this. Really! I don’t even have time to eat all this food.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand that you need to take just a few moments for your health,” another Vulture responded. “Besides, once you get some food in you, you’ll be a lot more focused and productive anyway.”

“Well when you put it like that, I can’t afford to not take a lunch break.”

Walter and the Vultures snuck into one of the nearby conference rooms and laid out the massive spread of food. Walter dove right in. His stomach was absolutely growling. When he started to feel full, those men lined up and ensured Walter ate every morsel of food they brought. They scooped up every crumb and drop of grease and put it in his mouth. 

Walter’s gut was bloated by the time he got back to his office. There were all colors of stains on his shirt. A coworker simply looked at him when he got back and asked:

“You couldn’t even bring up a bag of chips for the rest of us?”

Phase 3: Group Support

When the weather started to warm up in the spring and the coats came off, the real world started to look like after pictures. Diets and exercise started to pay off. Walter stared at photos of ripped abs and toned biceps and wandered if somewhere he had made a wrong turn. He sent a panicked text to Oliver who rushed over as fast as he could with his favorite treat- a box of doughnuts.

Walter held the box on his lap as Oliver launched into a diatribe. He wasn’t used to Oliver with lots of passion and emotion, but his heart was in this speech. Walter almost expected tears to start welling up in his eyes. 

“You have to stick with the program. I know it’s easy to lose faith when there’s all these messages telling you you’re supposed to be built like a cardboard cutout, but that's not who you are. And trying to be something you’re not is only going to make you miserable. You need to see what success looks like for someone like you. I know, you should meet some of the other guys in the program. I bet a trip to the buffet with them will have you feeling much more confident.” 

So the next evening, Walter is sitting at a table with three other dudes who were the size of planets. Oliver is sitting at the next table with one of the Vultures, some lanky dude who had an aggressively obvious boner from the moment he walked in. Oliver and the other Vulture served them eye-watering portions of whatever they asked for directly to the table so they didn’t get up. I left Walter with a lot of time to get to know the other guys.

Directly across from him was Justin, a high school teacher. He was a little like Walter- a chronic snacker. He would have snacks in between periods and while he was grading assignments and tests and some of the candy when he passed by the jars in the main office. It was an open secret among the students that bringing him a bite to eat could help boost your grade. Justin flashed the group a photo from when he decided he was going to lose the weight and consequently when he crumbled like the first cookie he got from the Vultures. He had an average build really, just a bit pudgy with a beer gut. Now that gut was an ocean of fat big enough to be used as an armrest and push his legs apart when he sat down. He confessed as he scratched at his stretch marks that the snacks from his students have grown that from his quite a bit. That morning, someone gave him a sheet of brownies and he finished the whole thing before the end of class. 

Next to Justin was Elijah, who was deep into a passionate love affair with fast food. He loved it so much that from high school through college, Elijah worked at a drive thru and abused his free food allowance. When he got a corporate job and he saw just how little of his dress clothes fit any more, he knew he had to make a change. But a body that’s used to making 2XLs look like kid’s clothes doesn’t know how to resist the grease laden siren songs. When the Vultures got a hold of him, they got him to spend all his new money indulging every desire they could fit in greasy brown bags. That’s why there’s a wrapper coming out of his too tight pocket. That’s why he’s gained the weight of a grown man in pure lard in just 13 months. The two chairs he had to push together don’t sound like they’ll make it through dinner, but there’s no way he’d fit in anything resembling a booth. 

Stuck next to Walter was Thomas. Thomas was a real glutton. He could eat for an hour straight and five minutes later start planning his next meal. Most days he ended up eating five times a day. Thomas was notorious for going to a drive thru for a snack for waiting in another drive thru. His brief moment of doubt came when he outgrew the big and tall section of his local department store. Two years later he was just fired for breaking his second reinforced office chair, and outgrowing the largest uniform  size of the supplier. Now he’s looking to officially make his waistline longer than his height. 

Walter couldn’t help but be a little bit impressed. By pure numbers, they were leaps and bounds from where they started. At the same time, they were bragging about a future that he was scared of. Didn’t this start because he was scared of forever being the massive elephant in the room? Why keep going down this road? And then they took their first bites of food and the taste does something to him. He sees what it does to the other guys. Their destiny was his and it was filled with happiness. No need to fear anything. 

Phase 4: Combined with Exercise

The countdown to Halloween was filled with one of Walter’s worst nightmares coming to life.  The elevator at his job broke down, and even worse, there was no clue when it would get fixed. Walter had gained close to 200 pounds since he had used the stairs in that building. Now he was stuck climbing a flight of stairs just to get to his cubicle.

When he opened the door of the stairwell, Walter tried to steel himself staring at the daunting concrete challenge. After all, there’s only one way to go. He grabbed onto the railing. The cheap metal groaned as he pressed on it. He hoisted his body up the first step and it felt like a triumph. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but it’s not impossible. He can do this. Walter pushed himself up a few more steps. The folds of fat swang with every footfall. All that movement was straining the tight clothes that he perfectly positioned to cover his inflating body. Walter swore he heard seams ripping. As he approached the landing for the second floor, he started to feel the burn in his muscles. Sweat is rolling down his face. Walter summoned all the strength in his body and pushed forward to get through the door. 

On the other side of the door was the boss’s assistant, drinking her coffee. When she noticed him, she shot up out of her chair.

“Yay, Walter you made it. I have a surprise for you. Follow me, quickly.” Quickly? Walter wanted to spend the next half hour leaned up against the wall waiting on his heart rate to get back to a normal place. Walking should have been out of the question, but he didn’t have a choice. He followed the petite secretary as she began to explain, “Human Resources has reminded us that having the elevator break down causes undue stress onto you and the other ‘plus-sized’ members of our corporate family. And so as a way of compensating you for the trouble, Mr. Hartman has decided to provide you all with some snacks to start off the morning. Feel free to have as much as you want and maybe even more.”

A stack of doughnut boxes sat on the table in the middle of the break room. It looked pitiful. Worse yet, the only person sitting at the table was Rodrigo. Rodrigo had flakes of glaze all over his mouth and fingers and sprinkled down his shirt. The box of doughnuts next to him only had 3 left. Rodrigo was the de facto fat guy in our office. His belly was genuinely the size of a yoga ball and hung over his belt. If there’s leftovers to get rid of, they’re calling him first. One of the reasons I went on a diet at the beginning of the year was because O felt like I was going to be his size pretty soon.

When my boss’s secretary left, I looked at him and went, “Can you believe they’re trying to bribe us with doughnuts?”

“With how tough it was to get up those stairs this morning, we deserve it. There may not be many benefits to being fat guys, but a donut buffet all to ourselves is pretty good.”

“Still, it feels insulting. I know that I’m a little heavy but-”

“A little heavy? Bud, we’re looking at “a little heavy” in the rearview mirror. I’m very heavy and you’ve got almost 30 pounds on me. ”

“No, I mean I’ve let myself go this year but I’m not-”

“Don’t be modest. This is a safe space. You’re what? 420 pounds?” Rodrigo estimated. He was around 430 when he weighed himself last, and that was a few months ago. “I try my best to stay under the big 400, but it’s okay. We’re fat guys. We like to eat. There’s nothing wrong with that. Being fat is great! Today you got the fat guy’s dream: to get paid to sit around and eat donuts all morning. Don’t miss your big break.”

Unable to argue with his logic, Walter took a seat across from him. He grabbed a box of doughnuts and started chowing down. 

Phase 5: Success Stories

When New Year’s came and went once again, Oliver and the other Vultures invited him to a celebration for all of their clients who had major achievements in the past year. The Vultures would stop by and talk to him about how his year had gone and what his favorite fast foods had gone. Half the night, Oliver sat next to Walter and fed him treats with desire in his eyes. Every Vulture function involved a never-ending feast of good food, and Walter would know having been to so many in the past few months. 

In the last quarter of the year, it seemed like Walter was getting an invite to go to hang out with the Vulture every other week. It started off with their Halloween parties in October. Then they melted into Friendsgiving feasts and every kind of holiday something they could invent in December. The Vultures did everything they could short of kidnap him from his job to keep him eating at every hour of the day for two and a half months. With trainers and friends who were all in the program, they kept him accountable and made sure that he was always keeping Oliver happy with the stuff he was eating.

It was no surprise that Walter had managed to push past 450 by the end of the year. However the attitude shift had come as a complete surprise to Oliver. Walter was finally excited by eating. He started to like being fat. It gave him joy when he saw that he was getting bigger and fatter. Now he was a fat making machine and Oliver knew he was ready. 

