#the other four have to wrestle for the middle row

[saym0-0]

okay now to alleviate your sadness, joel pulls up in his car to each season and picks them up and they have a several-month-long roadtrip stuck in his fuckass car with each other listening to joel's music

au where scars winner lore applies to all of them. they're all left wandering around their empty worlds waiting for the next season to start for a brief respite from the loneliness

[lotties-ashwagandha]

Hear me out; Christmas Nastylot. Lottie drags all four to her family's chalet. Her parents can't make it but send their regards and a cask of wine to be shared with company. A whole cask. It's enough to bolster all three of them into admiring their feelings for reader and next minute they're all in various states of undress on a bearskin in front of the fire.

FLAMES OF FROZEN FIRE (nsfw)

pairing: lottie x misty x natalie x gn reader

word count: 2.1k

notes: sorry the title sounds like game of thrones shit i wrote this on my period at 12am. also i did this as established relationship. merry christmas whores <3

You loved all of your girlfriends, not for their money, but for who they were — but as the chalet came into view from the car, you became immensely grateful that one of them was rich.

The four of you had taken the weekend to travel to Lottie’s family’s winter chalet in Vermont. You’d intended on staying with her family there for a few days, but last minute they had canceled for other obligations, and since the four of you had already canceled work and plans for the trip, it had been too late to back out.

“It’s smaller than I remember,” Lottie said airily, and you resisted what would’ve been a laugh at her expense.

The chalet was absolutely giant — it was something out of a movie, a sort of mansion hiding in the snow-covered woods of Vermont. Though Lottie had told you her family had owned it since her childhood, it looked brand new, the dark wooden siding flawless and every window shined to the point of complete transparency.

“It’s huge,” Misty breathed from the backseat, looking out of Nat’s window. Caligula squawked from his cage on her lap in opposition of her moving around so suddenly.

“I hope it meets Caligula’s high standards,” Nat teased, but you could tell she, too, was impressed by the chalet.

You parked the car in the garage — one of the garages, at least — and wrestling your suitcases out of the trunk, the four of you entered the chalet.

“Oh my god,” you said softly, coming into the entryway of the chalet, which gave way to the living room through an arched entry. The room was lit dimly, not enough to contrast the natural coolness of the light coming in through the windows from outside, but enough to cast a cozy glow through the room. In the middle was a fireplace, unlit but yearning to be, and you made note to light it later.

You felt one of your girlfriends come up behind you and wrap her arms around your waist. You didn’t have to look to know it was Lottie, and you leaned into her, letting her press a kiss at the edge of your jaw. Her touch was filled with love, and you felt it every moment you spent together.

“Do you like it?” She asked quietly.

You smiled, nodding. “Lottie, it’s insane.”

“Holy fuck,” Natalie said, joining the two of you in the living room. She ran a hand over the back of one of the leather couches surrounding the fireplace, before crossing the room to look out the picture window at the view of the mountains in the distance.

“Where’s Misty?” Lottie asked from behind you.

Natalie shrugged, still looking around. “She went to go find a bedroom for Caligula.”

You scoffed. “He even gets his own vacation bedroom.”

On cue, your phone started ringing. It was Misty. Putting it on speaker, you answered.

“Misty, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just too big here to be yelling. Come over by the spiral staircase, though, you have to see this.”

Without giving you a chance to respond, Misty hung up.

“Where’s the staircase?” You asked, and Lottie gestured for you and Nat to follow.

Misty stood by a door that upon opening led down a set of stairs, at the end of which you could see the start of rows of what looked like wine casks.

“A wine cellar,” she said, something devious lacing her tone. “Should we?”

“Let’s go,” you answered, before anyone could object. You took Misty’s hand, the two of you heading down to the wine cellar. Misty was always the one you could count on for adventures, well-natured ones, and you loved it — and though you could hardly call a wine cellar an adventure, the whole trip had proved to be one.

The cellar was filled with casks of wine. You could hardly tell the end of it, it was wonderful, and you wondered how it was that a Vermont chalet had enough wine in the cellar to pass for an underground vineyard.

While the rest of them took in the cellar, your attention was drawn to a cask set apart from the rest. A sort of nozzle was in it, and a note was taped to the front. You came closer, seeing the note as one from Lottie’s parents. You skimmed it — something about how they’d stopped by on the way to some place in New Hampshire, and they couldn’t stay but they wanted everyone to feel welcomed.

“Look at this,” you called, and your girlfriends came over to examine the cask. “It’s for us.”

You began to fiddle with the nozzle, trying to figure out how it worked. You’d never seen a wine cask before, let alone been in a wine cellar, and the whole experience—

Wine began to spill from the spout, and you jumped back.

“Fuck!” You shouted, though a laugh bubbled up from your chest. “How do we turn it off?”

Natalie dove for the cask, fumbling with it for a moment while Misty tried shouting instructions, and finally the wine stopped pouring.

The four of you exchanged glances that flickered to the cask, and you were in a silent agreement that your trip had just gotten infinitely better.

An hour later the four of you sat in the living room in front of the fire. You sat by Lottie on one of the sofas, and Misty sat in Natalie’s lap in an armchair beside it. Each of you had a glass of wine, you and Natalie on your second already. You’d been the ones to do most of the work getting the suitcases up to your room, you deserved it as compensation.

The fire glowed beautifully before you. The flames licked at the wood with tenderness, but still the wood turned to ash, dominated and destroyed. It was beautiful.

You felt someone’s gaze prying into you. You turned your gaze to find Misty watching you contemplatively. Her gaze held immeasurable love, but you could see she was pondering something.

“What is it?” You asked quietly, and she smiled.

“I’m just thinking about how we met you.”

It reoccurred to you then how long the rest of them had known each other. Since high school, since before the crash, and you had been completely separate. Only in the last few years had you come into their lives.

“I found them first,” Lottie said proudly, setting her wine glass on the coffee table and wrapping an arm around you. “Remember? I saw them at the farmers market and somehow coerced them into giving me their number.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “It’s no mystery why I gave it to you, look at you. All three of you.”

Misty came to sit beside you on the sofa. Natalie wasn’t far behind, but instead of the sofa she chose to straddle your lap. Your breath hitched slightly as you looked up at her.

“You think you’re lucky?” She asked, and when you replied with a ‘yes’, she shook her head. “We’re the lucky ones.”

Smiling, you pulled her into a kiss, letting her dominate every movement. Your arms snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. The comfort of the chalet, the comfort of your girlfriends, was everything. Never had you felt so loved.

You pulled away slightly in surprise when Lottie’s hands snuck under your sweater, running up and down your waist, your abdomen. Misty’s lips were on your neck soon as well, trailing kisses down to as much as she could reach of your collarbones with the neckline of your sweater still in the way. You sighed softly in contentment as their touches continued, and Natalie pulled you into another kiss, one that you allowed yourself to relax into. You needed the three of them like you needed air, and any attention they gave you would consume with pleasure.

“Can I take this off?” Misty asked, pulling at the hem of your sweater. When you nodded she pulled it off of you.

You shivered in the brief chill that came with losing your sweater. It was warm in front of the fire in the chalet, but it was snowing fervently outside and the chill of it sank into your bones as you sat half bare before the three of them.

Lottie noticed your slight discomfort. She slipped behind you, pulling your back against her front with warm hands, almost protectively. You were enveloped in the warmth radiating from her, body heat, and it cured every phantom of your unease.

You moaned when Misty began to kiss your chest, sucking marks you knew would be bruises lasting days after. She gave special attention to your collarbones, she loved your collarbones, and underneath her touch you writhed.

When Natalie pulled away, she began kissing down your body, getting off your lap to kneel on the floor between your legs. Her hands trailed up your thighs. Unlike Lottie’s, her hands were cold even through the fabric of your leggings, but this time it was a welcome sensation.

One of Lottie’s hands found your jaw and she pulled you into a kiss. You whimpered softly into it, the three of them drawing you near insanity with every touch, every kiss.

“Let us show you how much we love you,” Natalie said, and her hands toyed with the hem of your pants. “How much we need you.”

You nodded in confirmation, lifting your hips a bit to help as she took off your pants and underwear together. She pulled you so that you were sitting at the edge of your seat, your legs spread so that she comfortably sat between them, beginning to kiss up your thighs excruciatingly slowly. You needed her to taste you, fuck you, you needed to feel the three of them touching you for eternity if you could.

Soon Lottie’s lips were replaced by Misty’s. Lottie’s hands found your chest, kneading and pulling at your boobs, and you swallowed back a moan when she began whispering praise in your ear.

Your attention flew back to Natalie — she ran her tongue through your folds, slow, slower than you thought you could take in the anticipation of her. Almost lazily she ran her tongue over your clit, teasing you, and you whined.

“So good for us,” Lottie purred, watching as Misty pulled you into another kiss. “So pretty like this, all spread out for the three of us.”

Misty pulled away, her lips back on your chest, her tongue circling one of your nipples. She watched you carefully and you met her gaze for a moment, electrified.

Your head fell back on Lottie’s shoulder when Natalie slid a finger into you, and then a second, and you couldn’t help the obscenity of the moan that escaped you when she began to set a leisurely pace, when she sucked your clit into her mouth.

“You’re doing so well, baby, I’m so proud of you,” Lottie whispered. She pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “You’re so perfect like this. Exactly where you should be, between us.”

“They’re so close,” Natalie breathed, her fingers still deep inside you. “Fuck, you should feel how close they are for us.”

“Already?” Lottie asked, and a rush of embarrassment came over you. “We’ve hardly touched you, darling.”

You were hardly able to respond. You turned to watch as Misty abandoned you to pull Lottie into a kiss, a hand on the back of her neck to guide her, as if it were just the two of them. But when Misty pulled away, her gaze met Lottie’s challengingly on your behalf. “Let them,” she said simply, and Lottie relented.

With a hand still on your jaw Lottie turned your head so you could see her. You were barely holding off your orgasm, it took everything in you not to let go and let it wash over you in a wave of ecstasy.

“Cum for us,” she demanded. It was all you needed. Slipping off the edge you felt it crashing down on you, your whole body tensing as you were engulfed in pleasure so intense you felt almost high. And as you came down from it they held you, taking turns whispering praise, leaving soft kisses across your body.

“Are you okay?” Natalie asked when you had recovered. She had moved to sit next to Misty.

You smiled, resisting a laugh. “I’m more than okay.”

Lottie moved to sit on your other side and you cuddled close to her, laying your head on her shoulder. Misty laid a blanket across the two of you and sat on the floor for a moment to rest her head in your lap while Natalie moved to sit next to you.

“Merry Christmas,” she said teasingly, and you shook your head with a smile. And while she was kidding, you wouldn’t lie to yourself — this Christmas would grow to be your fondest memory, so long as you spent the whole of it wrapped in the embrace of your girlfriends.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: December 1995

Rookies to LEGENDS

HEROES OF YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW

BARRY HOROWITZ

Over the past decade the name Barry Horowitz was infamous in the ranks of the Federation. Barry was known as the Bill Buckner of the squared circle, only he let more than ONE ground ball trickle between his legs!

From the years 1981-1995, Horowitz lost what he estimates as “at least” 500 matches. As a matter of fact, he remembers his first two opponents being Angelo Mosca and Don “The Rock” Muraco, two Federation legends. From there, the opponents only got tougher. Horowitz would take on any Federation superstar regardless of his weight or height advantage. While many commended the heroic athlete for his determination, the losses just kept piling up. “There were times in my career when I became somewhat depressed and doubtful, but I never gave up. I knew I had to continue persevering!” 

Believe it or not, there is truth to the age-old cliche “What goes around comes around!” It may take 14 years, mind you, but it STILL comes around! On a quiet, mid-summer evening, the impossible took place when he FINALLY won a match! His victim was none other than Skip of the Body Donnas, fitness guru who–in his mind–is of greater perfection than the Mona Lisa! Horowitz used his brains to beat the brawn when he wrapped up the Body Donna from behind as he paused to do push-ups in the middle of the match. Then, to spread Ben Gay on the wound, Horowitz beat Skip AGAIN when he lasted through a 10-minute challenge match offered at his request. But wait, there’s more! Following that victory–his SECOND in a row–Horowitz defeated the mystical Hakushi when Skip distracted him from ringside while trying to get Horowitz’s attention. 

Even though a record of 3-500 still doesn’t seem TOO impressive, Barry’s next victory was sure to make believers of those doubting Thomas's! At a grudge match at SummerSlam–with the entire world as his witness-Horowitz stunned Skip yet one more time! The “pin heard around the world” Occurred as Hakushi returned the favor to Skip by stealing his attention for a moment. Seizing the opportunity, Barry wrapped him up from behind and planted his broad shoulders on the mat for the 1-2-3! Four in a row! Modest, but possibly the most memorable winning streak in Federation history!

“You know, just as I would tell every kid out there, you can never give up!” exclaims Horowitz. “You have to have the attitude of a leader and not of a follower!” 

Superstar: BARRY HOROWITZ

Height: 6’ 2”

Weight: 231 lbs.

Hometown: St. Petersburg, FL

[route22ny]

Life as a 21st-Century Trucker

Technology, corporate greed, and supply-chain chaos are transforming life behind the wheel of a big rig. I went on the road to find exactly how.

by Andrew Kay

1 When Jay LeRette preaches the Word, he transforms from a mild Midwesterner—one who loves country gospel, rides a horse he has trained to roll over and grin, and has, himself, a whinnying laugh—into a human incandescence. Sixty-four, 5' 5", and dressed like a cowboy, he increases in stature; his voice crescendos to cracking. “The devil’s learned to use us and abuse us, to beat the snot out of us,” he says, then uppercuts the air. “Amen, Chuck?” A man in the second row with a great, ZZ Top–like beard croaks amen. “The devil mopped the floor with me,” LeRette continues, and mimes a janitorial sweep. “But God—but God!—” he shrieks, pounding the lectern and leaping, “—had compassion on you and I.”

It’s a weeknight in December 2021, getting toward Christmas, and I’m sitting in the trailer of an 18-wheeler that’s been repurposed into LeRette’s chapel. It’s parked, permanently, at the Petro Travel Center, a truck stop off Interstate 39 in northern Illinois. All around it are acres of commercial trucks, stopped for the night and carrying every kind of cargo: cows, weed, pro-wrestling rings, grain, petroleum. One side of LeRette’s trailer reads “Transport for Christ"; beside it, a neon cross gleams in the dark. John 3:16 adorns the back end: “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Next to the scripture are two godly hands cradling a truck.

All across Illinois there are tornado warnings. Menacing gales rip through the parking lot, making the trailer shift and groan; we are beyond the reach of any siren. Yet every minute, the door opens and a new trucker walks in. Each takes his place in one of about 20 chairs arranged in rows toward the middle of the chapel, which is pretty minimalist: framed Bible verses along wood-paneled walls, a lectern at the front, an office and bed in back.

The drivers—all men tonight—have come straight from the road, and their bodies suggest the slow entropy wrought by bad food and decades of sitting. All but one appear over 50. Some know each other: When LeRette kicked off the service by belting out hymns and strumming his guitar, a straggler entered, and several men called out, “Rip!” Rip hustled in and high-fived or hugged them.

LeRette hands out copies of the King James Bible and asks us to open to Luke 10:25. Chuck seems to be back in Exodus, and when LeRette repeats “the Gospel of Luke,” Chuck responds, “Oh, I thought you said Mötley Crüe.” They are irrepressibly funny like this, suddenly schoolboys.

LeRette asks John, a small, older man in a hoodie, to read the verse. “A certain lawyer stood up and tempted him, saying, ‘Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?’” He struggles to sound out “eternal,” but the men nod along, supportive, patient.

Then LeRette interprets: A skeptic is trying to trick Jesus into contradicting Judaic law, into uttering a heresy. “Now how many know he ain’t gonna do that? Jesus is the living word of God, amen? There ain’t no trapping our savior.” Chuck calls out, “They tried to trap him for three years,” and LeRette answers, “C’mon, that’s right!” The quickness with which he beckons these road-weary men into call-and-response is extraordinary. He stamps and claps, sidesteps and kicks till his lungs falter. “Jesus carries our load, amen?”

After the sermon, John says meekly, “I have a pain in my shoulder. Would you try healing it?” LeRette agrees and hurries past us to his office, returning with a vial of frankincense. He approaches John and daubs his forehead, then places a hand on his ailing shoulder and calls out: “Father, we pray against whatever it is that’s trying to come against John.” The other drivers rise, surrounding and placing their hands on John or kneeling before him where he sits, eyes closed with one hand lifted upward. He awakens under their touch, smiling serenely.

Each trucker gets a turn at the center of the group. Then they turn toward me.

“Andrew, may I anoint you?” LeRette asks. There’s no time to think, so I say,

“You may,” and straightaway he applies the oil to my forehead.

“Just flood through him, oh God, like liquid fire,” he intones.

Then he starts speaking in tongues, a tumble of manic syllables he lets fly while the long-haulers encircle and lay hands on me.

“Father, I commit Andrew to your care,” LeRette concludes.

2

I have come here on a strange sort of mission: I want to find out what’s gone awry in American trucking. For more than a decade, freight-haulers have been held up as the poster children of a supposedly inexorable fate: 2 to 3 million drivers out of a workforce of 3.5 million—one of the largest in the US—are slated to be sidelined by AI. Yet recent years have hardly borne out that doomy prophecy: The self-driving industry has been humbled by fatal crashes, scandals, a federal investigation, a pedestrian death, negligent homicide charges, and stillborn business promises. Meanwhile the pandemic has wreaked havoc on our supply chains and made us more dependent on truckers than ever—more beholden to an industry that, for all its hugeness, still can’t keep pace with our needs. It’s an industry that dwarfs all other forms of domestic freight transport: 72.2 percent of the total tonnage of goods shipped within the US is moved by truck (air transport moves less than one-tenth of 1 percent). Investors—inspired, doubtless, by the shipping delays and logistical breakdowns that threaten to upend the economy—have sought furiously to augment or outright replace that workforce, pouring money with redoubled fervor into automation since 2020. But they have found scant success: What we have, ironically, is a nationwide shortage of the very workers alleged to face obsolescence.

What’s behind that shortage? And how exactly is technology altering life inside the cab? I want to know why 90 percent of the people who enter this profession quit within the first year; why a red-pilled faction of its members—affronted by a vaccine mandate that was, one senses, only the last in a litany of grievances—formed the Freedom Convoy and People’s Convoy last winter and spring, blocking border crossings between the US and Canada. I hope to understand, too, how the relatively few truckers who stick around sustain themselves: the myths they live on and the shrines to which they come, parched, to be replenished and raised up.

Shadowing LeRette, a holy therapist whose vantage point on this world is at once intimate and panoramic, I hope to glimpse some answers. Then, because I need to see the road for myself—need to be in a truck—I’ve arranged to ride shotgun with a person named Jason Childs, a 41-year-old trucker and adventurer I’ve never met but with whom I’ve very sensibly agreed to share a cab on a two-day route to Boston.

The day after my anointing, LeRette and I head to the main building of the truck stop, where showers, slot machines, and a diner are. He’s decked out in a big parabola of a cowboy hat, a custom black Carhartt jacket that reads “Victory in Jesus,” Wrangler-ish denim, and dark-brown cowboy boots. He approaches the PA system to advertise tonight’s service, which begins at 7 pm, then we grab a booth at the Iron Skillet, where he runs through his personal history over lunch.

As a young man, LeRette was such a wayward punk that he lowers his voice recounting it all. He stole things (“I liked motorcycles”), fist-fought, and assaulted police; he drifted from detention hall to drug ward to psychiatric hospital. At last, he went to prison for theft. One night toward the end of his yearlong sentence, he sat alone in his cell, thumbing through a Bible and crying; he wanted to be delivered, wanted to climb clear of the devilry that had devoured his early life. In the darkness, he became aware of something—a preternatural light. Some being or intelligence that he instantly identified as the Holy Ghost had come to dwell with him. He stopped struggling, felt clean and clear-headed, drained of the defiant energy that had twisted him crosswise with the world. At 6 am, he showed up for breakfast looking serene. “What’s got into you, LeRette?” other inmates asked. “I found Jesus,” he said. They responded: “Brother, you need him!”

He started converting other prisoners, and upon release, began evangelizing in the prisons, jails, and detention centers he knew so well. He made a name for himself bringing the gospel to the most hostile of places, a perilous early ministry that he recalls with what sometimes seems like preacherly embellishment. In Chicago one night, he claims, someone held a gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger. He raised his arms to the sky and cried, “Jesus!” only to discover that the chamber had been empty. Another time, LeRette says, leaning in, while he was witnessing to a crowd of bikers at a Hell’s Angels bar in Rockford, he saw they were getting blow jobs as he spoke. He lifted his eyes and went on preaching.

LeRette supported himself as a mechanic at a Del Monte Foods factory, where he met his wife, Karen. One day in 1991 he got a call from an investor who was planning to build a new truck stop in Rochelle. He wanted to install a chapel there and appoint LeRette as its preacher. LeRette was dubious. He thought his calling was to be a prison chaplain—and besides, the lot was little more than an expanse of corn at the time. But the investor convinced him that if they built on this blankness of prairie, the truckers would come.

The chapel was furnished by a nondenominational ministry—Transport for Christ, now TFC Global—founded in 1951 to serve an industry that was booming thanks to the highway system. The name, like so much about LeRette’s world—its mingled grotesquerie and humor, its wild manifestations of grace amid grimness—seems drawn from Flannery O’Connor. Today, the ministry’s sanctified semis are stationed across the country. The souls LeRette encounters—thousands of truckers come to him each year—include regulars who pass through weekly, plus others he sees once and never again. They provide LeRette’s income in the form of donations, slipped into a box at the chapel or sent by mail. Some truckers have been donating monthly since the chapel opened.

LeRette lives with his wife in a farmhouse half an hour south of Rochelle. “I could never be a truck driver,” he concedes. “Too much of a homeboy.” But some nights he crashes on a couch in the chapel office. Once, he was rocketed from sleep at 4 am by a pounding at the door. “Get up, preacher,” said a voice. “You’re going to meet your maker.” LeRette opened the door and saw an enormous man who’d come to the chapel the night before. “I hate everything about you,” the guy said. “Your voice, your looks.” He seemed poised to murder LeRette when another driver entered—a jacked ex-bouncer who perceived the emergency and rushed forth, demanding the intruder back off. The three talked of Jesus until sunup, when the first guy broke down, agreeing to be born again.

This, LeRette says, is common: A trucker will come at him with a rage that turns out to conceal a desperate desire for forgiveness and love. “I think if there’s one word to describe the trucking industry and the drivers, it would be lonely,” he tells me. They are on the road for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. If they have partners or children, they carry the guilt of missing date nights and soccer games. If they fight with their spouses, they relive the spat numberless times on the road, the work itself becoming a brute metaphor for the emotional freight they carry.

In this sense, LeRette has become the prison chaplain he felt called to be. If trucking was once a lifestyle of freedom, it is increasingly one of deranging captivity and surveillance. During the week I spent at the Petro stop, drivers fumed to me about the electronic logs they must now use—tablet-shaped devices mounted on their dashboards that monitor everything they do: all their driving time, their fueling up, their loading and unloading, their napping. This particular digital intrusion is the result of federal legislation. A law passed in 2012 dictates that truckers work a maximum 14-hour workday, spending no more than 11 hours behind the wheel with three hours of rest time. If they violate this law, they risk being yanked from the road and fined, and might mess up their carrier’s safety rating, which could deter customers, creditors, and insurers. Many drivers concede that the time restrictions arose in response to reckless behavior. “Back in the day they used to do lines of coke off the freakin’ dashboard,” one Illinois-based driver recalled. That, he explained, is how one got to New Jersey overnight. Still, the truckers I spoke to would rather decide for themselves when they’re tired.

