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lokisremainingsanity · 5 months

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soappup

This was inspired by this post by @sunshine-and-moonshine

content: John "Soap" Mactavish x reader, reader is his superior, crushes and feelings, fluff and some horniness, he lick the kitty hehe

~ava!🍓

The men at the 141 base got glimpses of a new womanly figure around, but never a full picture. They had questions as to who this new mysterious person on their base was, but they never got answers, until Price finally formally introduced you.

You stood with perfect posture and a serious expression with a hint of a smirk as you observed all the men.

"This is your new superior, who was our former arms weaponry trader and military tech researcher, Major Y/N Quest."

"Good morning, boys, it's a treat to be working with you."

You operated the base smoothly, and your reputation demanded respect. You had a few young rebels that were always needed to put straight, whether it be mowing the front base lawn with scissors, with every grass blade cut at a specific angle and height, or using buckets to empty the pool while it was raining. But beyond that, you also noticed someone who was always on top of each task you gave him. Ghost also noticed Soap's infatuation with you, and teased him about it the next time they were together.

"You got a crush, Johnny?" he interrupted his staring session at you.

"Wh-what?"

"You fancy Major over there don'tcha?"

"Oi, you feeling funny now, you boggin gowk? I ain't got no crush" he defensively crossed his arms.

"I'm simply stating a fact."

"Shut yer trap, Ghost."

Truth is, he was the first person to be at your service whenever you needed one, just because he liked you. A knock at your office door made your head turn up from your paperwork.

"Come in"

Soap came strolling in with some files in his hands.

"uh Major.. I got the intel ye' wanted printed out, I can send a digital copy as well if that-"

"The autospy records? You already got a hold of them?

"Yes"

"Goodness, Soap how'd you do it?" You got up and walked towards him, and he let you take a look at them."

Soap stood silently, enjoying your satisfaction.

"That's a job well done, thank you darling." As he bashfully looks down, you absentmindedly ruffled his hair as well.

"Ah thank you, ts nothin'" He felt like a schoolgirl having a crush on his teacher.

When he left your office, he went straight to the mess hall and started rambling to Ghost about his interaction with you. At this point, there was no denying the crush he had on you.

"She did that alright. I felt like a schoolgirl Ghost, oh my gosh. She called me darling. I'm her darling ya hear?!"

Ghost stared at the Scottish man who was no longer the Scottish man he knew.

"You know what that means, Ghost?!"

".. What?"

"I fucking won. I shall die a happy man."

Ghost didn't understand what he was saying but that didn't matter to Soap anyway.

A few months of Soap's undying affection for you passed and at this point, EVERYONE on base knew he was your favorite. The touches, eye contact, and smiles between you were strictly for him. On one mission where you all were at a safe house, you decided to sleep on the couch in the living room rather than share a room with the men. You woke up from your slumber when you heard lazy footsteps and a looming shadow over you. You slowly blinked your eyes and saw Soap with sad tired eyes looking down at you.

"Johnny? Darling what are you doing here?" you squinted your eyes at him in confusion.

"I got cold :( "

"... that woke you up?"

"mhmm"

*sighh* "C'mere then darling, can't have you freezing up tonight can we?"

You rolled over onto your back and he plopped his body right on top of yours, with his face snuggled into the warmth of breasts.

"sanks youu mmm" he was out like a baby.

The rest of the guys woke up to an interesting sight that shouldn't have surprised them anyway. There you lay with your hands holding Soap's head while he snored on the cushion of your chest. His hands wrapped firmly around your waist as if you were a Teddy.

"You gonna wake up him?" Gaz spoke up first.

"Not a chance." Ghost replied. The two glanced towards Price next.

"Now don't look at me. Get him up somehow, Captain's order." And he walked out.

nOW things were getting interesting. You didn't know when the lines of professionalism blurred as Soap kept bringing it intel or files you needed, but somehow it's gone from pets of affection to Soap kneeled in between your legs-

"Ah fuckkk that's it, good pup you are. Holy shiiiit Johnny do that again AHH" His tongue was lapping at your wet cunt without any pattern or rhythm. You let him grind against your boot to relieve himself a little, but he was still going feral. Tight wet circles were made by his tongue on your clit and your legs started to shake.