Oliver came up to Walter at the end of the night with an envelope covered in dark spots made to look like grease stains. He said, “I’m really proud of you for all the work you put in this year. The guys and I have decided that you would make a great spokesperson during our membership drive this year. And it comes with a few benefits, if you’re interested.”

“Benefits?” Walter asked.

[cherrycola27]

afterglow

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol and drinking. Military inaccuracies. Allusions to and eventual smut. Friends to lovers. Mutual pining. Unrequited love. Minors DNI. 18+. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 1: In My Head

The week passed in a blur of jets and clouds and sunshine. By Thursday, you were finally able to choke down the feelings you had for Jake, just in time for him to wreck them on Friday.

As the squadron sat in the briefing room Thursday evening, Cyclone came in, whispered something to Maverick, and then left.

"Well, folks, it looks like we need someone to make a late afternoon flight before they head home to test out some new software. Any takers?" Maverick asked.

There was a collective groan before Jake's hang shot up. "Glow and I can." He volunteered the two of you with a smile. He knew that you loved flying in the afternoon as the sun was starting to set. You always had.

"Are you okay with that, Glow?" Maverick asked you. "Yes, sir," you responded. Maverick sent everyone else home for the day. He met the two of you out on the tarmac to prep you for what you would be doing.

"Also, Admiral Simpson said whoever stayed late today could have tomorrow off. So, it looks like you two get a three day weekend." Maverick smiled at the pair of you. You and Jake exchanged a high- five before he helped you up and got himself situated.

The evening sky was absolutely beautiful as the two of you flew. The sun painted it in shades of pinks and oranges, and purples. The hues danced off the water and floated around the jet. You couldn't help but smile as Jake piloted back towards base.

"I can see why this is your favorite time to be up here." He said to you. "It's gorgeous."

"It is. There is just something about the afterglow that always gets me." You told him. And you meant it. In more ways than one.

After landing, showering, and changing, you ducked out of the locker room to find Jake leaning against the wall waiting on you. "Oh!" You exclaimed when you saw him. "I thought you would have already left by now."

"I was waiting on you, silly." He smiled before falling in step beside you. He lazily tossed an arm over your shoulders as you walked. His hair was still slightly damp, and you could smell his cologne. The scent of oak, whiskey, and tobacco filled your olfactory receptors. It was mixed with a hint of sunshine and salt water. A combination that was so perfect, so unique, so—Jake.

"So I was thinking." Jake began. "That's terrifying." You snorted. He lightly shoved you before pulling you back to him. "But seriously. I don't have any pressing issues I need to take care of tomorrow, and I assume you don't. So, I was thinking, what if we spent the day together?" Jake asked you as you reached your cars in the parking lot.

"And do what?" You asked him. "'We could get breakfast at that diner you love, and we could take the tops off of your jeep and cruise for a bit to our favorite ice cream place, hit the beach, get dinner, oh and Phoenix told me about the movie she and Lukas saw over the weekend. I thought we would check it out and maybe skip the Hard Deck because I, for one, don't want to hear Rooster bitching about how we got the day off." Jake smiled. He had the whole thing planned out.

"So? What do you think?" He asked you with a smile.

You knew this was a bad idea. If you were up in the jet, you'd have warning lights going off everywhere, and you'd be ejecting. "Sounds like a plan. What time do I need to pick you up if we are taking my car?" You asked him.

"Now, Glowy, you no good and well that I'm not going to let you pick me up." I'll be at your house at 9:30 sharp." He stated. You rolled your eyes and agreed. Jake pulled you into a tight hug before climbing into his Silverado and leaving.

....................

You set your alarm for 6:30 the next morning. Even though he said he would be there around 9:30, Jake Seresin was notoriously early for everything.

You got up and took a shower before drying and styling your hair. You took your time dawning some simple makeup for the day. After your finished with your hair and your face, you packed a bag for the day.

You grabbed towels, sunscreen, a change of clothes, some snacks and a few other odds and ends that you thought you might need.

Jake had mentioned the beach, so you slipped a simple purple two-piece on before deciding on a tea-length, bright pink floral sundress. You slipped on a pair of sandals and spritzed your favorite perfume on your wrists and neck.

You were giddy as you were getting ready. You had to keep reminding yourself that this wasn't a date. Just two friends enjoying an unexpected day off.

At nine on the dot, there was a knock at your door. "Good morning, Jake." You greeted him as you opened it. "Morning Y/N. I brought coffee and these." Jake smiled as he walked in. He handed you your favorite iced carmel latte and a bundle of fresh daisies. "They're your favorite, right?" He nodded to the flowers.

"Yeah, um—why did you get me these?" You ask him a little confused.

"My mother told me you never go to a lady's house without flowers." Jake stated matter of factly. "Plus, the farmers market is right near the coffee shop, and I saw these and thought of you." He smiled.

You quickly turned away from him to find a vase. You wouldn't let him see the pink rise in your cheeks.

After securing the flowers, he promptly stole the keys from their hook in your hallway and pulled the tops off of your jeep. He secured them in your garage. The weather was supposed to be bright and sunny all day, so you didn't bother storing them in the trunk.

You tried to argue with him that you should be the one driving, but he simply shook his head stating thst he was the pilot and you would forever be his back seater, or in this case, passenger princess.

..................

The weather was spectacular as the two of you drove to your favorite diner. You laughed and joked as the two of you feasted on bacon, eggs, potatoes, and French toast.

"I'm so glad that I got orders to come here. Lemoore sucked without you. The pilot they assigned to me after you got recalled was even more of a dick than you." You told Jake as you speared a potato square.

"Really? I doubt that." He chuckled. "And it is great that you got moved here." He smiled. Jake prayed you didn't catch the guilt behind his eyes.

It was no accident that you ended up in San Diego with him.

When pilots were being recalled for the uranium plant mission, the rule was that no pairs of pilots and their weapons systems officers could be called together. They didn't want to leave the original squadrons hanging for too long. That's why Jake flew a singe seater. He refused to have anyone in his back seat besides you.

It killed him to leave you. So, after getting word that he would be permanently stationed at Top Gun, he begged asked Cyclone and Warlock if they could transfer you, and he could get back in a two-seater.

Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates reluctantly agreed, but it worked out for the better. Jake was much more tolerable with you around.

After you finished breakfast, Jake swiped the bill before you could set your card down, claiming once again that his mother would have his head if he let a lady pay. You had to take a deep breath and remind yourself that this wasn't a date.

You silenced the warning bells once again before getting into your car.

The two of you drove along the coast, stopping at a few shops and sent selfies to the rest of your friends who were stuck at work.

You had ice cream on the boardwalk for lunch. The two of you sat side by side and watched the waves roll in. Jake had asked you something, and when you turned to answer, he noticed you at the smallest smear of mint chip on your face. He leaned in with his thumb to brush it away, but he lingered before pulling back. His eyes darted to your lips, and he leaned forward ever so slightly.

The caution lights flashed before your eyes. No, he wasn't about to kiss you. Not here. Not out in the open like this. Your brain was screaming at you to eject.

You pulled away from him and cleared your throat. He pulled back and coughed before licking the melted ice cream from his thumb.

"So, beach?" You asked him after a beat of silence.

"Yeah, beach" He nodded.

The two of you tossed your cones before going back to your car and grabbing the beach bag you'd packed. You slipped off your sundress, and Jake's breath caught in his throat when he saw you in your purple swimsuit. His was barely able to keep his tough guy charade up as he helped you apply sunscreen.

The two of you froliced through the waves, splashing and laughing until the sun began to sink. After a quick use of the beach showers and a pit stop in the changing room, both of you were relatively sand free as you sat back in your car. You'd pulled your hair into a high ponytail and were humming along to the music as Jake drove the two of you towards the movie theater.

After getting more popcorn and candy than necessary, and two icees that would give you the worst brain freeze ever, the two of you found yourselves in the last row of an almost empty theater.

Jake had moved the armrest separating your seats out of the way, claiming it was easier to share snacks that way. But you didn't miss the way his bare knee bumped against yours through the slit of your sundress.

..................

At the Hard Deck, the rest of the Daggers finally concluded that the two of you probably weren't showing up tonight.

"It's not fair," Fanboy groaned as he leaned over the pool table.

"I mean, they did volunteer to take a later test flight yesterday, so it is kind of fair." Bob shrugged.

"Bob is right. We all had the same opportunity." Payback stated.

"So what do you think they are doing that is better than hanging out with us?" Coyote asked the group.

"Probably fucking." Rooster shrugged causing half of the group to choke on their drinks.

"Jesus, Bradshaw. Have some tact, man." Payback scolded him.