The newer trucks are so computerized that they provide what might be termed “AI helicopter parenting”: a development supposedly meant to increase safety and fuel efficiency, but also, I’ll come to suspect, a compensation for fast-tracking newcomers through training and into driver’s seats before they’re ready. Each state-of-the-art Peterbilt in the Petro lot is equipped with at least 10 computers that govern everything from steering to braking, reducing many truckers to what are known in the industry as zombified “steering-wheel holders.” The AI alerts a dispatcher if anything aberrant happens—an abrupt stop, a missed turn—and if a driver changes lanes suddenly, the truck will defy him, jerking itself back. (The driver can override this function, but many truckers say it remains disruptive, even dangerous.)

Then there are the cameras. Ascending the cabin of one semi, I see a black gadget affixed to the windshield like an old-school GPS, its lens trained on the driver’s seat. Such cameras protect companies from liability in the event of an accident—they can prove that a driver wasn’t acting irresponsibly and thus isn’t at fault—but truckers deplore them. “Some drivers,” LeRette says, “tell me they’ve got cameras pointed back in the sleeper.”

On a thriving Reddit community called r/Truckers, which hosts more than 100,000 members, one popular post begins, “Hello, fellow piss jug enthusiasts,” and goes on to complain that its author’s employer has announced it will start implementing driver-facing cameras. Hundreds of users chime in to say that they’ve quit for this reason. “I’ll only accept a driver-facing camera,” one comments, “if the company owner gives me a 24/7 unrestricted stream into his house.”

3

LeRette pays the bill and I follow him to the door. We pass a towering driver at the buffet. LeRette stops, invites him to the evening service, and asks where he stands with Jesus. “I tried to read the Bible cover to cover last year,” the man says. “But I got this phone in my pocket—it got a demon in it. Takes me to sites I don’t wanna go.” He claps me on the shoulder and bursts out laughing, and LeRette hurries off.

I decide to stick around, turning back toward the duskily lit dining room. The clientele is a microcosm of the workforce to which it belongs: older, racially diverse, overwhelmingly male. Of the 3.5 million people who work as truck drivers in the US, 75 percent are over 40, roughly 40 percent are not white, and at most 10 percent are women.

An ambient antisocial quiet hangs in the air: The e-logs and Covid, I’ll learn, have strangled the camaraderie that once flourished at these places where truckers would hobnob heedless of mandated resting and driving intervals. Most drivers sit alone, scrolling on their phones or glancing at the Fox News that drones on the TVs. Vacant booths are marked with a libertarian poutiness: “Due to the IL governor’s orders, this booth is closed.”

At one table, though, three men sit together laughing. I blunder up, introducing myself, and they invite me to sit. Their names are Junius (“JuJu”) Silas, Eric Brown, and Nick Rains; they haul equipment for big touring acts. They’re the drivers of the WWE trucks parked beside the chapel: Throughout my visit, because of the trailers’ adjacent rear ends, André the Giant’s likeness sits beside John 3:16.

I ask them why the industry has a 90 percent attrition rate within the first year. All instantly respond: “No money.” They describe a predatory apprenticeship system that conspires against new drivers seeking to enter the profession. The industry is made up of thousands of mostly small-fleet owners—95 percent of them with 20 trucks or fewer—but dominated by about two dozen giant companies that serve as its gatekeepers. These megacarriers often house schools where some 400,000 new truckers receive commercial driver’s licenses annually. The companies entice people with promises of financial plenty, even as they ensnare them in “training contracts”—binding agreements that require them to drive for the company at below-market wages for a year in exchange for training or else be hit with an exorbitant fee for that training, to be paid off at high interest. Many drivers stick around for the full year to avoid those fees, enduring what amounts to debt peonage.

Silas, a slyly charismatic man with graying dreadlocks, tells me: “The average pay per mile for a fresh driver—your shoes still on? 26 cents.” Actually, he notes, you make half that, “because you’ve got a split seat”—meaning it’s common for companies to pair new drivers in a truck, where they take turns at the wheel and split their earnings. “It don’t make child support,” Silas says. “It don’t make electric bill,” Brown says. “You don’t have a girlfriend,” Silas adds.

To make matters worse, drivers who leave their training contracts early risk being blackballed by the carriers. This past summer and fall, the US Department of Justice oversaw a high-profile antitrust lawsuit in which several truckers sued nine megacarriers for colluding with one another not to hire them. In November, they reached a $2.1 million preliminary settlement.

Freight companies have been warning lately about a trucker shortage so dire that it’s causing supply-chain and delivery delays nationwide. But drivers like Rains see such warnings as disingenuous, given the way megacarriers treat new drivers: “Like cattle.” What’s more, the DOJ has said that the blackballing of drivers who break training contracts may be contributing to the shortage. According to the American Trucking Associations’ 2019 driver shortage report, there are now nearly three commercial driver’s license holders for every job that requires one in the US: strange stats to square with a shortage.

All day I ambush drivers who greet me with an annoyed suspicion that gives way to a thirst for talk so desperate that within minutes I couldn’t shut them up if I tried. I buy them coffee, soon finding myself at the center of small congregations of truckers who’ve shifted seats to join. They want me to understand that freight companies talk up the shortage because they’re angling for federal and state grant money to subsidize the cost of training new drivers. They say that taxpayers are unwittingly funding the turnover that enables this deception to continue—providing what Todd Spencer from the Owner-Operator Independent Drivers Association calls “corporate welfare” to companies that can seem ripe for treatment by Upton Sinclair. Last year, Rains received a payout from the carrier CRST, where he got his commercial license, after it had reached a settlement with drivers who’d filed a multimillion-dollar class action against it for lying about “free” training, overcharging them for schooling, and failing to pay them minimum wage. The same company saw 150 to 200 sexual harassment claims filed by student drivers against their trainers in 2018 and 2019; one woman alleged her trainer raped her, only to be told by CRST that without video footage they could do nothing. They charged her $9,000 for her training and effectively fired her in retaliation. She sued the carrier and received a $5 million settlement in 2021.

LeRette’s sermon the night before (“The devil’s learned to use us and abuse us!”) starts to strike me as an allegory about a more worldly, if faceless, kind of fiend. “The trucker shortage is propaganda,” insists 62-year-old Jerry Adams, who hauls flour, records country music, and claims to have dated one of Dolly Parton’s sisters. (Adams says she once called the chapel mid-service and sang to the truckers on speaker.) For him, the politicians who keep rewarding the megacarriers bear ultimate responsibility. Many drivers agree, blaming their mistreatment not just on corporate avarice but also on Washington. In 1980, the Motor Carrier Act deregulated trucking, making it easier to get a commercial driver’s license but also making the job far less remunerative. “The worst thing they ever did was deregulate it,” says Dean Martin, who began driving in 1994. “What I made when I started … I make less now.”

Adding insult to injury, truckers are barred from overtime pay by the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938, even though most of them work at least 70 hours a week—especially when you figure in the obligatory rest periods imposed by Congress in 2012. (A bill called the Guaranteeing Overtime for Truckers Act, sponsored by several senior Democratic US senators, is making its way through Congress.) The average US trucker salary in 1980, adjusting for inflation, was $110,000; today the median is $48,310. This despite research by industry experts like Daniel Rodríguez showing that the probability of truck crashes indirectly correlates with pay and experience, plummeting among long-standing, well-compensated drivers.

According to the American Trucking Associations, though, the trucker shortage is quite real—the product of an aging workforce, the industry’s struggle to recruit women, and the ballooning of freight volumes thanks to our rapacity as consumers. All this, exacerbated by Covid, has created a tight labor market in which fleet owners—primarily small outfits with a handful of trucks—are fiercely competing for the same limited pool of drivers. They are doing so by increasing their pay rates (up by as much as 25 percent since 2019) and enticing truckers with five-figure signing bonuses. Jeremy Kirkpatrick, a spokesperson for the ATA, stressed to me that many truckers are now regularly moving from one signing bonus to the next in a game of musical chairs that leaves fleet owners frustrated. “This churn, or poaching, is what really inflates the turnover rate,” he said.

It’s possible to reconcile these rival accounts: Scummy treatment of apprentice drivers is leading to massive hemorrhaging at the entry level and thus to a shrunken labor force that innumerable fleet owners must strenuously fight over. It’s a landscape akin to academia, the world I came from, where a great share of grubby work is done by an insecure class of entry-level laborers—grad students, adjuncts—striving desperately to join a small, cosseted class—the tenured—who enjoy clout, protections, and a lifelong career trajectory.

While the pandemic’s supply chain woes raged, venture capitalists funneled more investments into autonomous-truck startups—$11 billion from 2019 through 2021—adding fresh precariousness to a trade already beset with uncertainty. These investments have coincided with a rush of optimism among engineers and lawmakers alike. In August, US House representatives, fired by a conviction that “this technology is moving so quickly,” formed a bipartisan “autonomous vehicle caucus” aimed at “establishing the right policy conditions to increase the use of AVs.” “It’s closer than you might think,” Dmitri Dolgov, the co-CEO of leading AV company Waymo, wrote of a self-driving future last month. “Freight volumes will increase, demonstrating how AVs could help untangle supply chains and backfill the immense shortage of truck drivers.”

And yet when one looks closely, this boldness is everywhere haunted by doubt—a rooster-strutting that never quite convinces. One leading autonomous-truck startup, TuSimple, executed its first entirely driverless truck run in Arizona while I was at the Petro stop. An 80-mile nocturnal drive from Tucson to Phoenix, it was hailed as a success—but tellingly, a lead vehicle drove five miles ahead of the truck, scouting for obstacles, while an escort, ready to intervene, trailed it closely, and law enforcement vehicles stalked it from half a mile behind. In 2020, TuSimple struck a deal with Navistar to engineer autonomous trucks; the companies secured about 7,000 orders, and the trucks were scheduled to enter production in 2024. Last December, though, they severed their partnership. A rival, Aurora Innovation, told me in March 2022 that it was aiming for the end of 2023; it has since pushed this date to the end of 2024 and even mulled the possibility of a sale to Apple or Microsoft. In fact, there is little consensus about not just when but whether self-driving trucks will actually come. Truckers tend to bristle at the suggestion that an unmanned digitized truck could perform their job; they point to the dexterity involved in backing into a tight space, even as engineers maintain that this is what autonomous trucks do best—a mere matter of physics and geometry. For their part, researchers like Maury Gittleman and Kristen Monaco at the US Bureau of Labor Statistics stress how truckers’ jobs include more than just driving; they’re tasked with loading and unloading, customer service, and addressing the manifold safety concerns that arise on the road—all duties that “are less susceptible to automation.” Even among engineers, there’s little agreement about the viability of autonomous trucks. Anthony Levandowski, the cofounder of Google’s self-driving vehicle division and now CEO of the autonomous-truck company Pronto, told me he thinks the technology has reached an impasse owing to the trucks’ inability to “understand the world”—to anticipate and react to sudden, spontaneous occurrences such as a driver cutting them off. So the timeline remains uncertain: “Is it five years or 50?” Levandowski asks without an answer. Meanwhile, companies like TuSimple (which refused to talk to me) depict themselves as motivated by a noble desire to devise a solution to the punishment and peril of trucking. The logic, apparently, is that they will relieve an immiserated workforce by rendering it obsolete.

Afternoon at the Skillet bleeds into evening. Every so often a robot voice issues through a loudspeaker: The shower is vacant, the next ticket number is up.

A portrait sharpens into focus of a job that entails both mortal danger and wilting tedium. On one hand, truckers navigate vehicles that weigh up to 80,000 pounds down an interstate system swarming with civilian drivers cutting trucks off and fooling around with phones—and they do so knowing it will take them three football fields to stop should the need arise. From an accident investigator on Reddit, I learn of a trucker who was cut off on a wet road by a driver going 80 mph. The car lost control and skidded sideways into the truck’s path. The trucker could only watch as the car’s driver looked up at him aghast while his wife covered her head, and he barreled straight into them, killing the man instantly and leaving his wife a quadriplegic. The trucker never recovered psychologically: “I just couldn’t get the truck to stop.”

On the other hand, US truckers spend great swaths of their lives waiting at warehouses for their trailers to be loaded and unloaded. Of the 11 hours they’re allotted each day for driving, they spend an average of four and a half idling in line. “They talk about a truck-driver shortage,” one driver tells me. “Yet there are drivers sitting in warehouses two miles from here with an appointment from six or seven hours ago,” he says bitterly. “If they can tell me when I can eat and when I can take a nap, how come they can’t tell these people loading and unloading these trucks that they have a set amount of time to do it?”

Such bitterness helped ignite the Freedom Convoy and People’s Convoy. Ostensibly a transnational uprising against pandemic restrictions—one bolstered by money from far-right groups—the convoys were also an outcry against the perceived collusion of Big Tech and the government against blue-collar workers. Some of the convoys’ participants have passed through LeRette’s chapel. “They’re not against vaccination,” he tells me. “They’re against the government taking complete control over them.” Which sounds like a generic right-wing rallying cry, but it holds special significance for truckers, who feel they’re regulated in all the wrong ways: forsaken where they need help, oppressively monitored where they yearn for liberty.

4

Ascending the chapel steps around 7:15, I open the door and find a seventysomething man seated across from LeRette, mid-narrative. Haggard, cadaverous in color, he has a raving giddiness about him and takes no notice of me. “I got home, walked into the kitchen, and there she was, waving a gun in my face,” he’s saying.

I piece together his story: He came home from a trucking route and found his girlfriend, Norma, demanding at gunpoint to be done with him. He turned and ran downstairs, intending to flee the house. “I got halfway down the steps,” he says, “and she shot a hole in the wall above my head.” When he finally crept back upstairs, “She was on her hands and knees crying.”

The man’s name is Don, and it’s clear he’s likely withholding details. She filed a restraining order; he pressed charges. They’re awaiting a court date.

One by one, truckers file in for the service, and, grasping that something is underway, stay hushed and sit, watching. “Are you a born-again Christian?” LeRette asks.

Don instantly grows defensive. He’s a lapsed Catholic. “I could pull quotes out of the Bible that would put down any preacher if you contradict what I say,” he dares LeRette. “Over half the Bible wasn’t inspired by God; it was influenced by man.”

They clash on this at length, and LeRette finally bursts. “You know what you’re doing, sir? Hey! You’re living an ungodly lifestyle. You’re fornicating with this woman. You come in here with a filthy mouth and you say, ‘Where’s God in my life?’ Man, you need to repent and say, ‘God, I’m in the wrong! Forgive me and fill me with your Holy Spirit!’” LeRette stares at him beseechingly.

Don stands his ground, battling tears: “Her and I stood on a hill and looked at each other as the sun rose! That’s the way we were married! We are married in the eyes of God.”

More argument. Then LeRette says: “Jesus wept. You know that, right?” Don nods. “All of a sudden I’m experiencing feelings, and I never did before.” Later, he adds: “I don’t want to be alone.”

LeRette, seizing the opportunity, jumps up, fetches a Bible, and thrusts it into Don’s hands. He implores him to read aloud a verse from Ezekiel. Don fishes trifocals out of his jacket. “‘A new heart also will I give you,’” he pronounces, “‘and a new spirit will I put within you.’”

“Do you want that?” asks LeRette, standing before him. “Do you want God to take away that stony heart of yours and set His spirit inside you?”

He wants Don to consent to being born again here, now, and implores him to “Yoke up with Jesus!” But Don won’t submit. He keeps dodging, refusing, changing the subject.

A driver from Louisiana named Tony, bass-voiced and built like a bullfrog, pipes in, telling of his own divorce, how he lived out of his pickup in a Walmart parking lot during the worst of it. “I had to concentrate on me,” he realized.

A group therapy session materializes: The other drivers, pivoting toward the secular vocabulary of Oprah and Dr. Phil, urge Don to prioritize self-care, while LeRette sits by, looking sidelined and a little glum.

At last LeRette intervenes. “Don, I have no greater desire in my heart tonight than to see you say, ‘Lord Jesus, I need you. I want to be born again. I want you to renew me.’”

“No.”

Instead, Don joins hands with the other drivers and leads them in prayer. “Lord, I’m asking that we can find a peaceful solution to this situation I’m in. That I can get a lot of help from the people that have listened to me. That we can get help for Norma and bring her back to the woman I fell in love with. Bring her back to the light.”

5

I stay late in the chapel, talking to the truckers. They recall driving during the earliest days of Covid—the apocalyptic emptiness of the roads. “Everything shut down but us,” says Tony. “It felt like we were in a movie. Five o’clock, rush hour in Atlanta, and I’m running 65. I got chill-bumps on my arms talking about it.” A suddenly homebound public relied on them more than ever, yet they themselves remained unprovided for; truck stops, restaurants—all were closed. “They locked it down, man. You’d be lucky if you got a honeybun.”

“Back when Covid started we were heroes,” one driver says. “Now it’s right back to pre-Covid; we’re just POSes.” Another calls out, “Boy, it sure was nice while it lasted!”

An intimacy takes shape in the trailer among drivers who, as early as 2 am, will be back on the road, scattered to their separate lives. It’s as if we’re drovers gathered around a campfire—a metaphor with a powerful gravitational pull here. LeRette doesn’t just dress like a cowboy. His office is laden with cowboy paraphernalia: a cowboy kneeling before a cross, a holster, a rodeo poster, photos of LeRette on horseback shooting at targets, and an ornamental cowboy boot beside the vial of frankincense, a juxtaposition that neatly captures LeRette and the faith he’s plying—call it Cowboy Pentecostalism. Cowboyism, it turns out, is an essential piece of the trucker mythos, for many drivers a life-giving faith unto itself. As Jane Stern showed in her 1975 book on the industry, Trucker: A Portrait of the Last American Cowboy, the conviction that they’re heirs to the cattle-drivers of the frontier, peripatetic dudes who answer to no one, is their central animating story.

This is a core reason why truckers find the cameras and computers so galling: More than any projected future of self-driving trucks, these technologies threaten not just their livelihoods but their innermost sense of self. To watch LeRette in action is to see a ritualized resistance to that threat—a refusal through sacrament, through touch, of what many see as a coordinated push by Silicon Valley, government, and their employers to wring trucking of its human element.

I spend my last day talking to more truckers, conversations that range from damning to poignant. There’s the African American woman, a long-hauler who declines to share her name, who tells me: “Companies are treating drivers like meat in the seat. It’s all about them. They’re not concerned about what the drivers need.” By which she means, especially, time off, but also pay. There’s Janet, perhaps 70 years old, who talks to me from high up in her truck while her three spaniels peer around her at me. She drove for decades with her husband; a year ago he died. “It’s tested my faith,” she admits, and clutches my hand.

That night I have a last dinner with LeRette, thanking him for everything. I tell him, feigning poise, that in the morning I’ll catch that ride to Boston with Jason Childs. I share what little I’ve heard about him: Though recently engaged, Childs has 11 kids by 10 different women scattered about the country. “Oh, mercy!” LeRette shrieks, and prays for me over his pilaf.

When I get back to my hotel room, I see that Childs has texted me. “Well they changed my trip,” he wrote. “Going to the Everglades.”

6

In the morning I make my way south, by Greyhound, to a lot outside Springfield where I’ve arranged to meet Childs. In time a truck pulls up; out of it hops a middle-aged man in a hoodie—medium height, bearded, with a lone earring and a faintly roguish air. He holds out a hand, smiling: “Welcome to central fuckin’ Illinois.”

We embark on the route—me, Childs, and his 11-year-old soon-to-be stepson J. D., who wants to be a trucker himself and, in his spare time, plays a trucking video game on Xbox whose object is to make sensational deliveries in brutal weather. I’m in the passenger seat, J. D.’s in the sleeper cabin, divided from the main cab by a curtain through which he peers happily. Childs’ truck is a flatbed with a removable tarp that protects our cargo: 38,000 pounds of cornmeal destined for a tortilla-chip factory in LaBelle, Florida. It’s the first of three deliveries that Childs—who works for an independent contractor with 50 trucks—will make, a journey of five days, 120 hours, for which he’ll get 31 percent of the total cut: $1,100 for the first drop, plus smaller sums for the next two.

The e-log ticking, we head down Route 24 toward Kentucky. It’s arresting, being up here: To be lifeguard-high in a 35-ton machine screaming down the highway at 80 mph, to see so plainly every driver’s phone-fiddling, their eating and knee-steering, is a sensation of godlike omniscience. But it is also terrifying.

There is a moment-to-moment proximity to death, not just your own but everyone else’s around you, that gives fresh clarity to all I witnessed at the chapel—the reconciling with God of people forced into a daily awareness of endings. “I’ll die in a truck,” Childs says casually, explaining that this is every trucker’s deepest fear. “A buddy of mine had a heart attack in a semi, right up here at that last exit. His heart exploded and he lost control of his truck, and he went right into a hotel.”

At one point we find ourselves on a county road, where a truck passes us on a double line. A moment of dread ensues: There’s oncoming traffic, and since it’s far too late for us to stop, we can only watch as the driver lays on the throttle, hurtling forward and, just in time, merging back over to avert disaster.

At times, Childs’ anxiety crests in moments of rage so over the top they teeter into black comedy. “I have panic attacks,” he says. “That’s why I drink.” Sure enough, when we cross into Kentucky, daylight wanes and we get stuck behind a semi doing 50 in the fast lane. Childs seethes—we’re on the clock—and when the driver finally changes lanes he speeds up alongside him, flips on the cab light and lowers my window. “Stupid-ass Ichabod Crane-looking motherfucker!” he yells. I glance over and see a gangly man at the wheel, his own window down, utterly bewildered. “This is why I love him!” J. D. cries.

Childs is a Byronic character, a bruised antihero whose story is harrowing enough to merit a trigger warning. “I was sexually molested by a lady,” he tells me once J. D. has fallen asleep. “She beat me with a taser. You can see my shoulders are all fried.” He peels down his hoodie, baring a cartography of scars. “I’ve never been genuinely loved.” Abandoned by his biological parents, he cycled through foster homes and psychiatric hospitals, quickly developing the sex addiction that has shaped his life. He’s had north of 300 partners, many encountered on the road—in whose arms, he tells me, blithely Freudian, he has found the semblance of maternal love. Nearly a dozen kids have come into the world, and with them mountains of child support that dwarf his earnings. Of late he has found stability with his fiancée, Stephanie. He smirks: “I’m retired.”

Jason Childs may be an unreformed Jay LeRette—the preacher minus the jail-cell epiphany, still adrift in a tumult of rages, unhelped by grace. And yet Childs, too, is ignited by faith—that same mythic cowboyism that forms the other half of LeRette’s creed. “We’re the guys that go in the saloon and play cards back in the Old West. And these,” he says, gesturing at his truck, “are our horses.” In keeping with that mythos, he insists on driving a manual transmission—“It gives me greater control, and it saves lives every day”—and has elected to work for a boss who doesn’t use driver-facing cameras. He despises the new generation of drivers who have everything done for them by computers, including the teenage truckers who, thanks to a controversial new federal apprenticeship program aimed at combating the shortage, may soon be eligible to do interstate hauling. All the same, he angrily, defensively waves away my suggestion that the job may be automated out of existence: “You’re never going to get rid of the real truck driver.”

As evening deepens, we advance into southern Tennessee, past mountain silhouettes that in darkness loom like cenotaphs. “Automation will be the death of the cowboy,” Childs suddenly says, a different authority in his voice. “All truck drivers fear it, because we know it’s going to take our jobs away. We’ve heard this for years … But it can’t be,” he insists.