"ohhh ohh my god I'm close, yessss ugh just like that honey- OHH"

One of your hands left the armchair and went to grab at his mohawk as you grinded against his tongue through your orgasm.

You slumped on your chair and your face faced upwards to the ceiling as you caught your breath. He stopped licking but his face was still next to your cunt and he was panting like a dog. You opened your eyes and looked down at him, he literally looked like he had his tail wagging and was waiting for your praise like you would for a dog after doing a trick.

"Did.. did I do good?" He asked when you said nothing for a little too long for him.

"Oh you idiot." You laughed and rubbed your hands over his head once more.

"Darling you did wonderful, you never cease to fail me."

He laid his chin on your lap and smiled up at you as you kept petting him.

"Anything for you m'lady"

Now one thing you did not consider before continuing this little secret ya'll had going on behind your office doors was the possibility of literally training Soap to get turned on. Petting him in public was not out of the ordinary to anyone else. But what slowly happened is that you've now conditioned him into getting hard whenever you pet his head. You have literally classically conditioned Johnny to have a reaction every time you stimulated him by touching his head.

Holy shit

That's your reaction when you realize what you've done. Now you stand in front of a flustered and hard Johnny that can't seem to explain what's going on.

"m'sorryyy, im really sorry I don't know wh-"

"Shhh calm down Darling." you stood chest to chest with him to help him hide his erection. To anyone else, you looked like you were chatting about a secretive mission. You looked around and saw an escape for both of you.

"Just follow me, m'kay? You're alright."

You two manage to get to the bathroom at the end of a hall where no soul is present. You quickly pushed him in and you followed right behind. The sigh you let out from relief stressed him out even more.

"Please don't be mad at me, I didn't mean to, swear it! I-"

"I'm not mad at you Johnny." You looked at him sternly to shut him up. "If anything, it would be my fault..." your eyes softened as you looked at the poor man.

"Let's get you relieved, yeah?" Your voice lowered with your hand that left his shoulders to unbuckle his pants. He said nothing and watched as you pulled down his garments to free his leaking hard cock. "Please ma'am, I'm going insane now" He whined when you stared a little too long.

"Sorry, sorry"

Your hands gripped his cock and you pumped him from tip to base, and when you got back up your thumbs swirled at his leaking opening. "Ah shite-"

His hips started thrusting up into your hands unapologetically, and you let him. You rotated your hands and tightened them around his length to pleasure him more.

"Fuckkkk 'm close... Oh gosh Bonnie that's pe'fect... ughhh"

He groaned and tilted his head to the crook of your neck and you could hear his panting against your ear get more strained and whiney.

"Ah fuck 'm comingg, im coming im, ohhh yess"

His cock twitched as ropes of cum shot out and painted your uniform. You let him take his time and he held you waist and stayed in the crook of your neck while you slowly caressed his head.

"Feeling okay there, darling?"

"Mmmhmmm"

You chuckled at his childish response and you tried to gently coax him away to clean up.

"don' wanna move yet."

"We can't stay here all day Johnny"

"but Bonnieee"

"Johnnyyy" you equally whined.

"Tell you what, I'll reward you later at my office if you help me get cleaned up right now. That sound like a fair deal?"

"Yes ma'am." and he jumped at the tissues.

Classical conditioning and now more positive reinforcement? You're sure you fucked up but you could now care less

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

hehehehehe (￢‿￢ )

we can make out in the dark if you reblog luv youu 🥰

#cod fanfic #cod smut #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish smut

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sacredstarcatcher · 1 year

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Cruel Summer - Part 7

Warnings: Unprotected sex, rough sex, language, public sex if you squint?

A/N: I’m out enjoying the holiday but needed to celebrate the more important holiday, Cruel Summer Monday 🥺 Forgive the formatting or lack thereof. I’ll fix it tomorrow!! Enjoy your day! 🫶🏻

The Kiszka family was unlike any you had ever encountered. You were constantly trying to keep up with the idiosyncrasies of them all and how they interacted together. There were a few that tripped you up, especially now that you were sneaking around with Sam almost daily.