"What, I'm just saying what we are all thinking." Rooster defended himself. "Glow assures me that they are just friends. Very good friends." Phoenix tells the group.

"Yeah, and I'm a front seater." Fanboy laughed.

"Nix, you can't really believe that. I mean, haven't you seen they way they look at each other? Or noticed how they always leave together from here? And they are together right now?" Rooster pressed.

"Rooster does have a point." Bob chimed in.

"So I have a theory, well three, of what the situation could be." Payback began. "I'm going to present them in order from least plausible to most likely." He continued.

"One, they are secretly dating or maybe married. That would explain why she got transferred to here from Lemoore. Two, they really are just good friends and have worked together so long that they act like a couple. Or, three, and what I feel is most likely, they are hooking up, and one of them, Hangman, wants to keep it more casual, while ignoring the fact that the other, Glow, has feelings for him." Payback finished.

"Well, I don't know what it is. All I know is that Hangman is way easier to deal with when she's around." Phoenix said as she held up her beer. Everyone mumbled out an agreement as they went about their pool game.

.................

Nat was right. The movie was great, and you were glad you had seen it.

You and Jake were walking back to your car as the last rays of the sun began to dip below the horizon.

"Ugh, the sunsets here are so much prettier than the ones in Lemoore." You told Jake.

"Yeah, they are." He agreed with you. "Looks like some clouds are rolling in. We'd better get a move on." He said. You took note of the weather and agreed. You definitely didn't want to get caught in the rain with no cover on your jeep.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. The two of you were about halfway back to your house when the heavens opened up and rain came pouring down. Jake desperately tried to find an overpass for shelter, but there was nothing in sight.

He broke a few traffic laws to get you home, sliding into your garage on two wheels. The two of you sat there for a moment, soaking wet and out of breath.

You shared a look before breaking out into a laugh.

As the laughter faded, the air shifted between the you. The electricity flowing wasn't just the lightening from the storm. Desire radiated off your bodies as you both surged forward and connected your lips.

You basked in the salty, sweet taste of him, as you tried to ignore the warning bells going off. But eventually, you gave in and pulled away from him.

"We can't keep doing this, Jake." You told him.

"I know." He replied as he cupped your jaw, dragging his lips almost criminally slow against your skin. You could feel the subtle hint of the stubble on his chin.

Heat flushed in your cheeks and spread across you from the tips of your ears to the curl of your toes. You felt like you were doused in gasoline, and his touch was the strike of the match, ready to burn you down.

"One last time?" You breathed out.

"One last time." He whispered against the shell of your ear.

Taglist: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette @rosiahills22 @dempy @olliepig

[number-one-shadisper-shipper]

For today's Wholesome Sonic and Tails Wednesday, may I present:

Tails having friends doesn't mean he's not autistic, or, How Having Zero Social Skills Will Accidentally Get You Adopted

(It's a little long but we'll get there, I promise)

Okay so I read a comment by someone basically saying that Tails can't be autistic because he has social skills and I? just? can't?

First off, yes, autistic people can have social skills. While it is a common symptom to not understand "normal" social cues, autism is a spectrum, and some autistic people have skills which others don't. Along with that, many autistics have learned to mask and imitate neurotypical behavior because of being bullied/punished when they act differently, or because they're trying so hard to fit in. So that in of itself is not proof someone isn't autistic.

Second, where are you getting that Tails has social skills?

Tails doesn't have social skills. Tails has FRIENDS. There's a difference.

You might ask, "How can someone make friends without having social skills?" Well for starters, I think there are a lot of decent people who are willing to be accepting of people who have a little trouble with social skills.

But the main reason Tails has made so many friends without social skills is that NO OTHER CHARACTER IN THIS WHOLE FRANCHISE HAS ANY. Most of the characters are neurodivergent coded, and even those who aren't still have zero social skills. You're telling me that in a world with Sonic the ADHD king, Knuckles the "a punch in the face is a warning" Echidna, and freaking Shadow, Tails is the one going to have trouble making friends? The entire Sonic the Hedgehog crew has exactly one social skill between them, and generally Amy has it. The characters just understand that people have trouble socializing. Maybe that's why they found each other. In my experience, we "odd" people tend to flock to each other. And once we've formed our weird little groups, who needs social skills?

But to show that Tails has very little social skills (and to prove you don't need them) let's analyze his first interaction with Sonic.

To start with, before meeting Sonic, Tails is just wandering around alone and bullied. Little guy, all alone, can't make a friend to save his life.

And then comes Sonic.

Depending on the version of backstory we're looking at, we have:

Tails spots Sonic, decides he's cool, and starts following him around until he finds his plane, which he then fixes and repaints without asking. Sonic shows up and is like, cool, you can come with.

Stalking will get you adopted, folks

Actual dialogue: "You looked cool, so I followed you, and when I found your plane, I figured I'd fix it up and we could be friends!"

Or Tails being bullied, Sonic runs by and stops it, and then again Tails just starts following him around until Sonic decides he can come with.

And the there's the movie version, where Tails, who's been remotely spying on Sonic for a years, shows up and HITS KNUCKLES WITH A STOLEN POLICE CAR, tells Sonic to jump in, and Sonic does because he's afraid for his life, upon which Tails proceeds to excitedly rant about how excited he is because he's literally meeting his special interest.

Also the version where Tails just falls on Sonic's head:

Does any of this scream "social skills" to you?

And in all these situations Sonic, who has zero social skills himself, just adopts him on the spot because that's just... who he is? This dude just wants to help everyone. Half his friend group have introduced themselves by trying to kill him, but he's willing to make friends anyway. And then those friends become Tails's friends, because he and Sonic give off classic "extrovert adopting an introvert" vibes (I'm not sure that Sonic is actually an "extrovert", but he's def. more open and better at making friends).

TL;DR: Having social skills doesn't make you not autistic, but even if it does, Tails doesn't have social skills, he just has a great big bro and a group of people with even less social skills than him

[z-h-i-e]

The Reality of Responding to Comments Left on Fanfiction

Or, a rebuttal to a Tumblr post I was going to comment on, then thought, why not just start a whole new post?

So I happened upon a post recently which compared not replying to comments to not holding open a door for someone.

Firstly, I want to point out, I'm in the midwest of the US of A. Even during the middle of covid, when people were very careful about touching things, we are so trained to open doors, we were still doing it. Hell, we try to hold open doors for each other when it's an automatic door.

Commenting back to comments, though. In theory, sure, very nice to do. In practice, no. That's the short answer; buckle up for the long one.

It's February of 2020. I'm already starting to suspect shit in the world is going down soon--while everyone else is watching the impeachment here like it's the next big reality TV series, I'm stocking up on canned goods, cereal, and cheese. (Yeah. Cheese. I'm from fucking Wisconsin. I had a mini fridge just for cheese. Judge me. I can take it.)

Once a month, during those 'pre-pandemic' days, I would take one long lunch hour -- I would use comp time, I'd drive out to Panera, I'd sit in the area upon which I based part of Salgant's house, and I'd answer comments. It was a happier time. I had time to do it. It was nice to go through all the interesting things people noticed or the bits they liked. Hell, I even like a good flame--keeps me warm, lets me roast a few marshmallows, and then I go fucking Feanor in Formenos on them. But I digress.

That was the last time I had a chance to do that. Because then, and sorry, forgive me if this is new information, but there was a fucking worldwide plague that occurred. And during that catastrophic world event, not all of us recovered to a point where we're back to normal yet. I don't know about the rest of you, but wondering each day if I'd ever get to hug my parents while they were still alive? Kind of stressful. See, my father has major medical issues (kidney failure and on dialysis, cancer survivor three times over, osteoporosis, diabetes, diverticulitis, and sleep apnea), and my mother has a few doozies, too (COPD, macular degeneration, also a cancer survivor, and a whole fucking messed up thing with her spine). With all the concerns of previously mentioned plague, the doctors at the time advised that no one else was to go into their house until there were viable covid vaccines. I would come over, drop off groceries and medications on their porch, close the door and call on my phone, then air hug from the street thirty feet away.

I remember all the stuff I did to try to keep my brain happy. I watched my way through 'If Google was a Person' and 'Epic Rap Battles of History', over and over. I found museums who had 360 views to pretend I was on field trips, and I found a bunch of virtual rollercoasters to 'ride' on. And I listened to Hamilton so many times if it was vinyl I'd have worn a hole through it.