“I know safety is key to this,” he concedes, and in his tone there’s a curious fatalism at odds with his earlier indignant dismissal of a driverless future. “The American truck driver—think about how many songs, stories. ‘Smokey and the Bandit.’ All the country songs. Legends were born out here.” He searches for the right word. “The folklore of a trucker—it’s the cowboy culture, the outlaw. The big, long beards and the big bellies. Disheveled. Stinky. Then there’s me,” he laughs, “who looks like I’m going to rob a bank.”

“Now the actual truck driver is going to go extinct. And it’s all about saving money. That’s all it’s about.”

7

We barrel through Georgia, crossing into Florida around 2 am, when the e-log mandates that we stop for 10 hours. An odd suspense follows: The 14-hour workday is running out, so we scan the highway for a truck stop with both vacant space and a restaurant, but the combination proves elusive. We settle for a travel station with available parking but only a convenience mart. Childs clambers into the sleeper cabin with J. D., and crashes.

I shut my eyes briefly, but by dawn I’m awake and get out to stretch. My lower back is throbbing, my right sacroiliac staging a violent coup that’s spreading down my leg. I think of Childs’ frenzied philandering through the years and find it impossible to imagine any amount of sensuality surviving this life. I feel the least attractive, and furthest from horny, I’ve ever been.

I hobble across the road onto what’s almost certainly someone’s property, entering a different world of palmettos, steroidal pinecones, and migrated cranes that swim the air. After Rochelle, this feels like my own stolen sabbath. I stoop and photograph. When I amble back to the truck, I pass Childs and J. D., who are headed to the mart to get breakfast. Childs nods slightly.

I crawl into the sleeper and draw the curtain, and after a time hear them return; Childs is on the phone with Stephanie. “He’s finally asleep, thank Christ. I saw him walking back to the lot from some random fucking field. Like, y’all know this is serial killer central, right?” He switches to what I can only describe as some kind of strangled Big Bird voice: “Deh, I’m gonna get myself killed by Jeffrey Dahmer!” J. D. squeals.

All that day we scud southward, the sky sunless and menacing. Florida is a hallucination of Confederate flags and Waffle Houses. “Worst state in the union,” Childs says. He’s chain-smoking now, five an hour; I watch him distance-parent on the phone half the day while operating the rig. “She’s testing you, Maddy, she’s testing you!” he shouts into the Bluetooth speaker at one point.

At nightfall we hit LaBelle. The tortilla-chip factory is desolate; there’s no sign they’re expecting us—no instructions, not a soul about, and, it turns out, no clear way to the loading dock in the back. Cars are parked carelessly about the building, their noses impinging on the path to the dock. There are no overhead lights, so Childs must slalom backward in the dark, maneuvering this mastodon with utmost delicacy around parked cars, some 100 yards in all: a double black diamond.

He scopes out the route, returns, and revs the truck. Then he guides it glacially backward, threading it past car after car and somehow nicking none—a kind of calligraphy—and nearly makes it when the truck’s antenna catches on a low overhang and snaps clean off. Childs stops, snarls profanities, then resumes and reaches the dock, emptying the tonnage of cornmeal in the night.

I stay with them just half a day longer. We pick up a load of steel piping in the morning and drive north toward Tampa, through Sunkist groves and into a gathering storm. Stop signs jerk spasmodically in the winds; lightning severs the sky. It starts to pour. I watch other trucks wade through pooled water in the road, feeling our own slosh and sway. “Tornado sky,” Childs mutters. My journey is ending as it began.

We drive on in silence, at noon reaching Plant City, near Tampa, and pulling up before the gate of the factory that ordered the piping. No one emerges. Childs calls the foreman, who says the crew won’t come out until it stops raining; they don’t feel like getting wet. “Why can’t the foreman just make them?” I ask, incredulous. “Because he’s a tender-footed sack of shit,” Childs spits.

Hours pass, and no one appears, a waiting that starts to seem existential, starts to stand in for the long-deferred deliverance of a workforce, a way of life. More trucks collect behind us, a convoy stretching to the street, and when I get out to survey them I see that their drivers too are on the phone and pissed, calling the foreman, presumably. But nothing moves—nothing except the winds that start rising, vengeful gusts that pummel and lash like a scourge out of scripture.

I look up at the sky and decide all at once that I need to get out. So I hustle back to the truck and page a ride to the Tampa airport, and when it comes I turn to Childs. “Gotta run, man. Thanks so much for having me.” But he’s taking frantic drags off a cigarette, distance-parenting again—a daughter keeps peeing her pants, the store is out of pull-ups—and in the speakerphone’s background a child is screaming. He hardly notices me; J. D. is asleep. I leave them like that, rushing toward my ride past a line of trucks that sit, in a rain half-diluvian now, aimed at the shut gate and poised, I imagine, to blow it apart.

[mingis-conspiracy-theories]

dating poly!woosan

mostly crack because it’s 1:51am, nsfw at the end (you’ve been warned :3)

dating woosan is like entering a level 5 tornado, willingly

you come to this realization on one particular date night after letting wooyoung convince you to be the top half off their 3-person centaur costume at the nearest mcdonald’s drive-thru

you can never show your face at that mcdonald’s again

you’ve been through some shit dating these two

but they always manage to keep you on your toes

Choi San

is the sweeter one between the two

on his own, he’s easily excitable but also listens to you well when you have to remind him that you two are in public??

this baby just wants to do what makes you happy

but with wooyoung, they just feed off each other’s crackhead energy until you somehow find yourself at the Halloween store recording wooyoung with a wig and san loudly reenacting a particularly distasteful scene from Twilight and contemplating whether its just easier to get arrested

with just san, you can actually have hope for a quiet night in

always gets sleepy after eating and will 10/10 hold you down on the couch so he can use you as a pillow

LOVES cuddling and will use any chance and any excuse to pull you into him so he can just hold you for a moment

even if it’s in the middle of the sephora checkout line and four out of the five staff present are just staring at you

will absolutely follow you to the lingerie shop with zero embarrassment

will absolutely help you buy hygiene products with zero embarrassment

really loves holding your hand and will get distracted just playing with your fingers

sometimes he can also be a little shit

when it’s just him and you, he lives to stir shit up by sending wooyoung 20 pictures in a row to really make him feel the FOMO

has an 88.8% success rate of being able to make wooyoung drop whatever he’s doing and come screeching at you for your love and affection

88.8% of the times, you’re unaware san is even texting him

one time, you went to the mall with only san but when your changeroom door busted open, it was fucking wooyoung who’d run over to confirm with his own two eyes that HELL to the fucking YEA, san did not fucking lie about that red lace lingerie set

san was absolutely no help when you had to beg the store staff not to call the police and explain that wooyoung was just your idiot boyfriend and not a random Pervert™

likely the one you go to when you’re feeling down or off

always accepts you with open arms and can match your mood to be whatever you need in the moment

100% the boyfriend to send you good morning and good night texts with 78 heart emojis

Jung Wooyoung

wild as hell whether you’re with just him or together with san

doesn’t have an off button (you’ve checked)

once dragged you to laser tag on a solo date night and you almost made him cry after beating him and the entire horde of 8-year olds by 250 points

SUPER obvious with pda

has no shame; always down to kiss you in public

would declare to the entire mall food court that you and san are the loves of his life if you would just let him climb up on the table

can convince san to do anything

has to try harder to convince you but will still do it or die trying

always makes your dates fun, whether you’re just hanging out or whether he’d been able to convince you to eat out at that one fancy restaurant downtown that neither of you can actually afford

10/10 willing to seduce the restaurant manager with a sexy dance to get out of paying the bill if you’d once again just let him

doesn’t get sleepy after eating like san, but once you wrestle him into bed, will fall asleep almost instantly

always wants to sleep in the middle between the two of you and will whine if he’s not

really good at sweet talk and has wormed his way out of the 18293 times he’s almost gotten the three of you arrested

really loves cooking for you and san and is always happy when you’re both willing to test his food creations

unlike san, prefers cooking at home and will get unnecessarily competitive about being able to cook a dish better when either of you suggest eating out

can and will blast you and/or san with the blue shell in mario kart

pledges no alliance to you or san when you’re on opposing teams in a game

will absolutely talk over you when he’s excited but then will glare and shush others violently when they accidentally do the same

the type of boyfriend to walk on the side of the sidewalk closer to the road

the type of boyfriend who likes seeing both you and san in his clothes

the type of boyfriend who will absolutely show his face again at that one mcdonald’s after the Centaur Incident™

really good at hyping you up no matter what you’re aiming for

sincerely and genuinely believes that you can do anything

❗ NSFW ❗

both san and wooyoung are switches

when they’re both in the mood to dom, they’ll tag team you until you cry

san is the sweetest boyfriend out of bed, but if he’s domming, you better make sure you fucking behave

wooyoung is a brat and has a big fucking kink for edging and has no qualms about leaving you on the edge for hours

also has the filthiest mouth and can make you feel like a blushing virgin with the shit that comes out of his mouth

can and will eat you out and then stop as many times as it takes until you’re shaking and begging and can no longer keep your legs up on your own anymore

san loves to degrade you until you’re crying for him

gets off on talking down at you and treating you like you’re here only for his pleasure and acting like he couldn’t get two shits about whether or not you end up getting off

when they’re tag teaming you, they’ll talk to each other like you’re not even there

the same way wooyoung and san feed off each other’s energy is the same way they feed off each other when they’re both domming

always ends up being more intense than you remember it to be, but they always take care of you well afterwards, helping you come down by wiping away your tears, kissing your cheeks and murmuring soft praises about how good you were for them until you stop shaking enough for them to clean you off in the bath

you will 10/10 pass out in the bath

if both of them are feeling subby:

wooyoung is a huge brat and likes to put up a front, but once you get him to submit, he’s the neediest sub you’ve ever seen

is a crier and will beg for you non-stop, even if he doesn’t know what he’s even begging for

he just knows that he needs you. he needs you to make him feel good because he doesn’t know how to do it himself, please, please

if you don’t touch him for a while, becomes super sensitive, making cute little ah! noises when you finally do

most sensitive underneath the head of his cock and will have the most intense orgasm if you press a vibrator to it

loves being overstimulated post-orgasm, even if he’s squirming and crying and begging you to stop

on the other hand, san likes to be led when he’s feeling subby

will look at you with big doe eyes and hang off your every word and will listen to any instructions you have for him to a tee

similarly to how he is out of bed, this baby boy just wants to make you happy

want your baby boy to warm his cock in you? he’s scrambling to obey

want to watch him put on a show? he’s already dropping to his knees

san and wooyoung are a goddamn sight to see together when they’re both feeling subby

when they’re both sated and all is done, wooyoung gets super mellowed out. The silent tears will often continue rolling down his cheeks despite the giggling coming out of him when you press kisses to his cheeks. Will continue until he falls asleep

san becomes super clingy, trailing you around everywhere despite his exhaustion until you finally slip into bed yourself

[streetlight11]

Wolfgang

Summary: After your parents were murdered by werewolf hunters, you had to run away. You had to save yourself from going through the same tragic fate and that leaves you to being a lone wolf. Thankfully, moving to a new town led you to meeting new people and possibly a new family.

Theme: werewolf au, strangers to lovers

Genre: smidge of action, fluff, slightly suggestive

Warnings: mentions of slight nudity and violence, gets a little steamy near the end but nothing too detailed

WC: 6.6k

Pairing: Alpha!Minho x Omega!FemReader

a/n: Hi :) Obviously werewolf skz is just *chef's kiss* so of course I had to write about it. So here's a Minho one ;)

Due to your parent’s unfortunate death, you had to move away to avoid being caught by the same hunters who killed them. By moving cities, it means moving schools too. Before this, you were in your dad’s pack which only consists of your mom, your dad and you. Now that they’re gone, it leaves you to being a lone wolf.

Hence, why you managed to enrol yourself into this new school after finding yourself a cheap rundown apartment.

You were an Omega werewolf which means you weren’t a part of any pack. You were a lone wolf. After your parents died, you had no one to go to. No friends, no family, nothing. You might as well just die.

Except, you knew your parents wouldn’t want that so you had to persevere and try to at least survive for as long as you can on your own. Throughout your whole life, you weren’t really able to detect any werewolves near you despite your amazing supernatural sense of smell.

So you thought you were alone from now on. Little did you know, the previous town you lived in just didn’t have your kind.

The 8 of them were a pack. To be more specific, they were in Chan’s pack. Chan was their leader but also an Alpha along with Minho and Changbin. Meanwhile, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin were Betas. They’ve been together for quite a while now where Chan was initially only with Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin before he took in the other young ones after a few unfortunate circumstances.

Chan has been teaching them how to hunt, enhance their skills and basically provide them food and shelter. They were more like brothers instead of friends or acquaintances. Their bond was stronger than anything else. If one was injured, the other would know even if they were miles apart.

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon, the boys were just having lunch at their usual table when Changbin’s nose began to tickle with a strong scent, only for the others to smell it too right after.

“Hey, do you guys smell that?” Changbin asked quietly, earning a few nods from the rest.

Since Chan, Minho and Changbin were Alphas, they have slightly stronger werewolf senses compared to the others and they could tell that this scent was new. They knew a few other packs that were present on campus and were even friends with some of them but this?

This was a very new scent that they weren’t familiar with.

“Whoever this is, they clearly just transferred here.” Jisung stated nonchalantly.

“No shit sherlock.” Minho said, earning a low snarl from the younger boy.

“But where is it coming from? I would know if they’re in the room with us… Looks like they’re in the grounds just not in this cafeteria…” Chan said as his eyes began to scan the entire radius of the cafeteria hall.

“But can you tell if it’s a male or female?” Jeongin asked curiously only for Chan to turn back to his brothers and nod.

“It’s a female.”

A few minutes later, they were all gathered for the talk session they had with a motivational speaker regarding the academics. The 8 of them were seated in the middle row of the lecture hall. It was already filled with students from all courses, leaving only a few seats empty. One of which was at the very end of the row below them, right by the aisle and just in front of Felix.

Soon enough, the man began talking and introducing himself to the audience. The boys were just seated there, barely focusing. Neither of them were properly listening to the speaker.

However, their attention was soon diverted intensely when the same scent from earlier only grew stronger by the minute. Before they could even ask each other about it, a new face came stumbling in the main doors.

That’s when they realized where that scent was coming from.

It was you.

You were running late for the motivational talk which is why you were now sprinting across the campus to reach the main building which held the auditorium. Upon arriving, you managed to find the right hall after what felt like forever. The minute you pushed the double doors open, you were immediately met with at least 400 pairs of eyes.

The man standing on stage simply smiles at you and asks you to take a seat wherever you could find. He was nice and you could tell. However, your mind was currently spinning from the overwhelming amount of scents you could clearly smell in this hall.

There were at least 5 different werewolf packs in this room right now but there is one pack scent that was so strong and bold to you.

It literally stands out from the rest.

Just as you were about to walk to the steps on the side nearest to you, the strong grip on your forearm made you halt.

It was a lecturer you weren’t familiar with but you felt uneasy with him. The way he was staring at you from head to toe, his tightening grip on your arm made you wince.

“Are you a new student?” He asked lowly.

“Y-Yes.”

“Which class are you with?”

“I-I’m not sure. B-But I’ll just sit anywhere that’s available.” You frowned deeply before you yanked your arm out of his grip with a bit of struggle.

With that being said, you rushed up the steps towards the empty seat right next to the aisle. The moment you sat down, your fiery glare travelled back to the lecturer who was standing at the same spot he previously was in but his eyes were on you.

Damn him.

However, your mind seemed to grow fuzzy with the sudden strong scent that was intoxicating your senses now. It was so strong, as though whoever or whatever they are were extremely close to you.

Just then, the soft touch on your forearm made you flinch as you turned to come face to face with a pretty girl. She didn’t have any particular werewolf scent on her so you knew she was an ordinary human.

“Do you know which class you’re in?” She asked.

“Umm… I… I haven’t checked my timetable.”

She giggled softly before she continued, “Don’t forget to check it later so you know where to go after this. I’m Yeri by the way. You are?”

With that being said, you gave her a small smile before telling her your name.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N. If you need help with anything, just ask okay?”

You nodded a little to acknowledge her but then your trail of vision got diverted to the male sitting a few seats diagonally above yours. What made you focus on him was the fact that his eyes were boring into yours. It wasn’t creepy or uncomfortable though. It was more like curiosity. You hold your stares for a bit and that’s when it hits you.

The scent.

It was from him.

A few nights had passed, there was going to be a full moon tonight so you decided to go hunting. Your aim was to practice your survival skills, one that your father taught you when he was still alive. You didn’t bother bringing any change of clothes, telling yourself you would most probably just go to your parent’s secret hideout in the woods.

So here you are, in the middle of the woods alone, finding yourself standing in an empty spot that had the full moon just directly above you. This spot wasn’t new to you.

This is where your parents violently got killed by the werewolf hunters.

During that horrible incident, you were hiding behind one of the huge trees after your parents told you to run. The last thing you saw was your father’s head being decapitated mercilessly before you took off running on all four paws.

Running as fast as you can, praying that the hunters didn’t catch you.

Lucky for you, they didn’t. And yet, you knew they would do everything in their will to continue finding you which is why you moved.

You were taking in the beautiful moon, deciding to change into your furry self so that you could move freely through the woods. After about an hour of just running and strolling through the woods, playing in the lake, chasing bunnies, you figured you wanted to take a quick rest.

It wasn’t until you stepped onto a pile of dead leaves that the sharp click followed by a loud snap echoed through the woods. A shrilling howl left your lips as the pain began to crawl up your broken hind legs where your human ankle would be.

You whimpered in pain, your entire body collapsing to the ground when you realized you were trapped.

Just then, a soft click of a shotgun’s hammer sounded as they locked the bullet in place and were left with pulling the trigger. Your vision was getting blurred from the tears welling up in your eyes.

Your bright gold eyes were flooded with tears, a weak whine leaving your lips as you looked up at the man who killed your parents a month ago.

“Say goodnight. Your parents are dying to see you in the afterlife.” He said while he pointed the gun to your forehead.

However, before he could pull the trigger, a low growl came from somewhere behind you.

The last thing you saw was a larger silver coloured wolf lunging itself onto the hunter and soon began to wrestle with him, only to receive help from another wolf equally the same size but a light brown colour.

And a few seconds later, you passed out cold.

The boys were in their wolf forms, strolling through the woods like they usually do except tonight with the full moon shining down at them. Everyone was having their own fun. Chan and Minho were lingering behind their younger brothers, watching over them and their safety.

Changbin was walking with Jeongin in the centre, once in a while playfully nudging Jeongin’s side with the tip of his snout.

Jisung, Felix and Hyunjin were playing catch but making sure to stick close by while Seungmin was just breaking out into small jogs and twirls excitedly whenever he comes across a field of dandelions on the grass patches.

They were all roaming freely together when all of a sudden, a shrilling scream echoed in their sensitive ears making them all halt to a stop.

“What was that?!” Jisung asked through telepathy, only for Chan to transfer his message to the rest of the boys through his mind.

“I don’t know but it sounds close by.”

“I don’t feel good about this. I think someone’s injured.” Hyunjin said worriedly. However, before anyone could continue, a certain scent intoxicated Minho’s nostrils and he knew exactly what it was or who it was.

“It’s that new girl from school. She’s caught in a metal trap. We have to help her. Now!” Minho said firmly as he began running through the woods, using his sense of smell to try and detect your location. The minute he saw the man standing over your limp body with one of your hind legs horribly clamped between the metal bars, Minho raced over to you.

Right before the man could pull the trigger, Minho leaped out from the shadows, sending the man flying backwards along with himself. Minho tackles the man easily as he growls in the man’s face.

Chan soon joins in to give Minho a hand. Chan bit the shotgun and tosses it far from reach.

Right when the man began to plead for them to spare his life, Minho lets out one last growl followed by a hiss before he bites the man’s head off without a single ounce of mercy.

Normally, Chan does not condone violence to his pack. He only allows it during a life and death situation and if it involves werewolf hunters.

After the hunter’s body was laying there limp, like a headless chicken, Minho licks his canine teeth tasting the disgusting blood coating them. His glowing red eyes bore deep into the limp body, feeling anger taking over him until he heard Seungmin’s soft voice through the telepathy.

“Hyung, she fell unconscious.”

With that, Minho turned around as he and Chan quickly went over to where your body laid.

Your chest was barely moving, your leg was bleeding and probably broken, there was no sign of other injuries except for your leg.

Meanwhile, Changbin, Felix, Hyunjin, Jisung and Jeongin were guarding the perimeter, senses heightened so as to be able to detect any danger coming their way just like how Chan had trained them to perfection.

Chan sniffed the metal trap to try and see if he could break you free from it.

“Minho, bite the other clasp. I’ll bite this side then we’ll try and pull it apart.” Chan said as the younger one walked around Seungmin and soon bit down one side of the clasp like Chan says.

The two of them managed to free your broken leg from the metal trap but now, your leg was bleeding quite a lot.

“What should we do now?” Seungmin asked.

“Take her back to our place. We’ll treat her injuries and wait till she wakes up.” Chan said firmly, earning a nod from the two boys.

Chan called the others over, asking Changbin to help him carry your limp body together.

Chan slides his head under your shoulders while Changbin does the same beside the leader. Once they were both standing on all fours, your body was splayed over their backs horizontally with your head hanging over the side of Changbin’s furry body.

They brought you back to their home, only for Felix to attend to your injury. After they had transformed back to their human self, they wore back their clothes before they went to make sure you were okay.

Felix had just finished cleaning your bloodied wound, washing it with rubbing alcohol to get rid of any bacteria when you slowly began to transform back into your human self.

Of course, you were still unconscious but you were now laying on their couch butt naked with your private parts shielded by your arms and the cross of your thighs.

Nevertheless, the boys quickly diverted their gazes away from you even though you weren’t awake.

They respected you being the only female in the house, which is why Hyunjin ran to the nearest room to get a cosy blanket and soon came back, covering your naked body with it. Felix managed to wrap your leg with the bandage but that was it. They wouldn’t want to help you wear any clothes simply because that would mean they would have to handle your nude self.

Since you were practically strangers, they weren’t gonna do it simply out of respect for you. “Now we wait…” Chan announced as the rest of them nodded.

You didn’t know how long you were out but the sudden warmth and soft material hugging your body made you stir awake. You struggled to focus your vision, finding the bright light a little too overwhelming for you.

Where are you?

Your mind was racing with thoughts. A whole list of possible scenarios were going through your mind, making a guess of which one it was.

Just then, a very familiar scent entered your nose and you recognized it immediately.

That’s when you managed to focus your blurry vision towards the figures that were gathered around the room you were currently in, finally recognizing the faces that were staring back at you in utter concern.

However, it was still a little surprising for you since you were not only in a room filled with guys who were practically strangers to you, you were also butt naked save for the blanket to shield you from their eyes. With that being said, this made you squeak as a soft gasp left your lips.

You hastily sat up, desperately pulling the blanket tighter against your body. The light brown haired male carefully approached you with his hands out in front of them to tell you he was harmless.

“Woah, hey… hey… relax, we’re not gonna hurt you. I promise. Okay?” The leader said with a warm smile as your eyes went to scan him.

You could immediately sense that what he said was true and that they all meant no harm to you. When he noticed your shoulders relax a bit, he smiled before he carefully sat down beside you, making sure to avoid your broken leg.

“How are you feeling?” He asked as you noticed the others were intently staring between you and their leader.

“I… It hurts…” You whispered, eyes finding its own way to the one leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed over his chest. He had ash blue hair, his eye shape was similar to a feline cat and you vividly remember he was the same guy you had a mini staring contest on that first day in the auditorium hall.

“I know it does. So we will try our best to take care of you until it heals… But, only if you agree to stay and let us help. Of course we understand if you want to leave since you don’t know us. It’s up to you. We won’t force you.” The leader said, making you turn to him as your grip on the blanket only loosened slightly.

It didn’t take long for you to decide on staying after you practically could sense sincerity and safety from them. So upon agreeing to their kind offer, the leader went ahead and introduced them to you.

“Since we don’t have any female clothes for you, are you okay if we lend you some of ours for the time being?” Chan asked, to which you nodded gently.

You carefully got up, making sure to wrap the blanket around your body securely. However, the minute you put a small amount of pressure on your injured leg, your knee buckled from the excruciating pain. A soft whimper left your lips as you were about to collapse to the ground. Instead, you never made it to the ground thanks to the strong pair of arms that reached out just in time to catch your waist.

Your free hand flew out to grab onto his shirt, not really seeing who saved you from the fall until you looked up to see who it was.

It’s Minho.

“Woah, be careful. Are you okay?” He asked as you nodded. Except, he didn’t miss the tear that was threatening to roll down your cheeks. You were visibly trying to hold in the pain but he knew it was difficult.

“Let me help.” He offered softly as you could only nod.

With that being said, Minho bends down to carry you bridal style before telling his brothers that he was going to bring you to his room for you to change and rest in. Chan agreed saying it was a good idea since it was already nearing 1 in the morning.

Once Minho made it to his bedroom, he brought you in only to close the door behind him using his foot. He gently placed you down on his king sized bed, making sure to not hurt your leg.

After he laid you down on the bed, he went over to his closet and took out a clean oversized shirt and sweatpants.

“Here, change into this then go and rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. The others will be right down the hall in their bedrooms, okay?” His voice was so gentle, you almost forgot you didn't know this guy personally.

When he saw you nod subtly, he flashed you a smile and was about to leave when you grabbed his wrist softly to stop him.

“Thank you… all of you…” You whispered, earning a smile from him before he told you to rest.

The small jolt of electricity running through your veins at the skin contact didn’t go unnoticed between you two but you decided to ignore it until he left. The minute he closed the door, you gently caressed your hand that reached out for his wrist.

Little did you know, he did the same to his hand where you left a tingling sensation to his skin.

What was that feeling?

From the first day they met you at the auditorium, Chan could already sense you were an Omega. That night when they saved you from being killed, Chan already knew he would take you into the pack. It was just a matter of whether or not you want to accept his offer. It has been three months since they saved you that night.

Ever since then, it was pretty obvious that you’ve grown slightly closer to them and they were already treating you like a part of their pack. Despite not giving a firm answer yet on whether you want to officially be in their pack or not, Chan still treated you with respect and like you were a part of their little family.

And for that, you were grateful.

However, during the past three months, you’ve also developed a little crush on Minho.

Not only was he always sweet and caring towards you, he was also the one who offered to lend you his bedroom and his clothes when you stayed over for the few days after you got injured.

Although you tried your best to hide your feelings for him, it looks like the other boys could sense it considering how Jisung and Felix would sometimes tease you whenever Minho was around. You would normally just brush them off or just plainly ignore them. Yet, sometimes Minho would catch you blushing when the boys tease you about him and he couldn’t help but find you adorable.

It was a Thursday afternoon, you had just finished your first class and were just keeping some of your books in your locker when a figure appeared beside you with an arm resting against the lockers. You glanced up to find Minho smiling down at you adorably, his eyes disappearing into two crescent moons.

“Hey, joining us for lunch?” He asked.

“Yeah, just keeping some books I don’t need for later.” You said, only to feel him tuck the stray hairs behind your ear.

This small gesture was enough to make your heart skip a beat in your chest. You tried to ignore the feeling but he was making it so difficult as he soon began to gently play with your hair, telling you it's pretty and soft.

You couldn’t help but giggle as he slid his hand down only to rest on your waist. After you closed your locker, you turned to face him, letting him slide his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. However, before any of you could say anything, Changbin’s teasing voice broke out from behind you.

“Aye, finally the two lovebirds acknowledge each other’s feelings huh?” This made Jisung and Chan, who were with Changbin, to chuckle in amusement.

You pulled away from Minho only for the boy to speak up.

“Seo Changbin, if you don’t keep that stupid mouth of yours shut, I’ll make sure you sleep on the porch tonight.” Minho threatened, earning a silly face from Changbin who clearly gives no shit.

A few more weeks went by, you only grew closer and closer to the boys and yet you still weren’t in their pack. You had been so dependent on your parents that when they left you, it almost rendered you insane. It took you a while to accept that you were a lone wolf but after that incident, it only made you stronger and much more independent.

That’s why until now, you still haven’t accepted Chan’s offer on being in his pack despite knowing they were good people. It wasn’t because you still didn’t trust these boys. It was just in your nature for being an Omega, to feel independent.

It was a Friday evening, you haven’t been to the boys’ place for almost a week now but you still saw them and spent time with them in school.

Just then, you distinctly heard a familiar howl which sounded like they were in pain.

It was far but you knew where it came from and who the howl belonged to. You didn’t bother changing out of your pyjamas, running out of your apartment and straight to the direction of the howl through the woods that were right behind your run down apartment complex.

You ran as fast as your two feet could take you, already memorizing the woods in the back of your head. You followed the scent as it got stronger with every corner you took which means you were getting close.

That’s when you recognized Chan and Changbin’s furry self attacking the three hunters while Minho’s wolf form was laying there on the ground against the tree with his mouth in a nuzzle.

“No, no, no!” You hissed as you ran to him, cupping his large wolf face in your small hands.

“Minho! Minho, can you hear me? Please tell me you can hear me! Please…” You whispered desperately as his eyes were closed. You reached behind his head to unclasp the nuzzle, freeing his snout from it.

You looked around to see there was a shotgun laying just a few feet from you so you crawled over to it and locked the bullets in place before you aimed it at the hunter that was struggling under Chan’s grip. One of the 3 hunters was lying dead on the ground headless. So with one deep breath, you pulled the trigger, shooting the hunter straight through the side of his head.

Chan jumped back a little only to turn to the side and locked eyes with you who had the gun pointed to them. You quickly shifted your aim to Changbin and the last hunter, but it was slightly difficult due to them rolling and throwing each other around.

Before you could pull the trigger, Changbin growled and soon tore the hunter’s limbs apart one by one before settling for the head.

You threw the shotgun as far away as possible, turning back to Minho who was going in and out of consciousness. However, feeling as though you needed to make sure he was still alive, you gently stroked his furry chest to try and feel for his heartbeat.

Chan and Changbin came back to you and Minho, only for them to talk to you through telepathy.

“He’s badly wounded. We need to aid him fast.” Chan said.

“Let’s quickly get him home. Are you gonna stay with us tonight?” Changbin asked, making you nod at them.

With that being said, all four of you quickly made it back to their home with Minho on top of the two, just like they did with you on the night they found you trapped.

Once you all arrived at their house, you quickly ran to their door, knocking it frantically and it took them less than 2 seconds to open the door.

“Oh shit, quickly, get in.” Hyunjin said as the 3 wolves entered only for the two to gently place Minho on the couch.

“His leg got shot twice, one more on his left rib and a plunge to his shoulder.” Changbin told Felix as the younger one began to get to work with Seungmin’s assistance. In the meantime, the two boys went upstairs to go change while you stayed behind with the others in the kitchen.

“How come you were with them?” Jisung asked as you leaned against the counter with Hyunjin standing beside you while Jisung and Jeongin stood opposite from you.

“I was at home when I heard a howl. I knew immediately they were in pain and it sounded very familiar. So I went to check.” You explained as the boys exchanged knowing glances to one another.

“Noona? Can I ask you something?” Jisung asked.

“Sure.”

“Did you get any particular feeling when you heard the howl?”

“I just… I felt like it was someone close to me. Someone I cared for… Someone I-”

“-love?” Jeongin finished your sentence for you, making you look up at him with wide eyes.

“We know… We can always tell when one of us is in love… And we’ve known that from the start about Minho towards you. We just… couldn’t tell exactly for you since you’re not part of the pack.” Hyunjin explained, only for you to understand better.

Minho loves you?

You frowned as you stared at your feet for a while before you looked past Jisung’s shoulder to find Seungmin placing a blanket over Minho’s wolf form.

You were worried. You were terrified. The last thing you wanted was to never get to say goodbye to him. Never get to say the three words you hoped to tell him one day. Lucky for you, it wasn’t going to be a worry for you anytime soon.

Felix and Seungmin carefully left Minho there to rest as they approached the four of you in the kitchen.

“How is he?” Jeongin asked.

“He just needs plenty of rest. We managed to take out the bullets so I’m sure he’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Felix explained.

Since Minho was an Alpha, it means that he heals faster than the younger ones did. Same goes for Chan and Changbin if they ever got injured by something that wasn’t deadly to them. So with that being said, you excused yourself to go check on Minho, earning nods from the rest of them.

They watched as you made your way to Minho’s peaceful form on the couch.

“Why can’t they just confess already? They’re practically the perfect soulmates for each other.” Seungmin sighed with a smile.

“I know right?” Felix giggled.

“Come on, let’s give them some space.” Hyunjin said as he began to pull his brothers upstairs to let you and Minho have some privacy.

You sat on the floor in front of Minho’s adorable snout, gently caressing his soft fur on his neck. You gave him a small kiss on the tip of his nose before whispering to him.

“Please be okay… I don’t want to lose you.”

His soft breaths filled your sensitive ears as you stroked his chest like a lullaby for him.

A few minutes of silence accompanied you, allowing yourself to drift off to sleep with the top of your head leaning against his neck and right underneath his chin. You didn’t know how long you were asleep but you woke up to the feeling of someone gently caressing your hair.

Successfully stirring awake, you brought your head up only to find Minho back in his human form and still in all his naked glory but with the blanket covering his waist down.

You immediately got to your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck, earning a soft giggle from him as he snaked his arms around your waist.

“Hi princess.” His sultry voice echoes in your ear, making you blush.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” You whispered, hearing him chuckle softly.

“Of course I have to be okay, I won’t leave you hanging.” His words made you pull back from him, staring into his adorable round eyes. Minho could sense your confusion in which he laughed.

With that, he reached up to cup your cheeks and gently caressed it with his thumbs before he whispered.

“I won’t ever leave you.”

You didn’t know what came over you but you suddenly felt brave. It has been screaming at you to do this for quite a while now, you just chose to ignore it. But this time, you felt like it was the right time to do it.

So with one small breath, you leaned in to kiss him, feeling him instantly smile against your lips. Both of you felt sparks shooting out of the kiss as he pulled you on top of him. His hands flew down to your waist while your small hands cupped his face softly.

Minho’s tongue teased you as he licked your bottom lip before tugging it in between his teeth.

His grip on your waist tightened, making you sit firmly on his thighs. You completely forgot he was butt naked until you felt something poking your inner thigh. It wasn’t until he pulled away from your lips to smile cheekily up at you.

“Should we go to my bedroom?” He asked, making you giggle.

“Are you sure you’re healed? I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” You asked.

Minho kissed you again only to pull back and smirk, “Trust me sweetheart, I’m already good to go. I’m an Alpha, remember?” You rolled your eyes at his cockiness but nevertheless found it so attractive.

Minho laughed as he captured you in a kiss yet again before he stood up with you on his waist, your legs wrapped around his hips. A small yelp escaped your lips as he carried you up to his bedroom. Once you made it to his room, he kicked his door close and locked it before gently tossing you onto his bed.

He crawled over to you until he was situated in between your legs, making you nervous.

“You know you can always tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable, right baby? I will never force you to do something you’re not okay with.” Minho reassured you as he caressed your cheek lovingly.

You were nervous, yes because it would be your first time mating. However, you didn’t feel uncomfortable because you trusted him. So you weren’t going to stop him.

Not now. Not ever.

“I want you… Minho. Please… I… I love you.” You whispered with your eyes closed, too afraid to look at him. What you missed was how his eyes grew even softer the minute you said those last three words. Minho never felt this way before. Sure he has mated before and none of it works out. But this time, it all felt so foreign to him.

You weren’t just another one of his playmates. You weren’t a random stranger whom he would have sex with and leave. You were someone he cared for, someone he grew fond of, someone he trusts, and most importantly, someone he loves.

With that being said, Minho smiles as he leans down to close the gap before he whispers against your lips.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Right after, he kisses you like his life depends on it. Pouring out his love for you through the kiss, hoping you could feel his sincerity. He felt your hands sliding down his chest, only to trace your fingertips along the outlines of his abs.

He helped you discard your pyjamas, tossing them onto the ground as he then realized you only had your panties and no bra.

“Did you really just leave your apartment like this?” He chuckled, pecking your lips a few times.

“I got worried okay... I wanted to make sure no one’s hurt…” You blushed as he teased you.

“Aww, so you rushed out without thinking to change just because you were worried about me?” Minho smirked down at you.

“Shut up, Min. I didn’t know who it was when I ran out okay…” You pushed his face away with your hands only for him to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious!” You pouted as he pulled away to look at your disappointed face, making him chuckle and kiss you repeatedly, saying you looked too cute.

“Okay okay, I believe you baby.” Minho chuckled, cupping your cheeks to kiss you again, this time letting his lips linger there for a bit. Both of you took your own sweet time with each other. He promised to be gentle with you and that was exactly what he did. Only going rough once in a while so that you could both reach your highs.

Minho marked you as his partner and you were happy he did. But there was only one thing left that you haven’t done.

After he cleaned you, you were both lying in bed under his soft duvet. He was just gently playing with your hair while you laid your head on his chest. His mind was filled with nothing but you. All until you spoke up.

“I want to be in Chan’s pack.”

Minho’s fingers stopped whatever it was doing, only for him to stare down at you.

“What did you say?”

“I’ve thought about it… And I want to be in Chan’s pack.” You repeated again, causing him to smile.

“Wait… are you serious?”

You nodded with a small smile, making him huff. After almost 4 months of spending time with them, getting to know each of them better, you realized that they were nothing but a family to one another. And with your tragic past, maybe being in Chan’s pack wouldn’t be so bad. Not only will you have a family of your own, but you also have someone who you loved dearly.

So why not right?

With that being said, Minho kissed you again and again on your cheeks, your nose, your forehead and your lips. All you did was giggle.

“Let’s go tell Chan!” Minho said excitedly as he leaped out of bed butt naked, going around to collect both your clothes that were scattered on the floor. Once you were both changed, he grabs your hands and laces his fingers with yours only to run down the hall, accidentally bumping into Jisung and Changbin as you did so.

“Bang Chan!” Minho called out as he burst open the elder’s bedroom door, only to find Chan just reading something from his book shelves.

“Oh, hey guys. What’s up?” Chan smiled as he placed his book down on the desk but Minho was quick to tell him the news.

“Y/N wants to be part of the pack.”

With that, Chan’s eyes grew wide as he stared at you with a happy glint in his eyes.

“Really?”

You gave him a firm nod in which Chan couldn’t help but grin.

“Well then, welcome to the family Y/N.” Chan announced, only for the rest of them to rush in.

“Noona’s finally part of us?!” Felix and Jisung asked in unison, earning a solid yes from Chan. The younger ones immediately ran to you to give you a hug. You couldn’t help but giggle as they welcomed you warmly. After you were done exchanging hugs, Chan spoke up to get everyone’s attention.

“Also, I think it’s pretty clear that Y/N is now out of bound to the rest of us except Minho.” Chan smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at the male who had his fingers laced with yours.

“Yeah so don’t even think about it.” Minho warned, pretending to threaten his brothers but of course he didn’t actually plan to hurt them if they got close to you since they already loved you like a sister.

“Don’t worry brother, she’s all yours.” Changbin smiled cheekily, only for you to blush.