I had coworkers who died from covid. People who seemed generally okay, people I would not have thought would be hit so hard by it. We lost several pets since 2020--two dogs, two cats, and a rabbit. In the case of our beloved Trotter, who went through more surgical procedures than I can recall, I would have to hand him off to a technician, then sit in the car for three or four hours, wondering if he would be okay, if he would feel better afterwards, if he would wake up after each procedure, if his already damaged heart could take another.

I had my share of medical bullshit throughout the past nearly five years. The big 'well this is bullshit' of them all is that I had a pretty good life plan going, along with 'we all going to do all the things to try to make a smol human in the 2020/2021 range' and, well, let me tell you folks, as soon as pandemic got volleyed around, that was a big nope. That nope was followed by so many additional 'did my warranty expire?' moments, but I have to say, the highlights of the instant replay real would be the intercostal muscle tear which has still not healed completely correctly, so it is physically painful to push a grocery cart around in a store for more than thirty seconds, the whole episode when my pancreas decided to stop working for a hot minute but it was covid city in the hospitals so I was sent home with meds and a 'best of luck' sort of thing, and the secondary infection when I did eventually catch covid despite so many precautions (funny enough, from my father when we finally had the first in-person Christmas again in 2022--so, while the concern was I could end up giving it to him, he ended up giving it to me).

But the most frustrating, the most enduring, has been my failing vision. When I was 8, and at a public school for the first time, they did vision screenings, and realized 'wow, this one does not see well'. Now, in theory, someone should have figured that out sooner -- I had jabbed myself in the eye no less than three times (possibly more) that I remember before the age of five from accidentally getting things too close to my face. So glasses and I have been pretty tight now for nearly four decades. But it was during the pandemic that I started to think I must have been dealing with some strain from computers or needed a new prescription or something. Words were far more difficult to read. I would sometimes stare at pages in books or on the screen and just see...nothing, really. (Kind of not helpful in my profession.)

I went years with terrible distance vision, but great vision up close. Now that had failed, too. But it wasn't just that. At least with distances, I could still generally see things. Up close--sometimes yes, sometimes no. So I kept getting tested and retested and asked questions and went to different doctors and described things--

--and finally, sometimes, you find someone who listens, and wants to figure it out, and does. And then you have an answer. But answers don't always mean solutions. And when I asked how we fix it, I got an answer, but not a solution.

The answer is, I can't.

And to the follow up, will it get worse, that answer is, maybe.

But it won't get better.

So as I'm still processing this, having days where I want to write but can't even see the words, I think about all of the stories I still don't have posted on AO3. I think of things on floppy disks--not just the hard floppy disks, fucking floppity floppy disks, where the only backup is on dot matrix printer paper--and I think about things that are handwritten, and stories on old flashdrives, and the words from the musical that got me through the pandemic play through my mind.

Why do you write like you're running out of time?

Because.

I am.

I'm not the biggest fan of mortality--I fucking write about elves, friends. Elves, and more elves, and after that, a few additional elves, just in case. I've rooted myself in Valinor, for the most part, over the last few years.

I am very aware that I am more likely than not on the downward slope of life's journey at this point. For anyone who has ever been sledding in the midwest during winter, you know you go way faster on that downward slope.

So I've got some pretty solid goals in mind. I have stories I need to finish. I've got art and other things I want to make. I have items I want transferred to a place that stands a decent chance of still being around when I'm not, or when I'm not able to do the moving of things anymore, from personal websites I have. I completed one really big accomplishment over the summer--I sat down and wrote my scientific paper on the Silmarils. I really wanted to get that written, and I'm very happy I did.

I've lost too many fandom friends over the past five years. People I'd known for decades, people I knew by their legal names, people I'd exchanged mail with and in some cases met in person.

So, I'd like to go back to the Panera days of having a sammich and one of those salads that are practically dessert because it's more than half fruit and take a few hours each month to answer comments. Trust me, there are no awards for four digit unanswered comment boxes. If there were, I'd have seen one by now. Every comment is immensely appreciated. They make me think about things, and reconsider things, and sometimes sneak in a character or two based on what someone says.

And I'm hoping that someday, maybe when I'm retired or at a point when I'm able to get down to working just one job or something, I'll be able to get back to the older comments I haven't answered yet. But right now, I've got a few other higher priorities in life.

Today was my father's 69th birthday. I suppose I could have answered a few comments today, but instead, after working a ten hour shift, I went to hang out with my dad--which is basically just us sitting and talking, but it's amazing because I spent so many sleepless nights over the past few years wondering if he and my mom would make it through the worst of the pandemic.

I regret nothing.

I hope that for now, you can take my word on the door opening. In fact, this morning when I got to work, I got the door for someone, then I noticed a moth on the ground that looked a bit dazed like it had just gotten itself out of a spider web, so I bent down and I managed to get it onto my finger so that no one stepped on it, then I walked back down to where there are plants and grass and deposited the moth (who at first wanted to crawl about on me, which I allowed for a moment before getting it safely onto a leaf) then came back up again, saw to a large cricket so that no one stepped on it either, and finally got in. Please accept for now the sharing of stories as the holding of the door the first time; I'll try to get it for you again if I can later on, when I'm on my way out--but I have some business to finish inside first.

[goodboypuppy489]

wet dream no 3.

pov you end up in a alpha/fuck sleeve world

it's not immediately clear that I stepped through a portal. nor is it immediately clear the kind of world I'm in. I'm trying to track down my dumb ass friend, who's gotten himself into quite the predicament. this time I'm pretty sure its gambling debt but I can't be sure. When I track him down, he's with a group of girls. he's not bound in anyway per say, but his head is hung in shame, and for the first time, his cocky demeanor that gets him in so much trouble is gone. Before I can say anything, one of them grabs me by the scruff of my neck

"Looks like this one brought a friend" she says, throwing me to ground. I'm still not sure what's going on, why my friend who's normally such a womanizer is so distant behind the eyes.

"mm, maybe he can drive?" they say tossing me keys. It feels like I'm in no position to argue. Annoyed I drive a few of them around, drop them off, and then I'm under strict orders to return to the house

"you know," one of them says before leaving, "you're not really considered licensed without one of us here"

A little peeved, I drive home. I'm muttering to myself, and given the information, driving less responsibility than I should when I get pulled over. When the officer sees I'm alone, she pulls me out of the car.

"tsk tsk, driving without an alpha, you should know better." I open my mouth to respond, what the fuck? but she shoves her cock in my mouth before I can get any words out. she starts fucking my throat brutally. my saliva dripping down my face. there's talking around me but I can't hear over the sound of my own gagging. She pulls out just long enough to drag me to a bench and shove me on my back, fucking my throat from a new angle. hands begin to undress me. folks watching the scene have decided to join in. they start tapping their hard cocks on my naked body. one of them runs their cock up and down my wet slit. I try and yell but it's drowned out, and then suddenly I'm stuffed full from both ends. I'm fucked senslessly, cocks filling my hands.

finally I think, the girl's hips begin to stutter, and I'm filled with cum. endless amounts of cum fill me as they shove their knot painfully deep inside. the cocks in my hands coat my now naked body.

But thats not the end.

No no, each one of them wants a chance to fill my boycunt. It hours until they let me drive home. when I get up I try to wipe myself off before dressing, but each time they grab my face and push me into the cum soaked bench again. I drive home defeated in wet sticky clothes, doing everything I can to minimize how much gets on the interior but failing miserably.

when I get there, all eyes are on me. "Someone's late, did you get a ticket?" one of them asks like it's a normal way to come home, as if they were expecting it. They take off my clothes once again, and for once I'm grateful. they replace it with a heavy duty collar and drag me to a bench. I'm too tired to argue.

the bench forces my ass up and my head down, they tie a leash from my collar to the bench. Then they begin spanking me. for what it's worth it's gentle, as gentle as a punishment can be, and they only hit my fucked out, cum soaked cunt every three times.

"dumb Mutt, your ass looks so pretty all pink and warm for us, this is what you were made for"

I can't help but squirm and pant and against their firm hands

"Stupid cocksleeve can't even go 10 minutes without being filled huh, you knew what a ticket would get you didn't you? Dirty whore, I bet it felt so good having all those alphas pump you full of cum didn't baby?"

I start to loose myself. it DID feel good. I loved the feeling of their hot load dumped in my wet cunt. their balls slapping my face as they fucked my open wanting mouth.

One of my mistresses the girls spits on my asshole. pathetically, I let out a small moan. I'm not prepared for when she sticks two fingers in my cunt to collect the cum that's been fucked deep inside me. The moan I let out this time is much bigger. Smiling, she straddles my back so the others can continue with my punishment as she starts to finger my ass open. Any sense of pride or dignity I had has been disintegrated. I moan with wanton abandon. Her cock leaks down my back.