You were glad that you found them. You were glad they saved you that night and not any other pack. You were glad they came into your life. Because they taught you how to be strong again. They taught you how to survive. And most importantly, Minho taught you how to love again.

~~~

[gretavansidecut]

Room to Breathe

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 4,297

Summary: You're out at a crowded bar with the boys and start to have a panic attack from all the sensory overload and your crush Josh helps you through it

Warnings: swearing, alcohol use, general angst, detailed descriptions of sensory overload, anxiety, and spiraling negative thoughts. If you find any of these things to be triggering or otherwise upsetting, please proceed with extreme caution!

A/N:  So I haven't written a fic in like... God, six years maybe? But this idea popped into my head the other night and just wouldn't leave so I figured what the heck, why not give this writing thing another try? I had an absolute blast writing this, and I hope you all enjoy it!

     You held your head in your hands, trying your best to steady your breathing as you took refuge in the bathroom stall. The pounding, brain-rattling music of the honky-tonk was slightly more bearable in the relative quiet of the restroom, but you still found yourself grinding your teeth as the noise was beginning to get to you. Densely packed places were always a challenge; you weren't necessarily afraid of crowds, or claustrophobic, or anything like that, it was more that the combination of the overbearing noise and the feeling of being packed in like a sardine tended to make you a little... Panicky, to say the least. It didn't help that just getting into the bar in the first place nearly gave you sensory overload either. But you weren't about to bail early if you could help it, and you weren’t about to let a little creeping panic ruin a night on the town with the guys of Greta Van Fleet, especially not when Josh was the one who'd invited you to come along. Besides, you could handle a crowded, noisy bar for one night, right?

     The sudden slamming of the bathroom door made you jump in your stall, the rowdy voices of drunk patrons shattering whatever peace you'd had up to that point. You let out a heavy sigh, figuring it was for the best as you'd already been in there for at least five minutes. Any longer and the guys might've started to get worried, or worse, come looking for you. You emerged from your stall, ignoring the drunk people and their slurred conversation to your left as you washed your hands, and then taking a moment to splash some water on your face. Just the thought of going back out into the noise and crowd was enough to make your chest tighten, and you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the current situation. You’d been looking forward to this night out for over a week; a chance to properly spend time with the guys outside of work after doing odd jobs around their studio for the last few months, and you’d especially been looking forward to spending some time with Josh. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d developed a little bit of a crush on him over the course of working at the studio, but you figured there was no harm in dreaming as long as you kept things platonic and professional. He seemed to enjoy your company and laugh at your jokes, and you definitely enjoyed his in return. 

     You let out another shaky breath, taking a few more seconds to steel yourself before heading back out there. You knew this place would be packed, and you’d been ready for it, honestly you had. But today had just been one of those aggravating days, the kind where every little thing seemed to go wrong and rub you the wrong way. And when that happened, the panic would tend to creep in more easily, and with greater intensity. Still, you resolved to hold yourself together as best you could and not ruin the evening, glancing at yourself in the mirror to make sure you were presentable, before turning around and reentering the bar.

     All at once, the blaring music and roar of the crowd hit you, and you couldn't even hear yourself think. There were flashing neon lights hung up on every wall, a few TVs scattered here and there playing some sports channels, and people zipping about all over the place. It felt like your whole head was ringing, your eyes and ears begging for mercy already as you made your way back to the far corner of the room where the boys’ table was. You could eventually pick out Josh's boisterous laughter through the mayhem, and the four of them came into view just in time for you to see Josh lob a pretzel about 4 feet into the air, only for Jake to expertly and effortlessly catching it in his mouth. Danny and Sam both cheered at once, each of them swiftly downing a shot of tequila as Josh shared a high five with his twin.

     "Hell yeah Jakey, ten in a row, that's a new record!" He exclaimed in triumph, grabbing his glass and finishing what was left of his salty dog in one gulp. When he was done, he noticed you approaching the table and his eyes immediately lit up, though whether that was because of you or the sudden rush of alcohol you weren’t sure. Still, it was always nice to see him smile, even when you felt like you were on the verge of losing your mind.

     "Heeey, Y/N's back! Now we can get this party going again!" He slung an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side as he grinned from ear to ear. In any other situation your hopeless crush on him would make you nervous if he got this close to you, but after your perilous trek to the bathroom and back a little contact from someone besides a total stranger was more than welcome.

     "Yeah, what took you so long?" Jake teased, popping another pretzel into his mouth. "We were starting to think you'd fallen into the sewers or something!"

     "No, that's what you thought Jake, me 'n Sam were betting they'd run off and joined the circus!" Danny added with a grin, his words slightly slurred from the tequila at this point.

     You swallowed tightly, flashing them a half-forced grin as you shook your head. “Guys, c’mon, be reasonable here, it was nothing like that... What really happened was an alligator popped up out of the toilet and we had a riveting conversation about quantum physics and string theory.”

     The guys erupted into laughter; Jake covering his mouth so he didn’t accidentally spit out his pretzel, Josh cackling to your left, Sam almost choking on his beer, and Danny holding his face in his palm as he snickered drunkenly. Even in your heightened state of anxiety, you couldn't help but genuinely laugh along with them in the moment. After all, even in a stressful situation the guys were still a hoot to be around. They each had their own oddball sense of humor that made you, a fellow oddball, feel right at home with them. And the fact that Josh's arm was still wrapped around your shoulder was pretty nice too. It was almost enough to make the blaring noise and packed-in-like-sardines feeling of the bar bearable... Almost.

     You were able to keep it together enough to have another round of drinks with them, finding solace in a simple vodka cranberry as the guys got drunker and more boisterous. Danny and Sam decided to have an arm wrestling contest, which Danny won quite easily given his drummer's arms, though that didn’t stop Sam from challenging him to a rematch, and still losing, five more times. Then Jake ended up slipping into his Oliver Reed impression, made all the more credible in his intoxicated state, and he began to ramble on about how wild and wonderful the filming of Tommy had been. Josh of course piped in when he could, commentating on Danny and Sam’s contest like a sports announcer and slipping into his own goofy voice as he ”interviewed” Mr. Reed. If this were happening anywhere else, literally anywhere else besides an overcrowded bar in the most overcrowded part of Nashville, you would've been having the absolute time of your life. But instead you found yourself getting more and more tense with each moment that passed by, the pounding noise and mass of shifting bodies behind you making your pulse race and your head ache. Your drink had done absolutely nothing to calm your nerves, and not even the continued feeling of Josh's arm on your shoulder seemed to help, and you were starting to resent the fact that you couldn't even enjoy that.

     You finally hit your limit when you felt the sharp point of someone's elbow jab into the middle of your back, and you flinched hard away from the source of the sudden contact. You could feel Josh’s arm tighten around your shoulder slightly, and everyone's heads whipped around to see a young woman, clearly drunk and looking very apologetic.

     "O-oh shit, I'm so sorry sweetie!" She slurred out, steadying herself on her feet. "Didn't mean t'hitcha! Jus' tryin' to get s'more drinks for my table!"

     The guys all nodded, assuring her it was and honest mistake and she gave them all a smile and a wave as she staggered off towards the bar. You, on the other hand, couldn’t even bring yourself to look at her, your eyes locked on an empty glass on the table as the ringing in your head became unbearable, every nerve and muscle in your body suddenly taut like a bowstring. The guys kept talking, though what about you had no clue, unable to make out what they were saying as your own pulse pounded in your ears. In the back of your mind you thought you could feel Josh's thumb rubbing gently against your shoulder, almost in a soothing kind of motion, but you honestly couldn't be sure right now. Every molecule in your body was struggling to keep it together as you quickly spiraled into a frenzied panic, and the only thing you were absolutely positive was true was that you had to get out of there fast.

     "Hey... You alright?" Josh's voice was suddenly clear and crisp in your ears like a bell, and it was enough to snap you out of your spiral for just a second and address the table. Though the way Jake, Sam, and Danny were looking at you expectantly made you feel like you wanted to run and hide under a rock. If there was one thing you hated more than having a breakdown in public, it was people knowing you were having a breakdown in public.

     "O-oh yeah, I'm good! Sh-she just startled me is all..." Your voice trailed off, and you swallowed dryly as you fought back tears. "I... I'm just gonna s-step outside for a second and get some air, yeah?" You said with a plastered-on smile, doing your best to not let them know anything was wrong as you reluctantly wormed your way out of Josh's grip and made your way towards the nearest door. You pushed your way through the crowd, ignoring the protests as you bumped into several people along the way, struggling to focus long enough to make it to your goal. You could feel your throat tightening, hot tears stinging your eyes as shame and embarrassment crept into your panic stricken mind. ‘Seriously? You couldn't even handle one night out in a crowded bar? You just had to let your sort-of-crappy day get to you and ruin everyone's night, didn't you?’

     Finally reaching the door, you stumbled out of it, desperately trying to catch your breath as you welcomed the sudden rush of fresh air. Unfortunately, in your panic, the door you ended up choosing wasn’t the one that led to the bar's outdoor area like you thought, but the front door, and you suddenly found yourself adrift in the churning tide of rowdy, drunken humanity that was the Broadway strip on a Friday night. You didn't even bother trying to hold the tears back at this point, completely overwhelmed and hyperventilating as you found the quietest spot in sight, an empty doorway on the other side of the bar's front windows, and sank to the ground. You hugged your knees tightly as you brought them up to your chest, shaking as you buried your face in your arms, the blaring noise, blinding lights, and sheer presence of the crowd causing you to shut down on the spot.

     The feeling of a hand on your shoulder jolted you out of your stupor, and you scrambled away from the touch as fast as you could with a startled scream. You were fully prepared to yell at whatever stranger had just touched you, because the last thing you needed right now was some rando putting their hands on you. To your mix of shock and relief, it was Josh's face that you saw, his eyes a little wide as he held up both of his hands in a defensive manner.

     "Easy Y/N, it's just me, it’s Josh!" He said as softly as he could while still being audible over the throng of the crowd. You couldn't find it in you to respond, just staring at him like a deer caught in a car’s headlights as your body started to shake uncontrollably. You suddenly realized there was, in fact, something you hated more than people knowing you were having a breakdown in public, and that was your goddamn crush knowing that you were having a breakdown in public. In the back of your panic-stricken mind you wondered, if you just stayed still long enough, whether Josh would just turn around and leave you alone. You realized just how futile that thought was when he did quite the opposite and extended a hand out to you.

     "It's pretty intense out here. Let's go find a quieter spot, alright?"

     The rest of your body still shaking, you nodded your head eagerly, accepting his hand as he pulled you up off the ground. Once you were standing, he let go of your hand and wrapped that same arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side as he cocked his head in one direction.

     "You're ok, just stay close to me, I'll get you out of here."

     You hastily nodded again, unable to make words or maintain eye contact as you turned your gaze to the concrete below you and let Josh guide you through the sea of bodies. It felt like you were in there forever, the crowd shifting all around you, and any time you felt someone get too close, your body began to lock up and freeze. The only thing that kept you upright and moving was Josh's arm curled around your side, keeping you grounded as he led you away from the worst of the crowd. Eventually it dawned on you that the number of people around you were thinning out, the noise getting less and less intense as Josh led you up a street and then some kind of steep ramp. A cool rush of air and the sudden smell of water hit your nostrils and you glanced upwards to get your bearings just in time to realize that Josh was leading you over the river on the pedestrian bridge, towards the eastern side of the city and away from the bedlam of Broadway. You were about three quarters of the way over the bridge before he pulled you off to the side, leading you right up to the railing where you could clearly feel the breeze. The cacophony you'd just escaped from was still very much audible from this distance, but you found its volume to be much more bearable now. There was also plenty of room out here, as well as far fewer people, and for the first time since you'd entered the bar earlier that night, you felt like you could finally breathe.

     You leaned forward, bracing yourself against the railing as you took deep breaths in through your nose, before slowly exhaling through your mouth, and you could feel your body ever so slowly start to relax more and more with each one you took. Josh was quiet for the time being, his hand moving from your side to your back and rubbing up and down in a soothing motion while you caught your breath. Despite feeling calmer, the tears were more difficult to stop, anger and embarrassment at yourself nagging you in the back of your mind, unable to shake the feeling that you'd just ruined whatever fun he'd been having that night.

     You felt something soft touch your arm and you looked up to see a packet of tissues in Josh's other hand as he offered them to you, still silently rubbing your back. You happily accepted them, tearing the plastic open and grabbing a couple before reaching up and wiping your face, your breath still hitching here and there as you tried to steady yourself mentally. After a few more moments of quiet you finally heard Josh speak up, his voice soft and concerned.

     "How're you doing? Any better?"

     You bit your lip out of nerves, nodding as you finally worked up the courage to look him in the eye for the first time since leaving the doorway by the bar. You were expecting to see anger, annoyance, judgement; honestly all the things you felt about yourself right now reflected back at you in his face, but instead you saw nothing but sympathy and concern painted across his features. In any other situation you'd be positively swooning over how he was looking at you so tenderly. It was another couple moments before the ability to speak finally came back to you, and you let out a heavy, shaking sigh.

     “Y-yeah I… I’m alright now…. Thanks.” you trailed off, trying to swallow down the shame that had been slowly creeping into your mind. “I… I’m so sorry about this… I d-didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s night.”

     “Ok, first of all-” Josh said in a calm but firm voice, his palm on your back pressing into you a bit more and pulling you closer to him. “We’re not gonna do that tonight, alright? You didn’t ruin damn thing, you had a panic attack and that’s not your fault.” It took everything in you to not star crying again when he said that, though at least this time it would've been because you were touched by his concern and not because you were upset.

     “And second, I should be the one apologizing to you. That street can be really intense if you’re not ready for it, and I should’ve checked with you ahead of time that you were. I never would’ve picked such a crowded spot if I knew that was gonna be an issue for you.”

     You sniffled a little bit, shaking your head as you slowly pulled yourself together. “I-it’s ok, really... Like, normally I can handle crowds and loud noise, but being packed in like that, with everyone bumping into you and all the noise and lights on top of it... that can just be too much for me to handle sometimes, you know?” You watched as Josh nodded along to what you spoke, indicating that he was listening, and knowing that he wasn't going to judge you for how you reacted was helping the residual panic and shame you still felt fade away.

     “And then on top of that, today just like.... kind of sucked, in general. I mean, nothing terrible happened or anything, but it was a whole bunch of little things, one after the other. I totally fucked up making breakfast, my cat threw up on my favorite pair of shoes, I got a parking ticket for a really ridiculous reason, and I have some other work deadlines coming up that’re stressing me out, so I already wasn’t in the best headspace to deal with all of...That tonight.” you gestured your hand back towards the direction of Broadway. 

     "Then when that chick jabbed me in the back it just... snapped something inside me. I-I know it was an accident, and I don’t blame her for what she did, but it honestly startled me so bad, and I just lost it..."

     "I don’t blame you,” he replied sympathetically “That’s entirely too much shit to deal with in a single day.” 

     "And like... I-I know I could’ve asked for a raincheck, but I didn't wanna like, be rude or have you guys think I was blowing you off. Because I didn’t want to blow you guys off! Especially not for something so stupid..."

     "Hey, it's not stupid at all." He replied adamantly, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Those kind of crappy days have a way if wearing you down way harder than you’d think." 

     You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You’d been so, so worried that Josh was going to be angry, or that he wouldn’t have understood what had happened, as had been the case for you so many times before. His hand began gently rubbing your back again in a soothing motion, and the two of you slipped into silence for a moment, letting the cool breeze coming off of the river wash over you. Even with the music still pounding in the distance, you could hear the sound of the river rushing under you if you listened closely enough, and so you did, finding the sound incredibly soothing. It was almost hypnotizing in a way, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed before Josh spoke again, but when he did, you were a little surprised by what he had to say.

     “I know a couple smaller clubs on the outskirts of the city we could check out next time. They've still got all the good drinks and music, but they aren’t nearly as intense as that one was.” he suggested, flashing you a warm smile.

     “I mean, don’t get me wrong, those definitely sound like my kind of place. But you seriously want me to hang out with you guys again after that whole mess?”

     “Of course! So you had a bad night, it happens to the best of us. We aren’t gonna hold it against you. Besides, why wouldn’t we wanna hang out with someone as awesome as you?”

     You let out a small chuckle,  a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as nervous blush crept onto your cheeks. “Well, I’m not sure about awesome... but I’m glad to know you guys enjoy my company.”

     “What, are you kidding me?” he retorted enthusiastically, his dark eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the bridge. “You’re absolutely awesome! You’re so nice and welcoming to everyone, you’ve got an incredible sense of humor, great taste in music, and you are delightfully weird!” You were glad the lighting on the bridge wasn’t the best where you were standing, because your face was rapidly turning red as he kept showering you with compliments. 

     “Well, thank you.” You replied somewhat shyly, a grin spreading across your face as you found Josh’s good mood infectious, feeling much more at ease now than you had earlier. In a sudden streak of boldness you struck a small pose, with one hand framing your face dramatically. “But what, no mention of my flawless good looks?”

     You were just kidding around, of course, and Josh knew you were too. But even still, you couldn't help but notice the way Josh’s eyes widened and his smile twitched ever so slightly when you said that, or how he seemed to be blushing if the way his cheekbones suddenly appeared darker were anything to go by. 

     “I mean...” he began with a small shrug, his smile downright sheepish at this point “That’s so incredibly obvious that I kinda figured it went without saying. But they’re definitely a bonus!”

     You let out a nervous laugh, feeling your face burn from the sudden rush of blood to it, and you turned to face back towards the river. You couldn’t keep looking at him when he said that, not when he said it while he had his hand on your back, not when he was blushing while he said it, not when he said it so... so earnestly. You pressed into his side a bit more firmly, and you swore you could feel his heart beating faster in his chest.

     “Yeah, well... don’t sell yourself short, you’ve got a face that could give Errol Flynn a run for his money.” you half-teased, nudging him affectionately in the ribs with your elbow. He let out a small chuckle beside you, his arm still firmly wrapped around your shoulder and he gave your arm a soft, affectionate squeeze in return. The two of you said nothing for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company and touch as you both gazed out over the river, watching the lights of the city twinkle and glimmer on it’s dark surface.

     “Is... is it cool if we just stay up here for a little while?” you asked, suddenly feeling very physically tired after this whole ordeal. “I hate to just ditch the others and leave them in that bar, but I honestly don’t think I could handle going back in there tonight.”

     “Oh don’t worry, a bar is the best place we could possibly leave them.” Josh said with a chuckle. “But seriously, we can stay out here as long as you need.” he assured, giving you a firm hug from the side and flashing you a soft, reassuring smile. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

     A sudden surge of warmth and fatigue washed over you, and you found yourself leaning more heavily into Josh’s frame, which he seemed to welcome, finally letting your head come to rest on his shoulder. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, and you took a deep breath before letting out a soft, contented sigh.

     “Thank you so much for everything you did for me tonight. I seriously can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” He hummed softly in reply as he leaned back against you, the weight of his cheek suddenly pressing into the top of your head. 

     “Anytime, Y/N. I’ll always have your back.”

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 6: WE HAVE BATHROOM INCIDENT

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Anxious if all the attention, I scooted closer to Percy holding onto his arm. Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. The way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. Though I am aware the attention was on Percy. I still felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" Percy asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.. . . . . . . . . .

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron.

"Yeah, I mean... he was a good protector. Really." Percy added.

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He brought two!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and Y/N's parents. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you two dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Percy's and I's parents' fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death.

"Chiron," Percy said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now... until we know more... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose either of you do. I think a size five will do you both. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped when Percy stopped.

"Percy?"

He stood in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I held his hand and we got closer to the cabin. We peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught a glimpse of the interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. "Come along, you two."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay as close as I could to Percy. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," Percy observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked us critically.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Y/N from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy, Y/N. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally Percy tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself, almost taking me with him but I had let go of him as he fell. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody familiar asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy and Y/N. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. Y/N can have the bed over there."

"Luke." I smiled. He replied with a grin and ruffled my hair.

"Uh?"

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" Percy asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Percy. He was a few spots away from mine.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" Percy asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed Percy's wrist and dragged him outside. Percy took my hand to come with him, I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

"See you at dinner." Luke waved.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one. Maybe it was Y/N."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

I gripped his shoulder trying to calm him.

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Hahah typo and originality go brrr

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[appleslakesandeuchre]

Okay so usually I don't post or even write these things because my brain quits after the initial concept phase but this one wouldn't leave me alone so here's a Star Wars thing about Disaster Lineage bonding. Warning: this got pretty long.

The concept: Anakin, Obi-wan, and Ahsoka take a weekend (really just any two/three day stretch they can get) each month to relax. There are many hugs, they actually sleep, and they get too invested in board games and trashy holodramas/reality shows. The time is sacred and not to be interrupted.

The Details:

-Anakin cooks way too much food, everytime, without fail. They have leftovers for days. He remembers starving and will not let his family go hungry.

-Obi-wan is in charge of candy and sweets and he provides well known staples as well as things he picks up from various planets that range from absolutely amazing to horrifically scarring.

-Ahsoka tracks down any and all blankets she can get her hands on. The couch is positively buried under them all. Afterwards she'll hide them around the ship.

-Obi-wan is surprisingly intense when it comes to judging the contestants on Space Bachelor.

-They alternate between ruthlessly mocking the soap operas they watch and ruthlessly defending their favorite character's decisions.

-Ahsoka usually falls asleep first, Obi-wan sleeps the longest and Anakin is near impossible to wake up.

-The clones are very protective of this time because their jedi rarely get time together to just be happy and relaxed together.

-Rex and Cody (and many, many others, it's basically become a rite of passage in the 501st and 212th) have tackled people who tried to interrupt them.

-Rex probably got Anakin to sign some official sounding document that gives them permission to do this. 

-Those who get past the clones and reach the door get glared at, or blatantly ignored.

-Ahsoka had been very surprised when she opened the door to an aide only for them to get tackled out of sight by Hardcase. She promptly shut the door and went back to winning at candy land.

-If their coms go off for something Important the situation is dealt with with brutal efficiency.

-It is well known on both sides of the war how Grievous attacked a planet nearby and lost half his fleet in record time. 

-In the temple it is known that if you try to interrupt them and they not only answer but welcome you inside you must not sit down or eat anything they offer or you aren't leaving for at least two hours.

-Padawans talk of how half the council wound up playing team space monopoly. Four cases of cheating occurred (that were caught anyway) before Stass Allie knocked and was declared banker. Mace and Anakin won.

-Back to the beginning, Ahsoka knew that Anakin and Obi-wan would disappear for a few days and that it'd been happening for years before the war and it wasn't stopping now. She'd been shushed by older padawans when walking past their door, been herded away by masters with her fellow younglings, heard others talking about how it was That Weekend.

-She thought it was a Team thing, just another reason they were unorthodox, another way they hung on to each other after Anakin was knighted, not something she would regularly be part of.

-Cue her confusion when after a siege, Anakin had dropped an arm onto her shoulders, finished a call by telling Obi-wan to get his ass over to The Resolute asap or they'd start "Real House-Spouses of Level 5100" without him, shared a nod with Rex, and pulled her after him out the door.

-She asked where he was taking her and Anakin gave her a grin and said "mandatory weekend sleepover, you can't tell me you didn't know these happened, Snips." At her "yeah, I know, that's your thing with Master Kenobi. But, where are you taking me?" Anakin stopped in the middle of the corridor, paused, looked at her and then turned to face her and very seriously informed her that as his padawan she's part of this lineage and that means they look out for each other and are there for each other when things get bad. Explained that once upon a time there was a desert kid who wasn't too sure about his place in the order and a mission gone south. Told her that if she didn't want to she didn't have too and they wouldn't hold it against her, but it's- it's their Thing and it's tradition and she's part of that now and-

-Obi-wan finds them hugging in the middle of the corridor.

-And war is hell, the jedi are peacekeepers not soldiers, and they're losing good people, and Ahsoka's growing up too fast the same way Anakin did

-but Anakin cooks and puts too much food on the coffee table, before all but wrestling him onto the couch, dramatically claiming victory in a way that makes Ahsoka smile, then he doesn't get off him and throws a piece of popcorn at the holoscreen when someone makes a particularly petty comment

-and Ahsoka's managed a fairly impressive balancing act of food on her plate, wrapped in a blanket he didn't know they had in here, and she's looking a little more relaxed and a little less lost. Though she keeps glancing at them, something like disbelief on her face.

-and Obi-wan is breaking a bar of chocolate apart, pointing out particularly weak arguments made by the people on screen because honestly? That's the tact you're taking?, and asking Anakin what trouble he got into now because the food isn't as spicy as usual.

-There will be many frivolous uses of the force to avoid getting up, and they probably aren't setting the best example of serene and composed jedi for Ashoka.

-He hasn't been this relaxed in weeks.

-tomorrow there might be a crisis and if there isn't Anakin will teach Ahsoka about cooking while he's going to be supervised if he gets anywhere near the kitchen because Anakin is never going to let him live down the soup incident and he will almost certainly have to defend his Guess Who winning streak ("It's two games, master" "two games, in a row, that you haven't won, Anakin" "What's Guess Who?")

-certainly in a few days they're going to be back on the front and they might get sent to opposite ends of the galaxy and force knows what will happen but right now his lineage is safe and healthy and happy.

Tagging @jasontoddiefor because originally I submitted the concept as an ask. This is probably going to be the closest I get to writing it but we'll see.

[wing-ed-thing]

Cabaret (Might Guy x Reader, Chapter V)

Synopsis: You can't stand Might Guy. Honestly, how could anyone be so boisterously unaware and sickeningly positive? Your heart sinks as the both of you are teamed up to infiltrate and collect information from the Hidden Sound's gritty nightlife. Maybe losing yourselves in the dark of the underground will help you both come to an understanding.

Word count: 2,659 

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIIIChapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI 

Warnings: Drinking, minor sexual harassment (a guy puts a hand on your leg)

Sundown approached quickly, but you made it to your destination before it became dark. Your heels once again sunk into the fabric of the velvet carpet of “HEAVEN”. Mama-san did not stand at the front podium today. Instead, in front of it sat the blonde bartender from the previous day. When she saw you, her visible excitement showed immediately as she bounded towards you.

“You must be Takeuchi-san!” she cried, her high pigtails bouncing behind her. “It is so nice to meet you! You are so pretty!” She grabbed your gloved hands. You could practically see sparkles in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Your eyebrows knit together as you crouched sheepishly, “And you are?” The blonde stumbled back with a gasp that made you jump. You looked about wildly as to find the source of such an extreme reaction, only finding yourself.

“I didn’t introduce myself!” She slapped herself across the cheek. Your eyes widened as wide as your jaw dropped. You probably could have heard the smack from across the room. How do you respond to that? She shook herself out of it before you could figure it out. She bowed deeply, “I am Chiasa Fuse! It is very nice to meet you!”

“Um… hello, Fus-”

“Please call me Chi-chan! Oh, I should have just told you that from the beginning… That’s what everyone else calls me!” She looked down, playing with the hem of her white, floral gown. Tears appeared in her waterline. You took a breath, you could definitely not get touched by this one.

“So… I’m guessing Daisuke-san arranged for you to show me the ropes?” Chiasa snapped up, tears near gone at this point as she exclaimed,

“Yes! Of course!” She took your hands again, leading you off and you silently thanked Kami for your thick gloves.

Only staff populated the main lounge between custodial workers who disinfected tables to the hostesses who were waiting for opening. Daisuke sat at the bar where you found Guy. Guy’s appearance did not differ much from the previous night. The black button up had been traded in for a white one and a bowtie sat between his collarbones. You pursed your lips. Your eyes meeting Guy’s, you gave him a playful look of approval. He winked in subtle response.

“Ah! Takeuchi-san!” Daisuke roared. He held up his drink. “This man makes the best daiquiri I’ve ever tasted! Why didn’t you tell me that I’d be in for the experience of a lifetime?!” He cackled, turning back to Guy who gave a humble chuckle. You returned the expression.

“Unfortunately, I did not know Aoki-san before coming here.” You told him politely. “Believe me, if I knew I would have told you!”

“Oooh, yes I heard you journeyed from the Leaf! I hear that place is full of savage ninja.” Chiasa gossiped.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you in action next, my dear,” Daisuke told you. He hesitated. “You do know we have a room for the girls to prepare in, correct? You don’t have to make the trip here all dolled up.” Chiasa yelped again.

“I was just taking her there, Daisuke-san!”

“Wonderful, you are in exceptional hands then!” Chiasa tugged you towards the same entrance to the right of the bar.

“Always a pleasure, Daisuke-san.” You made one last smile at the two men before you were tugged down the hall.

Chiasa opened the first door. You glanced to your left at Daisuke’s office door at the end of the hall before you were pulled into the room. The walls were lined with vanities and they sat back to back in a row down the middle. There were only about 6 girls in the otherwise empty room.

“Hey ladies! We got someone new working with us!” Chiasa announced to the room. “This is Takeuchi Yume!” You couldn’t get a word in as Chiasa then dragged you over to a stool in front of a vanity against the right hand wall. The other girls hardly batted an eye. She sat down at the one next to it, looking at you expectantly with her hands under her chin. You slowly lowered yourself onto to sit.

“This is mine?” You asked.

“Yep! And it’s right next to mine!” Joy. You took in your new space. The table held three drawers: one on the top left, a long one in the middle, and one on the top right. A tri fold mirror sat in front of you, a ring light clipped onto the top and hanging down. The top had been cleaned off, but dust remained in the crevices where the mirror met the table. “You can store all your cosmetics here and I cleared you a space in the closet.” Chiasa motioned to the back of the room. “We share dresses here a lot, but if you don’t want anyone to touch something of yours, you can just put your name on it. You should bring your things in tomorrow!”

“Thank you, Chi-chan, I really appreciate it.” She reached out to give your hair a puff.

“It looks like you don’t need any of my help when it comes to the aesthetics! I can tell you’re that classy type… though I’ll tell you, you shouldn’t be afraid of going overboard a little, especially if you want to get into the back lounge.”

“Ugh, you gotta be lucky and damn popular to get into there. Don’t even try.” An exasperated sigh came from your right. You turned, watching the hostess wrestle with a large hairpiece. The brunette piece sat in a beehive on her head. Her hands tussled with the clips.

“What’s in the back lounge?” You wondered. The new hostess smoothed out her hair in the mirror before turning to you.

“It’s where the men talk their business of course.” The woman told you. She extended a hand, “Yuzuki, the girls call me Yu-Yu.” You took her hand graciously.

“They always order a lot of drinks. It’s one of the big reasons everyone wants back there. The commission is huge!” Chiasa explained, her lips scrunched. “There’s always so many of them!”

“And who doesn’t like a bit of gossip?” Yuzuki’s voice rang silkily in your ears. “Of course, you have to be invited and pray you won’t end up at the bottom of Lightning Bay.” You eyed her curiously.

“Why’s that?” You questioned. Yuzuki blinked at you, eyes widened in surprise. She gave out a small laugh. Reaching into one of her drawers, she took out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Plucking one out, she lit it, taking a drag.

“Honey,” Amusement carried in her voice. She locked eyes with you. “This is the Hidden Sound. If Orochimaru’s boys want you, they’re going to take you and sure as hell won’t hesitate to kill you either, dear.”

“But you won’t have to deal with them, Takeuchi-san!” Chiasa reminded you quickly, leaning forward to hiss at Yuzuki. “You’re scaring her!”

“No,” You denied, turning back to Yuzuki, “I want to hear more about the back lounge.” Yuzuki took another long drag of her cigarette, blowing it out the side of her mouth. The door to the dressing room swung open.

“It’s almost time!” Another hostess announced into the room. “Thirty more minutes to opening!” She shut the door.

“Another time,” She sighed. Yuzuki hiked up her gown, maneuvering around her stool. “My regulars are an unsavory group of men, but they pay my rent. I want to get in a few drinks to prepare.”

“You drink on the job?” She huffed, taking one last puff.

“We’re drinking all night, dear. That’s what brings in the cash. I swear, it’s the only way to do this job.” Yuzuki put out her snout out in the ashtray on her vanity and quickly disappeared through the door.

“Oh, Takeuchi-san!” You turned towards Chiasa, who once again, gripped your hands tightly.

“Please, you can call me Yume, Chi-chan.” Chiasa’s eyes sparkled.

“Yume-san-”

“No need to be so formal, really, Chi-chan.” She took a trembling breath.

“Yume, I’m so happy to work with you! You’ll be rotating tables with me tonight.” Chiasa looked down at your gloves. “You’re going to take these off, right?” You hesitated.

“Yes, of course.” You slowly slipped them off your hands, placing them on the vanity. Chiasa stood abruptly.

“Alright! Let’s go!” She showed you out the door. “So you’re new here, so pretty much the goal for tonight is to get you out there! We get bonuses for bringing in regulars, so we’ll be rotating tables. A lot of groups get pretty rowdy so you’ll always have a few of us gals by your side! Now, the customers aren’t supposed to get too handsy… ” Chiasa’s voice faded in your ears as you caught sight of the bar. “Think of it all like a game! That’s how I think of it, like pretend!...”

The entire cast of hostesses must have been gathered around the bar and Guy was the center of their attention. A single cup sat on the counter as Guy juggled four liquor bottles. The containers bounced off his wrists and elbows. One landed on his forehead, two balanced on his left bicep, and the last he caught in a reverse grip, pouring the last of the drink. The women clapped as he pushed the drink to the woman at the center.

“Wow,” Chiasa exhaled. You realized that you stopped to watch and somewhere along the way, Chiasa had ceased talking. “Genki-san is amazing.”

“Okay, girls. You can all ogle at closing.” Mama-san walked briskly into the lounge, waving her arms. Her sleeves waved like butterfly wings as she motioned.

“Mama-san!” Guy greeted jovially. “Might I interest you in a drink?” The older woman adjusted herself.

“No thank you, Genki. While the offer is much appreciated, you are distracting my girls.” She told him sternly.

“Apologies ma’am, I’ll try not to let it happen again.” That answer seemed to satisfy Mama-san. She strutted down the hall to Daisuke’s office.

Not too long after opening, you had your first table. You and Chiasa sat down at a booth of Sound Ninja. You looked at the table, noticing a large laminated sheet. On it showed the faces of the groups of hostesses working with small descriptions by their faces. Just as demeaning as you imagined…

“Hiya boys!” Chiasa winked. “What are we drinking tonight?” She leaned seductively over the table and the ninja gave a rowdy cheer. She made it look effortless, wrapping each one around her finger one by one. Chiasa turned to you, pulling you close to her. “Yume-chan, let’s get a round of champagne for these gentlemen!” She went around, plopping herself in the middle of two.

You sighed in relief as you went off to grab the champagne. Something about locking eyes with Guy at the bar sent a wave of relief through your system. As the only familiar person in a hundred foot radius, it shouldn’t have surprised you. You relayed the order and in no time he had a tray prepared. Guy’s eyes met yours. With a small smile, he gave a slight nod of his head in encouragement. It settled your nerves, but not by much as you walked back to the booth. Setting the tray on the table, you plucked up one flute.

Following Chiasa’s lead, you sat between the two other men. She had the group laughing as the compliments kept rolling from her tongue.

“Evening… gentlemen.” You greeted stiffly. Chiasa remained in your peripheral and you attempted your best mimicry. “I’d imagine two… strapping young ninja such as yourselves would… um… want to be doing something much more dangerous…” You cringed inwardly. The ninja on your left chuckled.

“We’re here to blow off steam, sweetheart, not talk about work.” A hand made its way to your thigh, resting on the fabric of your dress. You looked down, the hand and your drink in your focus. You gulped and unlike last night, angry heat did not rise up your spine. Instead, inklings of fear spread throughout your system as you suddenly felt helplessness set in. You gripped your drink tightly, choosing to force a giggle as you quickly downed your beverage.

“Whoa there!” The ninja to your right exclaimed, an arm coming to sling over your shoulder. He flicked his sloppy black bangs to the side. “He said ‘blow off some steam’ not ‘black out’! You know you’re supposed to sip changaene, right?” Those words sounded familiar. You set the empty glass on the tray. You took in the man’s words and choppy black hair. You thought about Guy’s mini student. If he was older, he might end up looking like the ninja sitting next to you.

You were already feeling warmth from the burn on the back of your throat. Your lips puckered for a moment at the sourness. The heat gathered in your chest. You reached up, caressing his high cheekbones. You thought about Guy’s cheekbones, how easy talking to him was last night.

“Well, this is a party, isn’t it?” Your hand came to envelop the one on your thigh. With subtlety, you worked it down your leg. “What do we say? Are we ready for something stronger?” The table whooped in excitement and you made a swanky show of getting up to get the drinks.

You traveled to the bar once more, twice, three times. The more you drank, the looser you got. The more you drank, the more the ninja to your right looked like Might Guy. You sat happily between the two ninja, telling anecdotes. You weren’t sure if you were actually funny or if it was just the alcohol, but the anxiety slowly began to dissipate.

“You really pretended to be the daimyō’s daughter?” The ninja to the left of Chiasa questioned, nearly in tears.

“No one noticed for the whole day.” You held your hands up dramatically. The whole booth was in hysterics. You felt the rumble of the two men next to you. You looked up at the clock. Their time was up.

“Oh no!” Chiasa gasped. “It looks like we’ve run out of time!” She pouted. “Would you like a time extension?” The ninja began to shift in their seats and stood.

“No, thank you darling. We’ll be back soon to visit, don’t worry, beautiful.” One of the ninja slipped a few ryō into Chiasa’s dress. The whole lot of them paid the tab and left.

You and Chiasa cleared the table, taking to the trays to the small kitchen across from the dressing room and behind the bar. You got your second, third and fourth tables shortly after and the more tables, the drunker you became. The words slipped out of your mouth with ease: the flattery, the flirting.

You were at your fifth table when you saw it. In your peripheral came a small group of men walking into the door to the left of the bar. The back room, you assumed. A woman trailed behind them.  The woman sat at the bar and stayed there until closing.

You watched as one by one, they disappeared through the entrance. You found yourself staring and a mask staring back at you. Silver tuffs peaked out behind it. The masked figure slowly brought up an arm. The holes in his mask were black, neverending. You suddenly felt more sober. His fingers folded, he pointed directly at you. When you blinked, he was gone. You took a drink.

You rid your mind of the masked mystery man. When you left, you saw the woman waiting outside. She didn’t acknowledge you. The men in the back room remained after closing, but you were urged by Chiasa to leave. Guy stayed behind to serve drinks so you walked home alone.

You made it back to your lodgings with no issue, but out of the corner of your eye, you thought that you saw silver.

[collapse-and-comfort]

BTHB Part 5 ~ Serum Injection

The fifth fill for my @badthingshappenbingo​ card! This was inspired by this prompt��by @heartlesslywhumping​. I’ve had that prompt in mind for a very long time and I finally got around to writing something for it! 

Square Filled: Serum Injection

Fandom: Original Work

Word Count: 2,473

CW: Needles/forced drugging in a (sort of) medical setting

“No, stop! What are you doing?!” Blix shouted as the men in gray dragged him into the room. “What are you doing?!”

They gave him no answer as he strained against them. They pulled him back toward the bed in the middle of the room. He should have fought. He should have bared his fangs and punched and kicked, or even used his power. But instead, he’d tried to understand, tried to reason with them.

“I didn’t do anything!” He heard the way his voice cracked and he heard the desperate squeak of his boots on the floor.

“Doesn’t matter,” one of them grunted.

The four men hauled Blix’s lean body onto the bed with coordinated, unyielding force. He tried to shove them away, but they pinned his down arms and his legs. He arched his back and let out a frustrated breath.

“Let me go,” he tried as he flattened himself back down to regroup. His voice was edging close to begging. “Please.”

They didn’t acknowledge him. Blix imagined that, from their perspective, they may as well have been handling a wild, senseless beast. His mind screamed for his team to come and save him. Wren would have gone for Bowen by now. They were coming for him; they had to be.

His gaze leaped from face to face, but he found no sympathy on any of them. He searched for something, anything, that would help him. There was nothing. A man in a white coat, carrying a vial and a hypodermic needle, entered his line of sight. Blix went deathly still for a moment and his dark eyes went wide.

“What’s that?! What are you doing?!”

Blix’s tongue suddenly felt clumsy in his mouth.

“Shh,” the man said as he stuck the needle into the vial. “I assure you it’s perfectly harmless.”

Blix began to struggle again as the man - a doctor? -drew the violet liquid into the syringe. He snapped the cylinder, then pushed the plunger, forcing out some of the liquid. The drops glinted in the light as they rose, then plummeted. Blix shook his head from side to side as the doctor stepped closer.

“What is that?” he asked again. His heart slammed in his chest as he eyed the needle. He could hear the hysterical pitch his voice was reaching alongside his short, rabid breaths, but he was far beyond caring how it sounded.

“You don’t have to do this!” he yelled as he bucked. “No! Please don’t! Nonono.”

“Be still,” the doctor said. He put a firm, gloved hand on Blix’s jawline and turned his head to expose his neck. “You’ll just feel some discomfort.”

He was right. To Blix’s humiliation, he whimpered and screwed his eyes shut as the needle pierced his vein. The doctor was expressionless as he depressed the plunger, then withdrew the needle. The serum’s cold burn made Blix’s eyes go wide and he could feel the sting of tears.

“It’s done,” the doctor said without any discernible warmth or commiseration. Blix began to struggle again, but whatever was coursing through him forced his head back down and made the room spin.

What’s done? What did you do? He thought. His head lolled to the side; he looked at the still-open door and longed to see his boss and Wren come through.

Blix’s world lurched and he moaned as his fear and panic transformed.

---

Even after Bowen accepted payment for the job his team completed, he smiled and nodded and continued a dialogue with the man who paid them. Maintaining positive trade relations had become instinct over the years, and working with this station could potentially be very lucrative. In his mind, though, The Ferox was touching down on a planet without development or inhabitants. It had been too long since he’d taken anything resembling a vacation.

The team won’t be opposed to a break, he thought.

“I have another job for you and your team if you’re interested,” his client said.

It was Bowen’s impulse to say yes, but before he could, Wren found them. Bowen stopped shy of introducing his second-in-command when he saw that Wren’s ash-blond hair was more disheveled than usual and his lip was split.

“They took Blix,” Wren said.

“Who did?” Bowen asked.

“Some assholes in gray uniforms,” Wren said as he swept his hair back. His jaws were set and his shoulders were squared.

Before Bowen could ask where Blix had been taken, their client spoke up.

“Is your friend, by chance, Ventrexi?”

“Half,” Bowen said.

“Why does that matter?” Wren asked.

“I’m relatively new to this place,” the client said. “But long story short, if a Ventrexi visits this territory, they’re required to be medicated to prevent the threat their psychic abilities present.”

“That’s bullshit! Blix wouldn’t do anything like that!”

Bowen put a hand on Wren’s shoulder.

Easy, he willed him, though Wren was absolutely right.

“Unfortunately,” their client said as he crossed his arms and cast a wary glance at Wren, “That’s not a risk The Commission is willing to take. They probably took him to The Well.”

The client shrugged and minutely rolled his eyes when he saw that Bowen and Wren were nonplussed.

“I don’t know. It’s just what they call the place they take the Ventrexi if they have to.”

Bowen and Wren made their way easily enough, and they found themselves in a quiet, well-ordered section of the station. Bowen hadn’t known what to expect, but this wasn’t it. The pale gray walls and low lights purveyed a sense of drab, clinical calm that made him eager to get back to their ship.

A man in a white coat looked up from the screen he’d been focused on.

“Can I help you?” he asked as he looked over the pair as he awaited the answer to his dispassionate inquiry.

“One of my crew was brought here,” Bowen said. His voice was direct, but not antagonistic. He hoped it would remain so. “We’ll be taking him with us.”

“The young Ventrexi-”

“His name’s Blix,” Wren bit out.

The doctor looked between the two before continuing.

“I can’t allow him to leave. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Bowen asked. He kept his voice calm despite the fact he could feel his temper flaring. In his periphery, he could see Wren take a step closer to the doctor, who either didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

“I administered the medication his people are required to have,” he said. “Unfortunately, he seems to have had a reaction to it.”

“What sort of reaction?” Bowen asked as he narrowed deep his gray eyes at the doctor.

“Not to worry,” the doctor said. “He’s being monitored closely.”

“I asked you what kind of reaction,” Bowen said, letting any pretense of cordiality slip away. The doctor seemed to weigh his options before answering.

“He’s disoriented,” he began. “His heart rate is elevated. I’m afraid he grew too agitated and we were forced to restrain him.”

Wren let out a low growl and Bowen worried it wasn’t just for show. He raised a hand up, calling for stillness and reason, though he was wrestling with it himself. The doctor didn’t balk at Wren’s deep, angry vocalization.

“Duomorphs are interesting creatures,” the doctor offered with a cold half smile. Intrigue glittered in his eyes as he regarded Wren. It added unease to Bowen’s ire.

“Take us to Blix,” Bowen said. He refused to take whatever emotional bait the doctor thought he was dangling. Apparently, thankfully, so did Wren.

The doctor nodded and gave Wren another thoughtful glance before turning and guiding them behind closed doors and into an equally sombre hall, the length of which boasted three observation rooms on each side.

Bowen’s own name reached his ears, and he and Wren sped down the hall until they found Blix on the opposite side of a window.

“Bowen?!” Blix called as he tugged at the restraints around his wrists. “Help! Help me, please! I’m sorry! Please?! Wren?!”

“He can’t see you,” the doctor told them as thought it would lessen the pain of what they saw. “Two-way glass.”

Wren tried to open the door to the room, but found it locked. A bustling rescue wasn’t going to be the order of the day and Bowen could see the anger mount in Wren when he realized that.

“Get him out of here,” Wren demanded as he wrenched at the knob again. His eyes flashed like hellfire. “Now.’”

Shit, Bowen thought. He trusted Wren not to transform, trusted him to control himself -he’d come a long way from the wild thing that Bowen had taken in -but he wasn’t sure that a display of Wren’s dual nature was the right pressure to add in this situation, especially if the people in this place were so intent on controlling powers.

“Give him back to us,” Bowen said. “And we’ll be on our way.”

The doctor shook his head.

“It’s in his best interest to stay here. At least for the time being. Just until the effects of the serum have lessened.”

“How long?” Wren asked before Bowen could.

“Difficult to say,” the doctor said. His hand hovered over the row of vials. “This serum is meant to suppress the Ventrexi’s ability to manipulate minds and emotions.”

The doctor turned his attention to his frantic patient and Bowen thought he saw something - Uncertainty? Aggravation? - ghost over the doctor’s features.

“I’ve never seen this reaction before.”

Bowen eyed the line of half a dozen vials on a metal table outside the room. Each was filled with a violet liquid. The knowledge that that was what was coursing through Blix’s veins made Bowen want to sweep them off the table and watch the glass shatter. With a deft hand, Bowen palmed a vial instead.

Blix’s pleas from the other side of the window grew in intensity. It made Bowen want to pull Blix close. Anything to banish all his dread and desperation. Bowen’s heart ached as Blix’s fearful, unfocused eyes searched for help and each of his limbs pulled so harshly at the restraints that there were sure to be bruises.  

Blix fell back on the mattress. He panted as he continued to twist and beg. Bowen watched the sharp rise and fall of Blix’s chest and he knew the doctor was right. A controlled environment would be best for Blix until he was able to calm down.

When Blix began to sob, Bowen’s fingernails bit into his palms.

Wren’s hand remained on the doorknob as he glared at the doctor. Bowen knew he needed to do or say something that would move this situation along.

“Wren?”

Wren straightened and met Bowen’s eyes, prepared to act on his orders, violently if necessary.

“Go and find Wes. Tell him to meet us back at the ship. I’ll stay here until Blix is ready to be moved.”

Wren’s face fell, but his eyes burned. Bowen moved his head from side to side. The motion was nearly imperceptible, but it was enough that Wren relented. He spared Blix a worried glance before starting on his way. Bowen stepped in front of him.

“Make it quick,” Bowen told Wren as he pressed the vial into his hand. Wren’s features lightened with understanding and after a sharp little nod, he left.

Blix’s face was tearstained. He let out a feeble “Please,” as he tugged ineffectually at the restraints. “Help me.”

I can’t, Bowen thought. I’m so sorry, Blix.

Bowen questioned how long he could stand there, but he knew the answer. He would wait and watch as long as it took for his crewmember - brave, kind, empathetic Blix who would never hurt someone if he didn’t have to -to come out of this. The guilt would gnaw on Bowen for far, far longer.

The doctor entered the room and Bowen forgot to breathe as he watched Blix squirm and flinch away when the doctor tried to touch him. The straps held him tight. Blix’s pleading had become quiet; instead, he wept and writhed. And there wasn’t a damn thing Bowen could do.

When the doctor came out of the room, he suggested more time.

As long as it takes, Bowen thought as he cast the doctor a baleful glance.

Finally -Bowen didn’t know how long -Blix’s body went slack. His eyes remained open and staring, and though Bowen knew better, he would have sworn Blix was looking directly at him. When the doctor finally allowed him into the room to gather Blix, Blix’s head rolled toward him.

“Bone?” he slurred. “Knew you’d come.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” he said. He couldn’t meet Blix’s gaze as he unfastened the restraints. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The trip back to The Ferox was a slow one. Blix leaned against Bowen and apologized whenever he stumbled. Bowen just hushed him and felt his heart grow heavier each time. They drew little attention in the hangar and when they reached the ship, no one, including Wren and Wes had returned yet. Perhaps it was just as well. Blix didn’t seem to be in danger; for the time being, at least he’d be spared the prying eyes of the rest of the crew.

They made it to Blix’s room, (It was the sort of messy that would only require a few minutes of effort to clean up.) and Bowen lowered Blix down onto the bed.

“Go ahead and lay down,” Bowen said. He squeezed one of Blix’s shoulders and tried to smile.

Blix nodded and lowered himself down onto his side and pulled his legs up onto the bed. Bowen reached down and unlaced Blix’s boots before removing them and setting them down neatly by the foot of the bed.

“There,” Bowen said as he straightened. “Try to relax. Wes will be here soon.”