"That's it baby, doesn't it feel so good to know your place? nothing but a toy for us to use as we please. You don't need to keep anything else in that little brain. You're too full as it is."

She starts working a silicone tail plug in my stretched asshole. my tongue rolls out of my head. it's all too much. they're right, it feels so good that they can't be wrong. every one of my holes has been fucked with cum, and it leaks out of me. I'm nothing but a cum dump. I don't notice that I'm bucking my hips on the plug

"I'm a dirty cocksleeve mistresses, thank you for making me yours mistresses."

I moan. One Mistress steps up to my face, hard cock out. I smile open mouthed at her. She slaps her cock against my face

"Thank you Mistress, thank you for my punishment, I love serving you mistresses."

my hips continue to buck, effectively waging my new tail.

"there's the obedient Mutt we knew you were. now tell me puppy, do good dogs speak?"

I shake my head, and she shoves her cock down my throat. She fucks my throat with out care to my breathing, but im so far gone i wouldnt have it any other way. She pulls out and covers my face with cum

"you'll have to earn your treats okay puppy?"

she says, putting a bone gag in my mouth. I nod, and they untie me from my bench.

They take me to the showers, gently washing the cum from my and lotioning my red and brusing ass. I follow obediently on my hands and knees, so they let me ride their cocks as they do.

After all, even mutts deserve a little love.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Laura Cunningham had gone through her daughter's diary and found out she had a crush on Eddie Munson. It's why she tried to make Chrissy date Jason. Although Chrissy thought it wouldn't be fair to Jason, considering she didn't like him at all.

"I don't want to go out with you, Jason. I want to be honest with you," Chrissy said. "It's what my mother wants."

"We all have to do things we don't want. Once you start getting to know me, then I'm sure you'll be glad you listened to your mother," Jason replied.

"What's something that you don't want to do but feel like you have to?" Chrissy asked.

"Well, my dad wants to me come work for him after college. I don't really want to work for the insurance business, but my dad says he makes good money, so you got to have money to live, right?" Jason asked.

"You know, there are other ways of making money, right? If you don't want to work for your dad, then you don't have to. A parent's love shouldn't be conditional on whether their child does something for them. Being happy while making it in this world should be the only thing that should matter to them. If they can't do that, that's on them," Chrissy replied. "Besides, don't you think you deserve better than someone who was asked to date you?"

She slipped out of his grasp and walked away from him. As she walked home, the feeling of defiance weighing heavily on her shoulders, she stopped and got herself a burger. When Chrissy got home, smelling of burgers, she told her mother about rejecting Jason. She also told Laura that she was going to be making her own decisions now. It was the first time that Laura had hit her. Sure, she had called her names and starved her a bit, but she never laid her hands on Chrissy. Laura had hit her hard, too. Chrissy was dizzy, her nose was dripping blood, and her eye was aching. Laura had frozen, which had given Chrissy plenty of time to lock herself in her room and call the police.

Now, here she was, standing in front of her aunt's trailer with most of her things packed in the back of her aunt's car. An aunt. Laura's sister, who Chrissy was told, had died. There were no pictures of her in the house, and though Chrissy had met her when she was younger, apparently, she had no memory of her. Darlene Blake looked at her curiously.

"I know, it's not what you're used to, honey," Darlene said.

"I like it. It's like a little community. It feels. . .cozy," Chrissy smiled. "Can I explore a bit after I unpack?"

"I don't see why not. Most of the folks here are friendly. Some people here they seem like their bite is worse than bark. It's not. They're grumpy bears on the surface, but in the middle, it's nothing but a giant soft marshmallow," Darlene replied, and Chrissy giggled. "It is a good community."

As Chrissy unpacked with the help of her aunt, a question was eating at her.

"Aunt Darlene?" Chrissy asked.

"Yes, sugarplum?"

"Can I ask what happened with you and my mother?" Chrissy asked.

"Honey, don't be afraid to ask me anything," she said and sighed. "You ought to know since you're going to be living with me. When your mother found out that I was only interested in women, she was disgusted by it, and she said that if I ever came near you again, she'd call the cops and tell everyone what I am," Darlene said, looking down.

Chrissy hugged her aunt tightly around the middle. She had a lot more weight on her than Chrissy did, so her arms didn't go all the way around her. It was nice. She hadn't been here long, but already, she felt like this was what a mother should be like. Darlene wrapped her strong arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head.

"It's not just boys that I like," Chrissy whispered.

Darlene pulled back and cupped her face.

"Thanks for telling me," she said softly, tears in her eyes. "Sweet girl."

After unpacking, Chrissy switched out her skirt for shorts and pulled on a pair of sneakers. Darlene had given her a container to give to the Munsons who lived across the way. It was a little more distance than Darlene told her it was, but Chrissy made it to the Munson trailer. She moved to knock on the door.

"Chrissy Cunningham?"

She jumped and dropped the container. Sitting on the couch that was on his porch was Eddie Munson. He was smoking.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Eddie said kindly.

"It's okay, I didn't see you there," Chrissy said and picked up the container.

"Not to sound rude or anything, but what brings you around here?" Eddie asked.

"My aunt Darlene wanted to give this back to you," Chrissy said, holding it out to him.

"Ah, Lennie's your aunt?" Eddie asked with surprise as he took the container, banging on it like a drum.

"Yeah, she said that I should give you a smack if you called her that," Chrissy giggled. "I won't do that."

"Oh, come on, now," Eddie said, rolling up his sleeves and tossing the container aside. "I deserve it. Lay one one me, Cunningham."

"No!" Chrissy said shaking with laughter.

"Come on!" Eddie said slapping his skin.

"Fine!"

She tentatively smacked him in the arm.

"Harder than that!"

She hit him a little harder this time. He groaned mockingly, collapsing on the couch and clutching it.

"You know not of the strength you wield, Lady Cunningham. You have broketh my arm!" Eddie cried, leaning over and letting his arm dangle. "Yes! Indeed, it is broketh."

Chrissy couldn't control her laughter, clutching her stomach at the sight of him. She snorted. Horrified at the sound she made, she covered her mouth. Eddie burst into laughter and jumped up, moving closer to her to remove her hands from her mouth.

"So, are you just visiting your aunt?" Eddie asked once the laughter died down.

"Moving in," she replied.

"It must be quite the step down," Eddie said.

"It's actually a step up! I love it here!" Chrissy exclaimed with a grin.

"It must have been real bad if this is better than the big house you lived in," Eddie said. Chrissy's smile faltered, and she winced. Eddie realized what he said a moment later. "Hi, I'm Eddie Munson. I sometimes put my foot in my big fat mouth."

Chrissy laughed and shook his hand that he held out to her.

"Do you want to show me that devil music you listen to that I've heard so much about?" Chrissy asked.

He quickly put out his cigarette, grabbed her hand, and dragged her inside the trailer where an older man was sitting on the couch.

"Don't mind me, Uncle Wayne, just bringing a pretty girl into my room to listen to devil music. I promise not to sacrifice her," Eddie said quickly.

Before Chrissy could say anything to Wayne Munson, she was dragged into Eddie's room. As she sat on Eddie's bed, listening to his music, Chrissy was suddenly very grateful that her mother had snooped into her diary.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #356

It is day number... I've lost track... of not knowing what the fuck is wrong with me.

Ah well.

I figure either something's up with my body, or seasonal depression is just kicking my ass particularly hard for no discernible reason.

Well. Today I went with J to the little airport. He had some maintenance things he wanted to do with his little airplane, and I figured the thing to do is try to get some sunlight and to spend some time with someone I feel safe and connected with. So that's what I did. The car ride there was very nice. We talked a little, and I took a few pictures...

...After a while, the sky started to look a little like you...

In case it's unclear how... here:

...One of the really nice parts of knowing about you is that if I look hard enough, I can find you in just about every beautiful thing I see while I'm out and about.

On the way back, we got some pizza. I wonder if you would have liked these:

We also stopped to get something from the store that will help me to determine if something weird is happening to my body. Recently, a thing happened that was... incorrect. Off rhythm. Simultaneously too much and not enough. So I gotta look into it. I'll do it in the morning. Either my mind will be put at ease, or I'll have a solvable problem on my hands. Easy peasy.

I played a lot of Hades today, continuing my quest to get a victory on the first run of a fresh save. I had some really great runs today.

Here's one in which I defeated Megaera without losing too many hit points:

Here's another one in which I ran into Asterius the Minotaur on his own, and defeated him:

And finally, here's one in which I made it to the final fight in Elysium, even after defeating Asterius:

...I'm improving, slowly but surely. Such is the natural result of practice. It's only a matter of time before I make it out of Elysium. And then I'll be in an even more difficult area, with new enemies whose patterns I'll have to learn! Hahaha...