Bowen saw Blix’s lower lip tremble and thought perhaps his face was going to crumple and that he was going to weep. Bowen prepared himself to anchor Blix through a fresh bout of emotional turmoil, but Blix swallowed and looked up at Bowen with big, dark eyes. They were red-rimmed and weary, but they were more present than they had been moments before.

“Why did they do that to me?”

Bowen sat down helplessly on the mattress and put a heavy hand on Blix’s shoulder. He knew they had taken one look at Blix’s sharp canines and pointed ears, and seen only his Ventrexi lineage. They’d only seen vicious intentions. They hadn’t seen Blix.

Bowen should have known. He should have been aware of that situation in the area. He should have been able to warn Blix about it. He sat there, silently apologizing for something Blix would never think to blame him for.

“They were assholes,” Bowen said as his thumb rubbed back and forth across Blix’s shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that.”

[omgsquee2001]

Chapter 1

There were six tables in the school library. The tables were in two rows of three. Breana sat closer to the back, leaning against the chair, her feet resting against the middle one. Breana was examining her nails, picking at the chewed on cuticles. Claire Standish, clearly the most popular girl in school, the Prom Queen, walked in and took a seat at the table near the front. Breana glanced up from examining her fingers as Brian Johnson came in, choosing to sit behind Claire. Brian was a kind kid who mostly kept to himself and his table of stereotyped nerds. Andrew Clark came in after. Andrew, or Andy, was pretty well built. He was part of the wrestling team. He was stereotyped as a jock.

Andrew gestured at the chair next to Claire, silently asking if he could sit there. She just shrugged and he sat in the chair, setting his backpack down next to him. John Bender walked in, clearly not giving a shit about the situation he was in. He touched everything on the librarian’s desk, taking a few things in the process. Breana rolled her eyes. She was well aware of John Bender’s reputation. He was a flirt, a pervert and a playboy. He was stereotyped as the school criminal and rule breaker. 

Bender walked over to where Brian was sitting and pointed to the table on the opposite side of the Library. Brian sighed and reluctantly got up and moved, sitting right in front of Breana. Said girl rolled her eyes at Bender’s actions.

“Jackass.” She murmured to herself. Allison Reynolds was the last to walk in. Breana’s eyes followed the girl as she walked around the library and sat in the farthest corner, right behind Breana. She had seen Alison around at school. Alison often sat alone, stereotyped as a loner, just like Breana was. Andrew and Claire, who had also glanced at Alison walking in, looked at each other and snickered. Breana clenched her fists and rolled her eyes. “Fucking pretty girls and jocks.” She muttered. Brian turned and looked at Breana in confusion. He then turned away when Breana caught his eye. 

Speak of the devil. Richard Vernon walked into the library, looking out at the students in the seats. Vernon was a teacher at Shermer High School. However, he wasn’t a very good one. He held a stack of papers in his left hand. “Well, well.” He started. He addressed the group with such disrespect it made Breana wonder how he ever got the job. Mr. Vernon smirked. “Here we are! I want to congratulate you for being on time,” he said, looking pointedly at Bender and Breana. Claire raised her hand, pausing his speech.

“Excuse me, sir? I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention, but, um, I don't think I belong in here.” Claire said, pointing to the desk in which she sat. Breana sighed in exasperation. She leaned her head back against the library chair.

“Oh good God, kill me now.” She muttered. Vernon clearly didn’t care. He just continued to talk. He glanced down at his watch.

“It is now seven-o-six.” He said. Brian looked at his watch as well. “You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here. To ponder the error of your ways,” Vernon said. Breana rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, as if visiting your mom is an error.” She muttered. She was extremely pissed off about the situation that landed her into detention in the first place. Bender spit into the air and catches the spit in his mouth again. Clearly he had been in detention before and was keen on making everyone there miserable. Claire looked like she was going to gag. Breana just mad a disgusted look at the boy. “And you may not talk,” Vernon continued, pointing at Claire and Breana. Apparently, he had heard her comment. “You will not move from these seats.” He said, looking at Brian as he got up to move seats. Vernon glanced up at Bender and Breana. Breana was leaning her head back with her eyes closed. Bender was doing the same thing, resting his feet in the middle chair. “And you,” Vernon pulled the chair out from under Bender's feet. “Will not,” he walked over to Breana. He took her red beanie off of her head and smacked her in the face with it, startling the teen. She glared up at Vernon. “Sleep.” He finished, throwing the beanie on the ground. He turned and walked up the isle towards the front of the library. Breana flipped Vernon off and leaned down, sighing as she picked up the beanie and put it back on her head. The beanie had been the last gift she had gotten from her mother. It was her most prized possession. “Alright people we're gonna try something a little different today,” Vernon said, walking around the library. “We are going to write an essay,” Vernon walked by each desk, placing down paper and pencils. “No less than a thousand words, describing to me who you think you are.” Vernon finished. Breana sighed as she looked down at the utensils on her desk.

“This is so stupid.” She muttered, picking up her pencil and tapping it against the desk. Vernon looked at Breana.

“What was that, Lancaster?” He asked. She rolled her eyes and glared at him.

“Nothing, sir.” She said, venom dripping from her voice. Vernon nodded in satisfaction, ignoring the anger in Breana’s voice. Bender rolled his eyes.

“Is this a test?” He asked. Vernon finished passing out paper and pencils and took no notice of Bender.

“And when I say essay,” Vernon continued. “I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mr. Bender? Miss Lancaster?” Vernon asked, looking at the two. Breana gave a lazy thumbs up and a lazy smile.

“I heard ya loud and clear.” She said.

“Crystal.” Bender said, rolling his eyes. Vernon nodded.

“Good. Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself. Maybe you'll even decide whether or not you care to return.” He said. Brian raised his hand and then stood up.

“You know, I can answer that right now sir. That'd be no, no for me, ‘cause,”

“Sit down, Johnson.” Vernon snapped, cutting the boy off. Breana sighed and clenched her free hand into a fist. She hated the way Vernon talked to them all like he was better than all of them. Brian opened his mouth then closed it and nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” He said and sat back down.

“My office,” Vernon said, pointing out the doors. “Is right across that hall. Any monkey business is ill-advised.” He said, looking around at the students. Breana rolled her eyes, fiddling with her pencil. “Any questions?” Vernon asked. Bender raised his hand.

“Yeah, I gotta question.” He said. Vernon looked at him suspiciously. “Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?” Bender asked. Breana bit back a smirk and a chuckle. Despite his asshole appearance, Bender knew better than anyone how to piss Vernon off. And it was pretty funny to watch. Vernon pointed at Bender.

“I'll give you the answer to that question, Mr. Bender, next Saturday.” He said. Bender rolled his eyes. “Don't mess with the bull young man, you'll get the horns.” Vernon said. He then turned around and walked out the door, heading to his office. Breana sighed and leaned her head back. Bender shook his head.

“That man, is a brownie hound.” He said. Breana bit back a smile and a chuckle. Maybe Saturday detention wasn’t so bad after all.

<<<<<<<<<<

//Here’s chapter 1. I hope you all like it. Yes, I made Breana bisexual. I’m going to make Allison bisexual as well. Please don’t get upset at me for this. It’s just a fan fiction that I came up with. If you are uncomfortable with this subject, then please go read one of my other stories. Thank you.//

[itsadamcole]

engaged for the holidays

fem!reader x adam cole

Adam is planning a huge proposal for reader on Christmas Eve while they're both home in Pennsylvania, visiting reader's parents in Philadelphia ... "nothing else matters except for you"

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: marriage proposal, nervous!adam

— day 6. i can’t believe i’ve managed to do this six days in a row —

masterlist || request an imagine here

***

"Everything has to be perfect, Roddy," I say. "I can't mess this up. Tell me what the plan is again."

Roderick looks at me and says, "Kyle and I will bring Y/N to the ice skating rink, tell her you're meeting us there after you're done training. You and Bobby will decorate the rink with candles and rose petals."

I nod and say, "You take Bobby and Kyle back to Y/N's parents house and wait for us to get back."

Roddy nods and says, "Yep."

"Okay, everything sounds good," I say. "Hopefully I can pull this off." I play with the black velvet box as I wait anxiously to leave.

I rented out the outside skating rink in Philadelphia for an hour tonight. Just for me and Y/N. It cost a decent amount of money just to propose to her, so hopefully she does say yes and I wouldn't have wasted a couple thousand on a ring, renting out the rink, buying the candles and petals. I really hope that she says yes to my proposal.

Y/N and I are spending Christmas with her parents. My parents and brother are driving over from Lancaster tomorrow morning to open presents with us. Roddy, Bobby, and Kyle fly home to Orlando tonight after we hopefully celebrate mine and Y/N's emgagement.

The boys and Y/N's parents have been working with me for weeks planning for this. The day is finally here and my nerves are settling in. Will she like it? Did I go too overboard? Will she actually say yes? So many questions run through my head.

Kyle interrupts my thoughts as he says, "Okay. We're gonna go get Y/N and meet you at the rink."

I nod and Kyle leaves with Roddy. Bobby makes sure the decorations are in the car before we leave, driving the few minutes to the rink.

Hopefully Y/N doesn't catch on to what I'm doing. I told her to wear something comfortable but something she'd usually wear to date night. I don't know.

My phone dings with a text. It's just Roderick telling me that they have picked up Y/N.

The rink is located in Center City. It's a popular outdoor skating rink. It's about ten at night, and that's when my rental time starts. The rink itself is only open to me and whoever I want to bring with me but I know people will probably be milling around and doing some last minute shopping.

Bobby and I pull up to the rink. I check in, with identification proof, then buy a pair of skates for me and Bobby so we can get the rink decorated.

Yes, I snuck skating lessons in within the past few weeks so I wouldn't fall on my face. Also yes, I practiced getting down on one knee on ice in skates.

After about fifteen minutes, the rink is decorated. Several dozen candles light the ice along the boards, and red rose petals lead the way from the entrance to the ice.

My phone dings again. Y/N's here.

***

Your POV

"Roddy!" you giggle as he puts a blindfold over your eyes in the car from behind you. It's been two minutes since you left your parents' house and you have no idea what's going on.

Kyle is driving, you sit in the passenger's seat beside him, and Roddy is in the back. "You better not be kidnapping me. I don't think Adam would like that."

Roderick laughs. Relax, Y/N," he says. "There is nothing to worry about. And trust us, Adam wouldn't let us kidnap you."

You feel the car park a little bit later. Roddy and Kyle get out before Roddy helps you out of the car.

Adam told you to wear something comfortable but something you'd wear to date night. So, you put on a long sleeve white turtle neck sweater tucked into a pair of black jeans. You wear an off white puffer jacket and black heeled ankle boots with a white beanie that has a little fuzzy ball on top of it. It's comfortable and something you'd wear to date night.

It has begun flurrying since you got in the car. You can feel an occasional snowflake on your face as Kyle and Roddy help you inside somewhere.

"Follow the path," Roddy says after he walks off somewhere. You were too busy trying to figure out where you were that you had no idea he walked off.

The blindfold comes off and you look around. You're at the ice rink in Philadelphia.

Roddy is holding out a pair of skates. You smile and take them.

Something you've always told Adam was how much you miss outdoor ice skating. It gets cold enough in the winters in Philadelphia for that to happen but in Florida? It's extremely rare.

You change into the ice skates and follow the path of rose petals. You smile when you make it to the rink, where you see none other than Adam Cole standing in the middle of the ice. His face lights up when he sees you.

He's wearing something comfortable but something he'd wear on a date. He's wearing a black button up with dark blue jeans under a black coat. His hair is up in a bun on the back of his head.

Candles line the ice along the boards. You step onto the ice, skating over to Adam.

"You did all this?" you ask, beaming.

Adam looks down at you and asks, "Do you like it? I didn't go too overboard did I?"

You smile and say, "The blindfold wasn't needed but I love it."

He laughs and holds out his hand. "Skate with me," Adam says.

Nodding, you take his hand and the two of you are off skating.

Adam's gotten better at skating. Usually when you go on dates at an ice rink, he's falling down or stumbling over his own feet. He hasn't faltered or fallen once. You're kind of proud.

The snow has gotten a little heavier and it's been close to twenty minutes since you arrived. It's been full over skating, laughing, and Adam smiling as you tell him how much you've missed skating outdoors.

"I thought that I'd surprise you before we left to go back home in a few days," Adam says, skating with you. The two of you stop a few seconds later. You look around at the people rushing around to get home after doing last minute shopping.

Adam looks down at you and says, "I, um, got you a little something and I was hoping that you would open it now."

Your attention is brought back to him as he pulls a little black box out of his coat pocket.

"Adam," you say, smiling. "You didn't have to get me anything at all." You think it might be a necklace in the box.

He smiles and says, "I wanted to get you something. This gift I'm giving you means so much to me and I hope it means that much to you too."

You watch as he opens the box, not revealing a necklace but a silver diamond engagement ring. The diamond is shaped like a raindrop and lined with little diamonds on a silver band. You cover you mouth, holding back tears.

"We've been together for almost four years," Adam says. "We met five years ago today. Christmas Eve 2015. You wore that beautiful red dress and your hair was curled. I wore that terrible green suit." You laugh and look at Adam. "But these past four years have been the best of my life. You were by my side when I won every championship, and when I lost said championship. You were by my side and calmed me down when I talked about quitting wrestling."

You listen to every word of Adam's speech and you don't dare speak a word.

Adam continues with, "Nothing else matters except for you, Y/N. If given the choice between you and my career, it would be you. I want you by my side when I retire. I want our family front row when they induct me into the WWE Hall of Fane one day. I don't want to go another day without you by my side."

Slowly and carefully, Adam gets down on one knee. He takes your left hand in his right as he presents you with the ring.

The tears you've been trying to hold back spill over your eyelids as Adam says, "Y/N L/N, my love. Will you marry me?"

Nerves are showing on Adam's face, it's obvious.

You don't hesitate to say, "Yes, Adam. I'll marry you."

The small crowd that has gather around the outside of the rink cheers and applauds. Adam stands up and takes the ring out of the box and sliding it on your left ring finger.

He leans down and kisses you. You kiss him back for a second before he pulls back and hugs you. You bury your face in his chest and say, "I am so in love with you, Adam Cole."

Adam kisses the top of your head and you say, "I am so in love with you, Y/N L/N. Or should I say Y/N Cole?"

You laugh and say, "I like the sound of that."

[jawlinedolan]

Sugar Cane Nymph (G.D.)

Sugar cane nymph (G.D.)

disclaimer-> i’m colombian so english is obviously NOT my first language. i’m fluent and generally have non-terrible grammar but I usually just  write academic stuff in english. i have only ever written fiction in my mother language before this so please bare with me while i get used to this.

this took a while to write omg it wasn’t supposed to be this long, anyways enjoy and PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE let me know what you guys think about it?💓💓🎊🎊

TELL ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE A PART TWO

summary: Grayson meets his mom’s new neighbor after an unexpected for legged visitor ivades Lisa’s Garden.

word count: +5k

warnings: some minor swearing, a whole buch of flustered grayson and hopefully a bit of humor? also i did not proof-read this sorry

Poor Grayson. For the millionth time that night something was disturbing his peaceful sleep. First the frogs and now his mom chooses this moment to do laundry.He thought half asleep. His hazy mind couldn’t for the life of him imagine any other reason for the incessant rumbling that was currently penetrating the walls of his tiny bedroom. He was mad. All of that crunching and crashing outside had taking him out of his amazing dream.

Oh, and was it an amazing one. So beautiful, just like her. He didn’t even know her name yet her image had managed to plague his every waking moment and now it seemed his slumber too. Not that he minded though, his dream had brought them closer.

He needed his sleep because he needed to wake up early, otherwise he would miss it, miss her. He had discovered her on his first morning run ever since coming back home. He always thought that Jersey had the prettiest countryside in all of North America and now he was sure of it. How could it not be with such a gorgeous nymph galoping around bareback on top her trusty steed. She was out there every morning at exactly 5:50 a.m.

Dammit. When had he became such a sap? Grayson knew he was attractive and he definitely knew how to use it. He had never encountered trouble wooing the ladies before. But this one, oh this one was different. There was something about her, he didn’t even knew her name but he just felt a certain way when he was around her. Well, more like spying behind a particularly dense bush that surrounded the little clearing where she ended her ride every morning. And that he had found on pure coincidence . If you could count trying to conspicuously keep up with a galloping horse for a quarter of mile as coincidence, that is. In his defense he just couldn’t let her get away, it was like she was pulling him without even knowing.

Each morning she would ride up there and he would be waiting behind the bush to watch the show. He could hear it’s powerful hoves before he could devise the big black stallion. Even her horse was different. It had a beautiful shinny black coat that the women at his mom’s beauty salon would envy. It’s mane and tale cascaded down his body in actual curls. Just like hers. He had never seen a horse that didn’t have straight hair.

It was sort of funny, one of the first things he noticed about the mysterious girl was her long and lucious curly hair. And she looked so in sync with the beast. With the dark curls and big brown eyes they almost looked like family.

She was short thing, as he noticed when he saw her stading next to the horse for the first time. He reckoned she would reach to his chest or his shoulders, at best. Her thick thighs hugged the animal’s torso right before she jumped off its back, squatting on her landing which made her delectable ass stretch her jeans. It all looked pretty profesional and innocent, still, he couldn’t help but imagine those beautiful legs wrapping around his waist while his big hads supported that delicious bottom.

Was he seriously getting exited at a half asleep memory or was it just morning wood?

He ignored that thought and kept his eyes closed, continuing with his hazy recollection.

Their conection was amazing, it was just her and her beast. She didn’t use a saddle or tack. She simply spoke to it, like one would another human being, and then she would scratch it’s neck. After that the thousand poud animal did everything she asked. It reared and bowed at her comand and, sometimes, she would let her hair down and they would spin and jump around almost like they were dancing.

No matter how many times he hid behind that bush to watch them, Grayson was in awe at every single thing she did. To him, she was completely mesmerizing.

So mesmerizing, in fact, that he could never bring himself to step out from behind his reliable bush to say hi. She seemed nice enough, surely she wouldn’t think he was some sort of creepy stalker, right? Except, at this point, he kind of was. But his little nymph didn’t need to know that.

Giving up on sleep he decided that if his mom felt the need to do the laundry two days in a row he better find a way of his own of being productive. But upon opening his eyes he was surprised to be greeted by darkness and those stupid frogs chirping outside. He tapped around until his long fingers got a grasp on his cellphone and squinted when the damned thing nearly blinded him with it’s brightness.

Then suddenly the laundry room was shaking again.

“The fuck” he groaned sleepily.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light emanating from the screen of his Iphone he let out another groan, silently cursing the digital clock that read 4:25 a.m.. His alarm would be ringing in less than an hour for his morning run and he was super tired because some frogs had decided to serenade him until one in the morning. How come they aren’t sleeping yet?

Then there was that rumbling again. But when he realized that his mechanical roommate would be empty of dirty clothes at such unholy hour he began to worry. It’s not like the house was near the street, whatever or whoever was causing all that ruckus had to be in the property. He crept out of his room barefoot trying to be conspicuous and stealthy, even though the cold floor was torturing his toes.

He reached the front door after a quick stop at the kitchen to grab his mother’s big trusty iron frying pan in case he needed to attack. He made a mentan note to not leave everything that could be a potential weapon inside his building shed next time.

After taking a fortifying breath he grabbed the doorknob and turned it as delicately and silently as man his size could manage.

At first glance nothing on the porch seemed out of the ordinary, but when he turned the lights on he noticed it. An overturned plantpot which used to contain an colorful flower that, according to his mom, was an exotic plant that her friend had brought her from her vacation in the caribbean. His mom couldn’t stop talking about her colorful little flower when they showed her her new garden and how she was going to give it a special place in it. And now some rascal had savagely munched on it leaving only the dying stems amongst the dirt.

Suddenly the early morning was eerily silent again. Grayson tried to slow his breathing while straining to hear anything tha would give away the position of the invader. His heart was just about to beat out of his chest, the house was in the middle of nowhere, anything could be out there.

When he finally heard something he couldn’t believe his ears. High pitched and clearly irritated he barely recognized it.

Was that a neigh?

He followed the sound and finally got his answer upon glancing at Lisa’s Garden. The animal that appeared tu be stuck near one of the flower beds looked like a horse, kind of. It had a mane, a tail, four hooves, pointy ears and it was distinctly neighing, everythig pointed that it was a horse. Except for the fact that it couldn’t be any taller than three feet. It seemed he was in presence of a miniature horse.

Quickly running to his building shed he grabbed his diagonal pliers to cut the wire that had most likely trapped his hoof. But when he came back to help the little guy found him with his head deep into the nearest flower pot casually having a 5 a.m. flowery snack.

“Hey! Stop that!” he yelled trying to separate the little beast from it’s colorful victim. “YOU LITTLE FUCKER” Grayson yelled when the animal actually bit him for trying to take away his meal. Weren’t horses suposed to be vegetarian? Well if it liked flowers so much who’s to say it didn’t have other bizarre tastes... like fucking human flesh.

Waking up from all the noise Lisa walked outside to see her 6ft tall 200lb son wrestling a mini horse for a pot of half munched flowers. And she knew their equine visitor very well.

Grayson looked up from his struggle to see his mom walking out of the house with her phone in hand. He looked at her pleadingly and she just chuckled.

“Don’t worry sweetie I called his owners, Emperor’s mom is coming to pick him up as we speak” She told him.

“Wait you actually know where he came from?!” He let go of the animal and marched up to the woman comfortably clad in whool robe and warm slippers while he was out there shirtless and barefoot, hair stuck in every direction, trying to defend their home.

And of course in that moment his beloved brother decided to join in the fun from his bedroom window. Ethan let put a loud snort at his twin’s dishiveled appearance.

“Dude, what happened to you?” he asked in between laughs.

“Shut the fuck up E!” Grayson yelled looking up to his brother. “It could’ve been a murderer or some shit” At that Lisa couldn’t contain herself anymore and let put a loud laugh. She walked towards him with his coat in her hands that she had retrieved while the boys bantered.

“Oh realx sweetie! I don’t think you can die from cuteness overload” She paused while Grayson snatched his coat and glanced at the small black horse. to speak to it in a baby voice. “Ain’t that right Emperor?”

He put on his coat over his otherwise naked torso and and ran his hands through his unruly hair, exasperated. His mom speaking to the little monster briefly reminded him of his beautiful nymph and how her horse actually seemeyto listen, unlike this urchin that had breakfast on his mom’s flowers. He sneered at the animal before speaking.

“So you know the owners, ma?”

“Yeah, they’re sugarcane farmers. Our neighbors up north.”

“Up north? That’s dairy farm?” Grayson replied maliciously. Of course it would be dairy people that would own this mini horse devil. It just made sense.

Lisa just chuckled again at the grave look on Grayson’s face. Ethan just observed carefully from above how Emperor finished a pot of tiny purple flowers and was stretching his little neck trying to reach the next one containing daisies. Or at least he thought that’s what those were, either way it was simply hilarious.

“That’s north of the road, Gray. I’m talking about north of the property, they grow sugarcane organically. ” She explained exitedly.

“Oh... well whoever they are they better come get their poor animal soon.”

“They are already on the way, I just sent Denisse a text” She replied sternly, her sons could be the biggest men-child sometimes. “And even though they’re not vegan, I can assure you they take real good care of their animals.” Since Grayson didn’t seem all that convinced she continued, “Especially their horses, Denisse’s daughter has wall full of horsemanship thophies and first place ribbons, that girl spends hours everyday tending them.”

“Well apparently not enough” He grumbled brooding. “This one is clearly not that educated”

“Oh, Emperor is just a bit... energetic”

Oh hell no. She was actually gonna deffend it.

“ENERGETIC?!” He snapped. “ He ate your exotic flower and destroyed the garden! He’s a monster in a small package!”

“Gray it’s okay. And you’re exaggerating he didn’t destroy anything he just turned a few flower pots.”

“What about you exotic kayacka or whatever it’s called!” He kept on yelling. “HE ANNIHILATE IT”

Grayson was seething at this point. He loved animals and nature, he had gone vegan for God’s sake. But this was just too much, nature had basically trampled him in the last 12 hours. First the god forsaken frogs screaming their slimy little lungs out kept him up half of the night and now this!

This annoying piece of horse flesh had not only awoken him at the fucking asscrack of down, but it had also destroyed the garden he had busted his back to buid for Ma, who was currently laughing at his missery. And as if that wasn’t enough he was more than likely going to miss his secret appointment with his beautiful nymph.

“It’s called a cayena and he didn’t do it intentionally , Gosh, calm down” She pinned him with a stare “And it’s not that big of a deal, there’s more where that one came from I’m sure Denisse wouldn’t mind. Plus her daughter will more than likely begg to help picking up this mess, like I said she always looks out for the horses” She pursed her lips starting to get a annoyed at his irrational fury. “As mother would, she’s always picking up her childs messes”

“Well if she is such a great horse mom, how come her child is a freakin flower eating tornado” Grayson replied grudgingly, feeling like a scolded child for something he didn’t even do. Was he seriously talking about this horse like it was a person?

In the middle of his ire he looked down. Now that the sun was starting to illuminate the early morning he could see it had a kinda nice chesnut color and his beady ayes were staring eagerly at the daisies, that were just a few centimeters out of reach. If it hadn’t been such a nightmare Grayson could almost see himself looking for his allergy pill after petting the cute tiny thing. But it had messed with his garden and managed to get stuck, now he was going to have to ruin the chicken wire to cut him free. So no, Emeperos wasn’t all that cute anymore and after looking at the redish bite mark on his hand he definitely didn’t want to pet it. Lisa’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Listes, go put on you shoes, get yourself some breakfast and try to calm down. Denisse’s daughter shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away, I’ll look after him in the meantime”

“Oh no no, I’m gonna have a word with this chit and she’s gonna fix this immediately.”

Lisa was about to stop Grayson’s angry rambling until she spotted a rider and horse closing in on the house from the north trail.