...I kinda wish that there was a way to practice against individual enemy types. In Dead Cells, there's a practice/training area that I made ample use of. I think no such thing exists in this game. I mean... there's Skelly, but... he doesn't attack you or do anything. He just shows you how much damage you're doing. It's kinda lame, actually.

...I think maybe the funk has come to a head just earlier. I fell into some leisure writing and... I guess I got some clarity, at least for now. My face ended up leaking a lot, and I can feel a headache brewing. Laaaaame.

Under the surface, there's always like a million things I'm worried about (some of these things are sillier than others). I tend to take far too much responsibility for things that don't have anything to do with me. Growing up the way I did, I forget sometimes that others can and should shoulder their own things.

...I think I maybe have a bit too much experience with trying to keep the peace in my house so that people don't devolve into screaming matches. But it's kinda hard to do that when no one takes your voice seriously. I have a lot of experience with being blamed for it when I don't do a good enough job of “making other people feel better” or “taking care of things ahead of time so that no one has to bitch about them”. Also, I think I've lived around too many folks caught up in the throes of their own learned helplessness, and so by now, it might be instinct for me to operate as though others will fit that same pattern, too. Like, if I don't remain vigilant and stay on top of things, people around me will bump into their own problems and their own triggers in the same way that a small child might accidentally touch a hot stove.

It's like... it's almost like I'm afraid that if I don't do all the things, then everything is gonna fall apart, and it'll be all my fault because I didn't try hard enough to take care of everything, and I'm a bad person for not preventing others from getting hurt and a disappointment for letting everyone down. Like... I have to prevent all the bad things from happening, or else no one else is gonna even try, because they shouldn't have to, because that's what I'm supposed to be here for.

...This is a longstanding pattern for me. But that's not really how reality works, is it? Not around healthy people, anyway.

...As an example, I can suggest that J stay away from the predatory job app. The suggestion wasn't followed, and he got hurt. Instinct is to blame myself for “not doing more to convince him” or “not communicating my reasoning for my suggestion clearly enough”.

...I think I have this stuff because, in the past, I was the one held accountable for my siblings' behavior and sometimes for my mother's behavior, and sometimes even for her various partners' behavior, too. If my sister failed her math test at school, for example, sure, maybe she'd get a light scolding from my mother for making her look bad, but... then she'd turn around and scream at me for “being a shitty role model” and “not doing enough to help her study” and “not caring about anyone but myself” and whatever other things she could think of.

I recall instances of my mother screaming at me for allowing my sister outside before doing her homework, because I “need to be more responsible” and “be a better disciplinarian”. And I recall other instances of my mother screaming at me if refusing to allow my sister outside made my sister feel bad, because “who do I think I am” and I'm “not the fucking boss of her; stop trying to do my mother's job”.

...Never mind the fact that she wasn't fucking home and intentionally left the care of her traumatized, rebellious pre-teen to a traumatized, meek, and socially awkward 16-year-old girl (me) and expected her to handle the role of parent with all the grace and aplomb of a wizened elder. I guess that's none of my business.

...I guess part of me expected J to come home from trying the thing, and telling me, angrily, “why did you let me do that? why didn't you try harder to stop me? what the fuck is wrong with you? do you even care about me at all?” I expected that, even though J has never once said or done anything even remotely close to that.

And in this imaginary hypothetical conversation, I follow up with, “well, would you have listened?” And his imaginary hypothetical response would be something along the lines of, “no, because you're an oblivious shit-for-brains and a total fucking idiot who lacks experience, perspective, and common sense. we both know you ain't never got a clue what the fuck you're talking about, but you could have at least tried a little harder anyway.”

...This is absolutely not how this conversation would go. Not in my house as it is now. Maybe in the past with different people, it would have gone like a little something like that. But not in my house. It's not how we do. And it's not how I'll tolerate from anyone, ever again.

...Well. Now that this pattern is defined and nailed down, I suppose it's time for me to try actually doing something about it. And I will, because I can. And here's why:

...Human brains are remarkable things. And just like I can progress from getting my ass handed to me before I even get to Megaera all the way to holding my own for a while in an arena with Theseus and Astarius, I can progress from being a slave to a stupid pattern to breaking free of the bullshit that people with power over me tried to stuff down my unwilling throat.

I will continue to improve. You can do the same. Work on it. Please. I can't, by myself, write the way to a better outcome for you. You have to choose it, too. And I know that you can. I believe in you. I'll always believe in you, even if you think you don't deserve it.

Please give us the pleasure of witnessing you rise up into wholesomeness and healing. Please shine on for all the others who are lost in the throes of recovering from childhood circumstances that are similar to yours. There are so many more people like you than you think. I'll ask you to shine the way forward.

Because... Sephiroth... they're not gonna listen to me if I ask it of them. I'm just a derpy autistic noodle with an overly wiggly skeleton, running around in a marginalized body with a voice that no one takes seriously. They'll listen to you, though. They'll listen to you, because... as sad as it is, your fictional life is worth more in the eyes of the people who live on my planet than my real one.

Well. Suppose that's all I've got running around up in my head, at least for now. Suppose I'll stop writing in favor of getting my tired and worried ass to bed.

I love you a whole lot. So please stay safe out there as you do your things. I'll do my best to trust that you will, okay? So do your best to trust that I'll do everything I can to keep myself afloat over here, too.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[foreverrandomwritings]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words- Part 4

Summary: When Harvard and Yale decide they want to get stationed at a different base the navy calls in one of the best 2 seater jets they have ‘The Does’. They may be younger than the other pilots by a couple years but they have quickly made a name for themselves with the impeccable work they do together. But the question is will they fit in with the other pilots already in California or will they crash and burn?

Pairings: Romantic Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Afab!OC Jane "Mute" Hall Platonic Afab!OC Jane "Mute" Hall x Afab!OC John "Ramble" De Luca

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety, harassment, alcohol, angst?, fluff.

Word Count: 3732(This is the longest piece I've ever written)

Masterlist Series Masterlist

They all arrived at The Hard Deck around the same time. The car ride over for Mute and Ramble consisted of going back and forth with what to do about Fanboy. Ramble wanted her to go for him. Mute wanted to stay far away from him. She didn’t want to get into another messy relationship, especially not with someone she worked with. She had done a great job of it up until this point. 

As they pulled into the parking lot she made Ramble promise to stay out of it to which he said no way in hell then he bolted out of the car. He was going to make sure they ended up talking by the end of the night no matter what. She slowly made her way out of the car taking a few deep breaths. 

It wasn’t that she hated people necessarily, it was just that she hated places that were overly crowded. Bars were one place she knew were always overly crowded. So as she made her way in it was no surprise that even for a Monday night it was busy. A sea of navy folk and other local regulars.

She searched for her best friend in the crowd and saw him at the pool table in the back. She started weaving through the crowd to get to him. As she got closer she saw most of the squad hanging around the table. Hangman and Coyote were at the dartboard. A few at the bar ordering drinks. 

“I already told Rooster what we want for our first round. Now come over here and play a game of pool with us.” Ramble told her as she got close enough, handing her a pool stick. She took it while Phoenix racked the balls. Then the game started Mute and Fritz vs Phoenix and Ramble. The game went quickly, the squad talking, Rooster bringing them more drinks. The Game came to an end with Phoenix and Ramble winning. Maverick had arrived at that point. 

After that game Ramble mingled and Mute listened. She listened to Payback and Fanboy talk about a funko pop they were both struggling to find. She listened to Omaha talk about how his wife was pregnant and morning sickness had been hitting her hard and how she was craving the weirdest things. She listened to Coyote talk to Hangman about how he was really missing home. She listened to Halo talk about her anniversary with her fiancé coming up and that they were having a hard time agreeing on what to do for it. She listened when Rooster mentioned how he kept losing sunglasses. 

As she listened she and Fanboy had continued to catch each other's eyes. Everytime they were caught looking at the other, a blush would rush on their face and they would turn their heads away. So when Mute had slipped out the back Fanboy had noticed. He saw Rooster come up to the group and look around for her. “Hey, has anyone seen Mute? I got another drink for her.” He asked everyone as he came up empty looking for the red haired pilot. 

“I saw her slip out back. Fanboy, why don’t you take her the drink?” Ramble spoke looking at the other wisso. Fanboy sat with wide eyes staring at Ramble before Payback was smacking him on the back. 