“I mean, who the hell does she think she is? Letting her animals trample around and how long tilll-“

“Oh my Gosh! I’m so sorry Mrs Dolan I can’t believe he’s done this again.” A female voice rung melodically behind him accompanied by the resounding thudding of heavy hooves on grass. “Emperooor” the voice groaned “ what was it this time?”

Grayson knew that voice, and even if he had never heard her giving soft commands to her intimidating black stallion he would have recognized the feeling she stirred in him. That fluttering on the left side of his chest, the earthquake of butterflies in his stomach, that familiar sense of calmness that only her could bring him. 

Lisa´s voice brought him back from his momentary day dream.

“Well son it looks like your wish came true” she said so only he could hear and the raised her voice to greet the girl rapidly approaching them on horseback. “(Y/N) , sweetie, hello!”

Grayson turned around utterly speechless. Astounded by her beauty and awed by the mere sight of her as she dismounted  gracefully from the familiar black stud, who was actually saddled this time. 

She stepped away from the huge beast and walked towards where they were standing near the garden. With every step closer that she took Grayson felt his lungs closing up on him. What was I supposed to say to her, again? The mini horse, right. 

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Dolan. I don't know what to do with him anymore, ever since we moved up here he seems to find new ways to scape stalls and squeeze to fences daily” (Y/N) kept babbling out her sincere apologies while she come to hug the older woman whose garden had been vandalized by her favorite Shetland.

“(Y/N) I’ve told you a hundred times it’s Lisa, and don't worry about it I understand you mother is always telling me how hard you try to keep Emperor in check” She replied glaring slightly at Grayson whose jaw had fallen slightly ajar, she elbowed him discreetly bringing him back from whatever dreamland he was in. “Can't speak for the big man here though, he was a little distressed earlier”

As if he wasn't having a hard enough time (Y/N) shiny browns eyes peered up at him shyly stilling his lungs once again, and a lovely blush spread on her chubby cheeks. He followed the rosy trail with his eyes to the top of her round breasts wondering how far down her body would it reach. And when she spoke softly to him, he was a goner.

“Oh... I’m so sorry, I promise I will fix it up right away” When he didn't reply she added “I'm not as great as Lisa but I’m a pretty decent gardener, I swear its gonna look  brand new” Gosh, this was embarrassing. He was so handsome and she has just let her mini-horse ruin his mother's garden. 

Lisa’s elbow once again spooked him out of his catatonic state.

“Oh don’t be modest, I bet it’s gonna look better than before. Right, Gray?” Seeing the look in his eyes, she quickly decided that (Y/N) would have a little help fixing her plants. “Sweetie, I know you've made good friends with Cameron but I don't think you've met my sons before”

“No ma’am, I don't think I've had the pleasure” (Y/L) replied in a low voice very unlike herself.

“Okay this is Grayson and that nosy one with his head stuck out the window is his twin brother Ethan” (Y/N) glanced in the direction Lisa was pointing and sure enough there was buzz cut head sticking out the second floor window with a smirk plastered all over his angular face, ready to yell a greeting to his brother’s dream girls. Gray had described her so many times with so much detail that it was scary but it also allowed him to tell right away when he saw the curly haired girl atop the black horse.

“Why good morning Miss Horsey Neighbor (Y/L) it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Ethan yelled with a flirty smirk that he knew was sure to infuriate his twin.

“The pleasure is all mine, good sir” (Y/N) replied with a laugh, following along on his joke. Ethan seemed like a funny guy, she could see them becoming friends. The other brother though, they had the same sharp jawline and handsome features, but Grayson’s intense stare was definitely something else. She felt intimidated yet...exited?

Grayson stuck his hand out dumbly trying to get her attention back from his brother.

“I’m distressed and it’s okay, I wasn't Grayson” he vomited his words while trying to produce a smile that ended up looking like a grimace. (Y/L) offered him a blushy smile back none the less.

“It's a pleasure Distressed”

“Huh? Oh, fuck!” Nice job champ let her think you're fucking retarded “ it’s Grayson! I’m Grayson and  was not  distressed. I was just um...” He trailed off looking to his mom for help bur she merely shrugged “I was uh... worried! For the mini! Poor little guy just wanted a snack and ended up stuck in the chicken wire.” 

He stuttered and stumbled trough his explanation but (Y/N), who was usually very perceptive, was still so embarrassed and flustered that she didn't notice he was lying.

“Okay. So, he shouldn’tbe snacking on flowers, anyways, he knows that” (Y/N) mumbled walking towards Emperor who had stopped  struggling towards the white daisies and was now waiting for attention from his favorite human. “Alrighty pal, what did you get yourself into” She kneeled on the ground and started inspecting Emperor’s little hoof stuck on the wire. She tried to pull it out but it was too tight, the wire had tu be cut.

Meanwhile Grayson stared amazed at how the little horse devil had turned into horse putty in (Y/N)’s hands. His ears pointed towards and he rubbed his furry neck on her arm looking for scratches. No sign of the Shetland that had rudely attacked him earlier. He looked down at his hand and noticed that the bite mark was barely visible now, maybe Emperor wasn't that bad after all. Maybe.

“It’s too tight if we don't cut the wire he could hurt himself” (Y/N) announced looking up towards Lisa but the taught about it and directed her glance towards her son, who already had a cutting plier in his hand. “Do you think I can borrow that?”

“Yeah, sure, here you go” He was about to hand her the tool when Lisa widened her eyes at him at pointed her chin to the girl crouched con her garden. “Actually, let me do it” He corrected, kneeling down right next to her so that his strong shoulder thighs brushed against her blue jeans. He heard vaguely a big impatient snort behind but paid no mind to de large stallion that stood where (Y/N) had tied his reigns to the garden fence. The thing was so big it could probably pull the fence right off the soil, but instead stood patiently waiting for his master.

“I live in farm y’know I think I can manage a pair of pliers” She replied slightly annoyed that he wouldn't hand her the damned thing.

“Oh, don’t mind him honey he just loves playing with his tools” Lisa pitched in from above them. Grayson prayed nobody noticed his flushed face, but his nymph was deliciously close to him for the first time. Never before he had had the chance of perceiving her intoxicating scent, it was sweet almost like melted sugar right before it turns into caramel.

“I don’t play, ma! I build stuff”  He looked up at his mother with a look half annoyed/half pleading. “Besides, I’m sure you're more than capable of cutting some measly chicken wire, I just thought you could keep him calm so that-”

“Oh my God! You're totally right.”

“I am?”

“OF COURSE, he could run around as soon as he's free and continue to dismantle this poor place. Good thinking, Grayson” 

Was that even his name she just pronounce? He didn't remember ever sounding so good.

“Yup, yeah. That's it” Yeah I totally wasn't trying to show off for you, nymph.

(Y/N) resumed scratching Emperor with one hand while the other pushed on his neck  to give Grayson as much room to cut the wire as possible. Since the kids seemed to be getting along quite nicely Lisa decided to make herself scarce.

“Well guys I’m gonna get inside and make some breakfast” She received two distracted hums and with that she left, not without throwing a pointed glance up at Ethan who immediately stuck his head back inside.

A few minutes later Emperor was a free and happy Shetland. Since he had already eaten, clearly, she decided she could get a head start on the mess the mini had made before riding back home for breakfast. She attached a lead-rope she had brought to the his halter, that he was miraculously still wearing, and tied him to the fence. Grayson just watched her, still kneeling by the dirt bed, she moved so naturally between the mess.

“I’m so sorry, really. For the life of me I have no idea how he came to eat flowers  on the first place, I will bring over some seeds later but I’m gonna start cleaning this now, do you have some gardening tools I can borrow?” She was a little breathless after spurting out all of that, she was so nervous now that they were alone. 

He got up and dusted his sweatpants.

“Sure, they are in my building shed” He replied puffing out his already beefy chest, his building shed was his pride and joy. “Just let me grab my boots real quick”

“Oh that’s okay I ca-” but he was already running inside.

A few minutes later after running a hand through his hair numerous times to tame his bedhead in front of the living room mirror, they were walking a bit closer than necessary to the shed.

“So, you like building a lot?” At that Grayson put on full display his million dollar smile.

“You could say that” He said looking around the shed for the gardening toolbox.”I build my mom that garden, I mean me and my brother did it but he was more like an.. assistant” Grayson could have swooned when he heard her laughter but instead focused on grabbing the box from the top shelf. 

“Are you kidding? I could have sworn that was made by a professional?” She replied, seemingly impressed while they walked back. 

“Why thank you, n- (Y/N)” He put the box down next to the first overturned plant pot “I appreciate that” Oh he appreciated it, alright.

“You know, you don't need, it was my horse after all” she sat criss- cross and started rummaging trough the box.

This was it, Grayson needed to pull his shit together if he wanted to make a good first impression on this gorgeous nymph that was eagerly staring up at him, waiting for an answer that his dumbass was unable to produce. With his shaking hands conveniently hidden inside his pockets, he stared confidently into her deep brown eyes and pulled his most charming smile.

And then they got to work. All coquettish smiles, blushing faces and casual hand brushings. They talked about building, horses, video games and even the process of cultivating high quality sugar cane without using pesticides. Grayson was over the moon being the sole focus of her attention, he had waited so long for this. He watched  as she pulled away from her face the rebel curls that scaped from her ponytail wishing he could run his hands through the luscious strands and wondering if her round cheeks would be as soft as they looked if he were to touch them with his rough fingertips. He was so immersed in her that didn't realize that their work was done when they picked up the last of Emperors victims, the cayenne on the porch. 

Standing on the recently clean porch steps they took a minute to admire their hard work. Or at least for Grayson they were to admire her.

“Well, this is it, thank you so much for you help Gray, you didn't have to” Did she just called him by his nickname? He had to be dreaming.

“It’s okay” he murmured observing how she had to crane her neck up to look at him, she was such a shorty yet when she spoke she appeared larger than life. She was simply amazing. “Time flies when you're having fun” He replied while they started walking towards the horses that were snorting impatiently.

“It was kinda fun, wasn't it?” she untied the big black horse and with one hand she held Emperor’s lead rope while the other pulled on the saddle Horne making for a swift effortless mount. Grayson stood a few steps away looking at the stallion curiously. “You can come closer, Spirit is a perfect gentleman, he likes firm pats like this” He smiled at her demonstration and brought his own much larger right  hand to Spirit’s thick neck and let his left one rest cheekily above her knee.

“Spirit” he tested the name on his tongue “Is that his name?” he was looking up at her, for a change, and its was making her breath speed up.

“Well his registered name is actually Indomitable Spirit, my grandma rescued his mom with a poachers arrow on her side” (Y/N) cringed at the memory of the beautiful mare covered in blood “She didn’t have any hoseshoes and her teeth looked like they had never been floated, she was skittish around people... but not as much as the tipycal wild horse. It was like she was scared but she still wanted something from us. Then we realized it was because she was heavily pregnant, it only took us a couple of days to figure out she was close to due date. A month later she gave birth to the most adorable foal with a coat as black as onyx stone” Grayson basked in the glow of her radiant smile remembering how her horse came to this world.  And when her face fell, his did too.“It was a  difficult labor and she wasn't fully healed yet from her old wounds. The blood loss was fatal, she was too weak to even stand but she pushed through until she was done and the she just closed her eyes and never opened them again. Later on we confirmed she was a mustang so we named him in her honor. You know, most pregnant mares are nightmares, but not her, it was like she knew we would take care of her baby.” She paused at the dreamy look on his face ”Sorry, you probably didn't need the whole pony tale story, I blabber a lot sometimes... a lot of times, actually.”

“No its fine its fine,” he replied hurriedly “I love it, I mean, the story- its quite beautiful,”

“Glad you liked it” She blushed again and Grayson could have pulled her down from the saddle right then and there to cover her cute ass face with kisses, but he contained himself and tried to focus on what she was saying. “Again I’m so sorry about the garden”

“Actually, now I’m looking forward to Emperor’s next great scape if that means i get to hang out with you ” There it was, he had laid out the bait, he could only pray she take it.

“That could very well happen, but I would hate to destroy your garden again” She chuckled nervously

“It would be worth it if I can see you again, soon” The hand on her knee squeezed and his eyes stared hopeful into hers. “Or maybe, we could just grab some vegan ice cream sometime”

“That sounds nice” She started turning her horse around to hide her very obvious blush, but he saw it and it had his heart fluttering and a big cheesy smile appearing on his face. 

“Vegan ice-cream it is, then”

[wrestlingisfake]

G1 Climax 31 preview

The G1 Climax is an annual heavyweight tournament in New Japan Pro Wrestling. It's typically one of the top events in Japanese wrestling, because the biggest stars in the biggest company try to deliver their best performances. The tournament runs from September 18 to October 21.

All 19 shows (!) will stream live and on-demand at njpwworld.com for 999 yen ($9 US) per month. Because of the billing cycle, you have to pay for 2 months to see it all as it happens, or you can wait till October 1 and try to catch up in one month. Watching all 91 tournament matches (!!!) can be kind of grueling (especially if you're trying to keep up with other wrestling at the same time), so it's not for everyone. But there are bound to be some highlights worth going out of your way to check out.

The G1 is a round-robin tournament, with 20 wrestlers separated into two blocks. Each man wrestles everyone else in his block, and the one with the best win-loss record is the block winner. The winner of A Block then meets the winner of B Block in a final match to decide the winner of the tournament. The winner of the G1 Climax receives a trophy and a contract for an IWGP world heavyweight title match at Wrestle Kingdom 16 in January 2022.

Ordinarily the G1 would be meticulously planned out to ensure the most marketable main event at Wrestle Kingdom, so only a handful of guys have any real shot at winning the tournament. However, the pandemic has thrown off a lot of New Japan's plans. Also, since Wrestle Kingdom has expanded to a multi-day event, more and more wrinkles have been added to the traditional "#2 guy wins the G1 to challenge the #1 guy for the belt" formula. So this year's G1 has a lot more potential to surprise us--whether such surprises will be good or bad remains to be seen.

A Block

Shingo Takagi - The reigning IWGP world heavyweight champion. If he wins the tournament, he'll have the right to choose his opponent for Wrestle Kingdom. If there was ever a year to book the champion to win the G1, this might be it. Amid some tumultuous booking this summer, Takagi came from out of nowhere to capture the title, and they've put a lot of effort into making him look worthy of the honor. So it might be cool for him to run through the field, and choose a challenger that couldn't be here, such as Will Ospreay. However, the smart money is on Shingo losing two or three matches to fall short of winning the block and to set up challengers for other shows.

Kota Ibushi - The winner of the last two G1 Climax tournaments, in 2019 and 2020. Few wrestlers have won the G1 three times, and no one has done three in a row. But if anyone can do it, it's Ibushi. He was crushed by losing the world title right after he unified it, and he's clearly in Shingo Takagi's sights (they'll square off on October 3). If he doesn't win the block, I expect him to get very, very close.

Tetsuya Naito - He won the tournament in 2013 and 2017. Naito started 2021 by losing the IWGP heavyweight and IWGP intercontinental titles to Ibushi, who unified them into the current world title. Since then, he's been on the back burner; if he's going to be back on top in 2022, this is where we'll find out. He's the leader of Los Ingobernables de Japon, and Takagi is a member, so their match on September 26 will be particularly interesting.

Zack Sabre Jr. - One of the IWGP heavyweight tag team champions, Dangerous Tekkers. Sabre's technical wrestling presents a challenge for any opponent in the G1, so he can easily play spoiler, but he's probably going to finish in the middle of the pack. I'm particularly looking forward to Sabre vs. Yano on October 13, because their match in last year's G1 was a fun mix of chain wrestling and dirty tricks.

Tomohiro Ishii - One of the NEVER trios champions. Ishii is never going to win the whole thing but he reliably delivers solid performances throughout the tournament. His matches with Ibushi (September 18), Ibushi (September 23), and Naito (October 9) should all be must-see for hard-hitting, what-the-fuck intensity.

KENTA - He can go, but he relies heavily on stalling and other cheap heel tactics to slow down the action, so it's hard for me to get into his matches these days. I'm sure he'll really cut loose for some of his block matches, but it's hard to guess which ones. My main interest is in seeing him go up against his Bullet Club teammates Yujiro Takahashi (September 23) and Tanga Loa (October 13).

Great-O-Khan - This is his first G1, after doing a run-in last year to help Will Ospreay and form the United Empire faction. O-Khan's got an interesting look, but his in-ring work hasn't been blowing anybody away. This should be the clearest test of his upside--if New Japan thinks he can be a serious headliner, he should pick up at least five wins, and maybe even six or seven. I'm not confident that will happen.

Toru Yano - The KOPW 2021 champion. Ordinarily Yano is the comic relief guy, whose block matches are built around silly spots so that the other participants each a get sort of a night off. However, Yano's recent feud with Chase Owens seems to have reawakened the brawler gimmick he had years ago, so it's not clear which Yano is going to show up for the tournament. Either way, I would expect Yano to pull of some key upsets to throw off everyone's predictions.

Tanga Loa - Loa is making his G1 debut. Since joining New Japan in 2016, he's been almost exclusively a tag team guy. It's not unusual for tag teams to compete in the G1, but Loa and Tama Tonga seemed determined to stay out and focus on the tag division. So his appearance here is a little surprising, and probably indicates that New Japan didn't have a lot of other options. He should do well in the ring, but some guys are going to finish 4-5 or worse, and I think he'll be one of them.

Yujiro Takahashi - Yujiro went 1-8 in last year's tournament, because somebody's gotta lose a lot, and that's his role. He's almost certainly going to to do the Bullet Club bit where either Kenta (September 23) or Loa (October 3) will talk him into laying down for the good of the team, but then he'll refuse at the last second. The most interesting thing about Yuje right now is he's a part of the "House of Torture" subgroup emerging within Bullet Club, but I don't expect that to matter much in his block matches.

B Block

Kazuchika Okada - The winner of the 2012 and 2014 tournament. Okada hasn't held a championship in nearly two years, and that's unlike him. So he's an easy pick to win this block and perhaps win the whole G1. The only problem is that he's got some stiff competition from other favorites like Hiroshi Tanahashi (September 19) and SANADA (October 4). He probably needs to win at least one of those two matches to make it to the finals--if he loses both, I'm not sure a 7-2 run is enough.

Hiroshi Tanahashi - The IWGP United States champion, and the winner of the G1 in 2007, 2014, and 2018. This will be his 20th appearance in the tournament, so he's got the decisive edge in experience. Tana is always going to be presented as a strong contender to win the block. But the only reason to have him win the whole thing would be to do an "aging legend makes one more run at the top" story, and they already did that three years ago. So look for him to have good matches, but don't count on him making it to the finals.

SANADA - He was the runner-up in last year's G1, which was a little baffling because I felt his booking that year was designed to build to a huge victory. He's felt like an afterthought since then. Will New Japan give him a lot of wins to remind everyone he's still a rising force? I'm really not sure.

EVIL - On paper, he's a big deal because he betrayed Los Ingobernables de Japon to win the IWGP heavyweight and intercontinental titles last year. But after Evil lost those belts his stock dropped. New Japan still trots him out like he's a major threat to the top champions, but he just does a bunch of low blows and then loses anyway. I think they'll protect him, because they're going somewhere with this "House of Torture" stuff. But I can't believe he'll win the block, except possibly to troll the audience.

Taichi - One of the IWGP heavyweight tag team champions, Dangerous Tekkers. I was always down on Taichi but he grabbed my attention with his weird kicking contest against Kota Ibushi last year. Since then he's been more fun to watch, although that's mainly been in tag stuff. If he's truly set aside the boring stalling tactics, then his block matches this year could be fun. But he's probably going to wind up right around that 5-4 or 4-5 range.

Jeff Cobb - Cobb should be a big deal, but he's basically the #3 guy in the United Empire (and there are only four guys in the group), and he hasn't had a lot of chances to score big wins. By the time he got to beat Okada a couple of weeks ago, I'd kind of lost interest. This is his big chance to remind everyone he's a beast. It'd be cool as hell if he went to the finals, but I'm not holding my breath on that.

Tama Tonga - This is his first G1 in three years, and before that he always seemed to be over the whole thing, so it's kind of weird to see him back here. Even when he wasn't focused on tag team wrestling, he was always a 4-5 guy, and I don't foresee a big singles push changing that this time.

Hirooki Goto - One of the NEVER trios champions. Goto's career arguably peaked when he was the runner-up to Kenny Omega in the 2016 G1. He should have good matches with everybody in the block, but he's not a game changer, and I don't see him getting to 5-4.

YOSHI-HASHI - One of the NEVER trios champions. Yoshi has always been a loser, to the point that winning the trios title (which has always been kind of a joke) was actually a huge deal for him. Goto, Ishii, and Yoshi have managed to defend the title nine times over 400 days, so it feels like Yoshi is finally on track. But there's a big difference between that and doing well in the G1, against top guys like Okada, Tanahashi, Evil, and Sanada. He could very easily go 2-7 in the block. Just getting to 3-6 would feel like a major milestone, honestly.

Chase Owens - The self-proclaimed "Texas heavyweight champion," for some reason. Owens has been the bottom guy in Bullet Club for years. I don't know if they decided it's time to push him a little, or if they literally had no one else to put in this thing. Not that it matters, since he's in the same "lose a lot" spot as Yujiro. The difference is that Yujiro might win a match to justify putting him in next year's field. Chase might actually go 0-9. So at least it'll be kind of fun wondering when (if) he can post his first win.

[brideofcthulhu10]

Eek! I requested but tumblr was being dumb, so I dunno if you got it or not! I remember it though! - I'm happy to have made your day! I relate to you on the insomnia, especially sleeping at 4 am. I hope you get some sleep! I think I just need some fluff right now, (it's 4:19 am and I'm playing with my piercings while reading and listening to music, so perhaps something involving the insomnia we share? I dunno) and who better to be fluff with than Marko? Right? The boy just needs some love 🥺❤️

Sounds perfect! I just so happen to have some perfect fluff in my handy dandy notebook!

MARKO FLUFF

Marko is my sweet baby, I adore him, I'll take any excuse to write more about him!

Marko gets a tad fidgety before bed, very similar to a toddler with that sudden burst of hyper just before the sun comes out. He'll take a good few hits of Paul's wacky tobacky to curve his energy. He knows the sun is rising, he should be tired... but he can't help it, his mind is going a million miles an hour! The best way to describe it is a loopy kind of tired, he'll usually either get giggly, or try to keep the other boys from falling asleep so he's not awake alone, or start asking the most ridiculous questions. Just hanging upside down in the cave with his hands behind his head as something will randomly pop in his head

"Psst, Paul. Paul. Hey man, you still awake?"

"Yeah dude, what's up?"

"Do you think pigeons get nightmares?"

"I dunno... maybe? Probably I guess. Like cats and stuff?"

Cue David in the most half asleep, mumbled monotone he can muster through his teeth.

"I'm going to give you two ten seconds to shut the fuck up and go to sleep"

He does secretly miss the sunset, the way it used to light up the whole sky in fire. It's one of the few things he misses about being human. Thankfully with the plethora of cinema now he can be content with watching movies. The beach waves really help him sleep, it's something he could never be bored with. The seagulls trying best in their cave, that gets old quick. When he first turned he would still try to peek at the sunset, but of course any glimmer of sunlight would char his undead skin. Cue him sulking for a few hours in the cave, arms crossed with a pouting lip.

Wrestling is pretty common amongst the 4 boys when bored out of their skulls. Marko is quick with a headlock, laughing like an idiot when Dwayne lifts him by his belt and flings him over his shoulder. Doesn't stop him from flying onto the ceiling then dive bombing Paul. Noogies for all, beware! Four teenage guys under one toppled, hole filled roof? Roughhousing will ensue, and furniture is not against the rules. Well, really there are no rules at that point. 

"Dudes, boardwalk's having a movie night we gotta go!" Waves flyer as he runs into the cave, leaves out the part he only found it because the wind slapped it up against his head on his way back from a food run. He'll beg to go, which doesn't take much convincing since it always got slower around winter time. Popcorn is a must, and he'll plop down in the comfiest spot. It's gotta be just right, middle not too close, not too far away. Definitely one to shush you if you try talking over his favorite scenes. His favorite movie is probably either Aliens or Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Who doesn't love cartoon violence? I absolutely picture him being a secret scifi nerd, like loving all the futuristic space stuff , "buying" tabloids with the most ridiculous titles (ie "I Married a Wolf Man"). He's not really a conspiracy theorist or anything, but he's definitely curious what else could be out there

When Chinese food grows old, his next favorite food is a good, classic burger. Honestly he's a bit of a foodie, he loves trying whatever weird concoction they have brewing on the boardwalk. He'll ride down to the nearest burger joint and order a chocolate shake and a double bacon cheeseburger with chili fries- hold any garlic. He'll of course get something for everybody, carrying a little scrap of paper with the various requests. You don't tell him what you want, fine it'll be a surprise. Paul of course has to steal some fries, to the point that Marko will get him an order even if he says he doesn't want any.

"My fucking fries count as wanting fries, man."

Believe it or not he does read when bored, but even better if someone reads to him. Hopeless romantic is too strong a word, but he does secretly wonder about how it'd be to have a mate. Laying on their lap, listening to them read aloud while playing with his hair. The thought always makes him smile. His favorite book is Lord of the Flies, second being The Crucible, it makes him wonder if there really are witches. He figures if vampires exist, why not other things? David is the first to dismiss said questions. It's not like knowing would make much a difference, he's content with what they already know. Fair enough, but he still keeps his little questions locked in his own mind. On lazy nights he'll lounge on a torn up couch with his feet propped up zoning out to a good read, sinking until he's practically being eating by the cushions. He'll definitely fall asleep on the couch with the book covering his face if you leave him there

Red hands is a favorite boredom game he'll challenge Paul to. Rock, Paper, Scissors was too predictable. Both are pretty evenly matched and snicker like idiots every time to other flinches. Lots of cussing whenever they lose, and you bet they count flinching as a reason to lay down a quick SMACK!

"Two for flinching!"

"It's only one you ass!"

Eventually try to challenge Dwayne to it and pester him until he agrees, only become increasingly frustrated when he repeatedly loses. When he finally gets a hit in, he definitely gets over excited and it's like being slapped by a bear. They've since stopped bugging him to play. Paul was ballsy enough to try and challenge David, and Marko had never seen him move so fast. Paul lost five times in a row and just rage quit by that point.