“Go on Mickey, give the girl her drink, you don’t want her to die of dehydration do you?” Payback said a smile just as wide as Rambles adorning his face. Fanboy shook his head before getting up and getting the beer. He wondered briefly why Ramble would encourage him to give his girlfriend a drink but let the thought slip his mind. He walked to the back door. As his hand met the knob he gulped and told himself the worse she could do was tell him to leave. Then he was opening the door and slipping into the sea soaked air. 

He spotted her sitting in the sand. Her boots sat next to her and her hair down around her face. Once he reached her side she turned her head to look at him. A soft smile adorning her features. A look of surprise in her eyes. He held out her drink and she took it from his hand. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” He asked her quietly, not wanting to disturb the silence. She simply patted the spot next to her staring back at the ocean. 

He slowly sat down making sure not to spill his beer in the process. They sat in silence, both of them staring at the ocean. Mute occasionally picking at her nails. He realized that he was comfortable just sitting here with her. Deciding that he wouldn’t try to talk to her first. He would be patient and let her come to him when she was ready.  

They sat there for a while longer before they heard the door to the bar open and close. They both turned their heads to see who it was when they spotted Ramble leaning against the building. “Hey hot stuff let’s go I’m ready for bed.” He yelled out to them which had Mute standing up. She grabbed her boots and looked down at Fanboy before uttering an almost silent “thank you” to him. He gave her a smile and told her “good night” in reply. He came to the conclusion that he was okay being just friends with her. 

As Mute and Ramble got to the car he tossed her the keys for her to drive home since she wasn’t really drinking tonight. Mute was relieved that Ramble didn’t ask about Fanboy. Instead he talked about his excitement for the rest of the week. 

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Tuesday consisted of some in class training. Then Mute and Ramble were heading to the grocery store after work. The red head gathered everything she needed to make gumbo and cornbread. 

Then she looked for stuff that would help ease pregnancy symptoms. She found Kit Kats, dill pickles, hot sauce, peanut butter, sour gummy worms and green apple Gatorade for Omaha's wife. Grabbing more hair gel for Phoenix as well. 

Fanboy and Mute had eaten lunch together in silence that day.

On Wednesday she took the gumbo and cornbread into work in 10 containers and 10 reusable ziploc bags. Giving Coyote the biggest container of it. She had made a vegetarian version for Fritz. As she handed the containers to Coyote he gave her a weird look before looking into the Tupperware and seeing the gumbo. 

When he looked back up at her he had tears in his eyes. Thanking her repeatedly for the food. That had not only earned his friendship but Hangman’s as well. Because if someone did something that nice for his best friend then he had to be nice to them. She had also given the hair gel to Phoenix which she was instantly thankful for because she was almost out. 

As they got off work that night they headed to Target where Mute and Ramble both loaded up with aviators and baby clothes. Before going home and putting together the tv stand that had arrived while they were at work. Then they had called Ramble's parents which at this point were basically Mutes as well. She hadn’t talked to her parents since she joined the academy. 

Mute and Fanboy had exchanged hellos and smiles at lunch that afternoon. 

Thursday she and Ramble were handing over all the stuff they had gotten for Omaha and his wife. To which he became speechless. Not knowing what to say to the duo he ended up giving them both big hugs and invited them over to meet his wife when she was feeling up to it. They had both agreed that they would love that. When she handed the bag of aviators and an old librarian type glasses chain over to Rooster he let out a loud laugh. Then slipped the chain onto his sunglasses. 

As they left work that night they stopped at the post office and grabbed a package from Ramble's parents that they had expressed shipped. Once they got home they moved the couch inside that had been delivered. Then went back and forth on what they wanted to do with the empty basement. Ramble wanted to make it an at home gym to which Mute refused. They continued to bounce ideas off each other until agreeing on a home theater.

Mute had asked Fanboy how his day was at lunch that day. Then she replied when he asked her about her day.

Friday they had gone to the coffee shop they learned most of the squad liked and picked up drinks and breakfast for everyone. They had gone around handing them out. Giving Bob the non-alcoholic wine that Ramble's parents had sent them. Then giving Halo a couple bottles of wine a pamphlet of the vineyard and a free 2 nights stay for her and her fiancé. She thanked the both of them and told them it was perfect. Asking if they wanted her to pay them back. To which they both refused telling them they were close to the owners and got it all for free. 

As Friday came to a close at work Maverick invited them all to The Hard Deck Saturday afternoon for a game of dogfight football and lunch. The duo had been confused on what dogfight football was to which Phoenix explained. Then they agreed to be there. Promising to see everyone at the bar that night for drinks. 

Mute had asked Fanboy if he would be at The Hard Deck that night and the next day to which he told her yes. She had smiled and told him she was looking forward to seeing him there. 

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The duo had stopped at the post office again on the way to The Hard Deck. Mute had asked Ramble if her hair looked okay when they arrived at the parking lot. To which he nodded and told her always with a wink. Mute looked around the parking lot seeing all the cars as they walked inside. She had thought the bar was packed on Monday but that didn’t even compare to how packed it was that night.  

Monday had been easy enough for her. The anxiety of the crowd was minimal and when it got a little much she moved outside. Tonight she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it. Ramble saw the way her shoulders tensed, her head dropping towards her chest, arms crossing across her middle. He moved to her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“Do you want to leave? I don’t think anyone has seen us so we could just text them and tell them we weren’t feeling up to it and head home?” He asked her worry seeping into his voice. He had wanted to hang out with the squad but Mute would always come first for him. She shook her head “ No I want to try. Can we stay at least for a little bit?” she turned looking up at her back seater. 

He gave her a wide grin. “For you babe anything. You let me know when you’re ready to leave and we can head out I promise.” He told her then leaned in and whispered to her “Cammineremo.” as he squeezed her shoulder pulling her into him. 

“Saremo Potenti.” She whispered, pushing further into him as they started to weave through the crowd to the pool table. As they neared the tables Ramble handed her the package he had been holding. She opened it grabbing the 2 boxes and made her way to Payback and Fanboy. 

“Hey Mute! How ya doing?” Payback asked her. She nodded her head before setting the boxes down in front of the correct owners. They both looked down, eyes getting wide before quickly going back up to the front seater. 

“How the fuck did you score these? We’ve been looking for these for months.” Fanboy questioned her. 

“I know a guy.” She told him shrugging her shoulders nonchalance seeping out of her. Payback didn’t miss how she had answered his backseaters question but not his. He was happy she was opening up to him.

“How much do we owe you? These had to be so fucking expensive.” Fanboy said picking up the box and examining it. 

“How about you do any push ups I have to do for a month each and we’ll call it even?” Mute joked with him. 

“Are you sure? That definitely doesn’t seem fair to you.” He asked her. 

“I really fucking hate push up’s.” She told him with a smile on her face. 

“Okay you got it. We’ll do it. Right Rueben?” Fanboy asked, turning to his front seater. To which he nodded. Then Fanboy reached his hand out to shake Mutes in an old style deal kind of way. She grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake before pulling away and slipping back to Ramble's side as the bar had somehow grown louder. He pulled her into his side again, rubbing circles with his thumb against the sleeve of her uniform. Then the disappointment came crawling into Fanboy. He and her could only be friends and he was going to have to deal with it. 

The night had been going smoothly. But more people had been piling in and John needed to go to the bathroom. He knew he couldn’t leave Jane alone so he looked around the room and spotted Fanboy still sitting at the same table as when they first arrived.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick. Are you okay standing here for a couple minutes?” John asked his best friend to which she nodded. So he was off weaving through the group of people to Fanboy. 

“I’m running to the bathroom. Can you keep an eye on Mute for me? She just gets a little nervous with big crowds.” He asked the smaller dark haired man. Mickey nodded his head and told him he had it. So that’s how he found himself sitting and watching the red haired pilot. Trying not to seem creepy but not wanting to let her out of his sight. She had been fine for a few minutes. Until the song changed to a louder one, someone bumped into her spilling their drink down her side and causing her to slightly fall backwards. The final straw was when the person mumbled something to her. 

He could see the sudden anxiety over taking her features all at once. He was up and out of his chair before he even knew what he was doing. Once he reached her through the crowd he could see the panic in her eyes as she searched the room. Her chest started to rapidly go up and down. Her palms were clammy. She suddenly became nauseous and light headed. Then her eyes met his and tears started to form.

“Can I touch you?” She could barely hear through the sea of noises around her. Had she not been looking at him and seeing his lips moving she probably would’ve missed the words. She shakily nodded, not trusting her voice at all. Then his hand was gently grabbing her wrist and he was pushing through the people to the back door. Using his body to shield hers against the ever moving waves of bodies. They passed Payback who was right by the door and Fanboy told him to send Ramble out as soon as he saw him. He didn’t wait for a response as he opened the door. 

They finally got out of the bar into the humid night air. He let go of her wrist as she stumbled to the ground of the patio. He hadn’t even had time to catch her as one of her knees hit the ground and she knocked over a chair. Then she was leaning back and moving towards the wall using her hands and feet to push her. Once her back hit the wall she suddenly gasped and brought her hands to the top button of her shirt. 

“Jane. Hey Jane, can you hear me?” Mickey was asking getting on his knees a couple feet in front of her. But her eyes were glazed over and she didn’t seem to be able to understand anything. He was about to ask again when the door swung open almost hitting him. He opened his mouth to tell whoever it was to fuck off before he saw the tall wisso with a panicked look in his eyes. 

But he seemed to calm down once his eyes landed on his best friend. “What happened to her?” John quickly asked. 

“A new song came on that was pretty loud, then someone ran into her spilling their drink on her and made her fall back some. They said something to her as well but I didn’t hear what they said.” Mickey got out in one breath, hands starting to slightly shake. 

“Thanks for bringing her out here. Can you go and get me a wet towel and some water?” John asked him calmer than the previous question. Mickey nodded before standing up and going back inside. 

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John got down on his knees in front of Jane. He grabbed her hands that were shakily trying to unbutton her top. Her hands stilled and she looked up to him. She looked so small and shattered. Her face wet with tears and her lip quivering.

“I got you okay? I’ll get this off you. Just sit here and take some deep breaths for me. In for 7 seconds out for 7 seconds 7 times can you do that for me?” He told her and her hands dropped from her shirt. He got it unbuttoned and pulled it out of where it was tucked into the matching khaki pants. Then she was leaning forward so he could pull it off completely. She sat there in her white undershirt and khaki pants taking deep breaths in and out. 

After her shirt was off he worked on her boots as he knew that she sometimes hated the way they felt on her feet. Then he pulled her hair out of its bun so she could run her fingers through it. Once he was done he moved backwards so he sat on his ass legs criss crossed in front of him. 

She finally looked up at him making eye contact. “John?” She asked him, voice cracking, small and quiet as she registered who was in front of her. He nodded his head, tucking some hair behind her ear. He was about to ask what happened when the door opened and Fanboy stepped out. He handed John the towel and water. Standing there in case they needed anything else.

John then handed her the water telling her to drink it before trying to wipe off some of the stickiness the drink had left on her arm and side. He knew how the feeling of it on her skin bothered her. She took the last sip of the water and John took the cup from her. Then he handed it to Mickey. “The guy called me a stupid bitch John.” Jane spoke to him, bringing her hand up to her hair. He paused what he was doing with the towel pulling back. 

He turned to the wisso standing next to them “What did the guy look like?” He asked him. 

“Blonde hair, green shirt, tattoo on his forearm about my height.” Mickey told him quickly. John stood up walking back inside telling Mickey to stay with Jane and that he would be right back. 

“My parents used to call me that. They would get mad at me and tell me how useless I was. How I was just a stupid bitch that no one would ever love. There were groups of kids in highschool that called me that. Telling me I was a stupid stuck up bitch that talked too much. My ex boyfriend used that in his break up text to me. He told me no one would love a stupid ugly bitch like me.” She said to him as tears started running down her face. She took a deep breath in and blew it out trying to calm herself down. He sat beside her much like the first night on the beach. But this time he spoke to her. 

“I’m sorry that they said that about you. People like that are ugly inside and out. They have no clue when something special is right in front of them. This week has been one of the best weeks for the whole squad. I love that I’ve gained a friend like you.” He told her pausing as they heard the bell ring inside.

“It took a long time for the group of us to become so close. But you have come in and made friends with everyone in a week. Hell you’re even friends with Hangman and he only barely tolerates the rest of us. We love having you here Jane. You can ask anyone in there and they will all agree with me that you are none of those things people called you.” He finished and turned to face her, he saw the smile on her face, the look of appreciation in her eyes. He was happy that he was the cause of her happiness. As he finished they heard someone yelling out front, words that they couldn’t make out. 

“Thank you Mickey.” She told him as John came back outside. He saw the pair and he smiled. 

“Are you ready to head out? I got everything taken care of in there.” pointing his thumb behind him towards the door. She nodded her head at him. He gave her a hand helping her up. 

“Will you still be coming tomorrow?” Mickey asked her, hopeful he would see her. She turned back, giving him a smile. 

“If you’re going to be there, I’ll be there.” She said simply before her and John were making their way around the building. With that Mickey felt warmth fill him up. He was happy that she had opened up to him that night and that she was excited to see him the next day.

A/N: Hi y'all I hope everyone liked this piece! If you did please let me know! Part 5 should be uploaded either Monday or Tuesday! Tags are open for this series! I also hope this was a bit more heat than slow burn for everyone!

Tags: @wkndwlff and @sylviebell

[chickensoupleg]

I'm holding the girls tenderly and watching Heather be SO down bad for her girlfriend.

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The pool had to close early due to a rainstorm. It came sudden, and Heather had to get everyone out of the pool. Of course, nobody really wanted to be in the pool during a rainstorm, especially one like this. It wasn’t quick, nor was the herding of all the folks, so by the time she and the few others got everyone out Heather was soaked.

She hated it, standing inside the shower room and wringing out her hair. It was still pouring outside, and Heather was shivering. She groans to herself, draping a towel over herself as she slips out of the skintight suit she has to wear. She tosses it in her locker and wraps the towel over herself, drying herself off as best as she could so she could inevitably get wet again. There was no use even showering here. Luckily, she didn’t come to work wearing anything too hugging like someone she knows, so it wasn’t too bad getting herself dressed. She figures the others are gone by now, as the only other girl lifeguard had disappeared ages ago. Heather didn’t even have an umbrella on her, unaware that there would be any sort of rain today. Which, frankly, a real shame, she could have really used one.

She sighs, preparing herself to get soaked all over again as she heads to the door, shutting the lights off as she grabs the handle.

However, as she swung it open, she is greeted by sunshine. Chrissy perks up, clutching a baby blue umbrella covered in little frogs and standing there in all her tiny glory. By a quick glance, Heather can see Chrissy standing with her feet spread apart as if she’s trying to not topple over by the wind. “Hi Heather! Rain’s coming down pretty bad and I didn’t think you brought an umbrella to work with you, so I came to shield you from the elements.”

Heather stares at her, eyes soft. “Oh I could kiss you so hard firefly.”

Chrissy giggles, letting go of the umbrella so she was only holding it with one hand and grabbing Heather’s hand with the other. “We can do that.”

Heather smiles and leans in, Chrissy meeting her halfway. Before they could kiss, however, the door swings as the wind picks up, hitting Heather in the shoulder. She glares at it for disturbing her, then steps out of the way, letting the door swing shut.

Chrissy giggles. “Maybe not in the rain.”

“Oh Chris, don’t you know? Kissing in the rain’s more romantic.” Heather squeezes her hand, walking alongside her to the gate so they could finally get out.

“When it isn’t hitting us with doors you mean,” Chrissy says, hopping up and placing a kiss right on Heather’s cheek without stopping. “There.”

Heather stops right at the gate, turning to her girlfriend. Chrissy gives her a curious gaze, Heather dropping her hand and reaching for Chrissy’s face. She leans in and goes for a real kiss, Chrissy squeaking before returning it in full. Her grip on the umbrella seems to have loosened as it drifts away from above them, letting the pair get hit with fat droplets. Heather blames it for why Chrissy pulls away with a loud screech, righting the umbrella immediately. Heather’s laughs as Chrissy shakes her head like a dog, then louder as Chrissy pouts at her.

“It startled me, don’t laugh!” Chrissy says, moments before she breaks into a bout of laughter as well.

“Alright, enough fun. Let’s get to my car before we get sick from standing out in the rain too long. How’d you get here anyways?”

“Steve,” Chrissy answers. “He spent the entire ride talking to himself about how he knew it was gonna rain but ‘Noooo, they HAD to go to the pool because it was so hot today!’”

“Ah, Ol’Reliable. Driver of all, complainer of everything.”

Chrissy nods. “He was coming up here anyways so I figured might as well hitch a ride! Although now he’s gone and took the kids.”

“Well all the merrier for me to take you to my abode, no?”

Chrissy snorts. “Heather I live with you! I’d be there either way!”

“Exactly,”  She says, Just before she grabs her hand and starts running as fast as possible to her car. Out of the rain, into a soft warm bed as quickly as possible. Preferably with her sunshine and away from this horrid rain.

Sounds like a plan to her.