You knew they all just dropped by Jake’s house as they pleased, since that was the whole reason he added a digital keypad to his home. You had almost been interrupted twice in the duration of your situationship, and both were by Josh.

The same went for Sam’s home- there were no boundaries when it came to visiting each other, and it made you so nervous that you had all but confined the two of you to your apartment. It was nice having him around, so you couldn’t complain. Since he had started staying over most nights, he had brought approximately three houseplants and a hanging flower bed for your balcony.

He was certainly making himself at home, diligently watering his plants and making coffee for the two of you when he woke in the morning. Rosie was comfortable in your home, claiming the foot of your bed as her own when she spent the night. You caught yourself smiling and rolling your eyes affectionately when tidying up your apartment and collecting the countless glasses he left around, always needing a fun drink or a glass of water. You can’t help but laugh as you put them in the sink, “Hydration is VITAL, you know,” echoing in your head.

It’s a warm Friday afternoon and you’re on your way to Sam’s for a barbecue. The four of them had spent the day writing and working, sitting around with guitars in hand or huddled around a phone on speaker making a decision about their upcoming album and tour. It’s clear that spirits are low when you arrive, so after exchanging short greetings with them, you decide to head inside and make them a few drinks to take the edge off.

You call on Josh, who seems to be the least grumpy of the four of them slumped on the lawn furniture, and ask him to help you in the kitchen. He obliges, making his way to you and graciously accepting two of the glasses. He sips one and sighs, murmuring a quiet, “Oh, that’s good.”

You lead the way out to the yard; Josh walks to deliver a glass to Sam on the other side of the yard as you place the tray on the table and lift one to offer to Danny, taking your own and leaving the last one for Jake to drink when he’s ready. He’s playing a lackadaisical game of fetch with Rosie, tossing her tennis ball lightly whenever she drops it into his lap.

Danny’s got his legs stretched out onto the coffee table, head leaned back and eyes closed. Josh is sitting on the ground, legs crossed, leaning on the table doodling in his notebook. He stops every few minutes to take a sip of his drink. Sam is in the hammock, swaying gently, his drink already empty and the glass sitting in the grass. You observe them all quietly, almost nervously. It would kill you if this was the last time you shared an evening like this with all of them.

“Is anyone hungry yet?” Sam calls, his arms behind his head as he relaxes.

“Yes,” Josh and Jake respond immediately, at the same time. You snicker at their twin synchronization and stand to help Sam. He lights the grill as you work on taking the food out of the fridge and putting it onto platters to make it easier for him to cook.

He slides inside through the door, giving you a soft smile. You watch as he opens the pantry, grabbing the apron on the hook inside the door and putting it over his head.

“Kiss the cook huh?” you ask jokingly, reading the novelty print. “Don’t tempt me.”

He gives a look out of the glass door, making sure his brothers are all occupied before leaning dramatically over the breakfast bar and puckering up. You laugh at his antics, cupping his cheek gently and placing a kiss to his soft lips. It’s short, and you gently pat his cheek to signal he’s not getting another. Instead, you hand him the platter in your hand and simply say, “Chef.”

“Thank you,” he says sweetly, for the kiss and the help, and walks outside once more. Once it’s all set for him, you head back outside to see that the mood has lightened a little, Jake deciding to retire the guitar, Josh controlling the bluetooth. He’s hopping back and forth in front of Rosie, who is jumping, spinning, barking, wagging her tail, all together enthralled by the little man in front of her. He’s letting out some little “woo!” “ooh!” “ah!” “hey!” noises as he dodges her, hopping back and forth, to and fro. You can’t help but laugh as you watch from the patio, standing behind Danny.

“Where does he get the energy?” you ask, and Danny chuckles.

“Fuck if I know.”

It’s then that Josh lets out a high pitched shout. You lift your head to look at him and he’s on the ground, Rosie circling around him.

“You okay?” you ask with a smile, like you’re talking to one of your students. He shakes his head.

“Rolled my ankle and fell on a fucking rock.” He lifts his hand from where it’s touching his knee and there’s some blood.

“Alright, come on…” you say, offering him a hand and escorting him inside. “Let’s get you patched up.” He seems to know exactly what to do, as if he’s used to being taken care of. He sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, leaving his knee out in the open for you to see. You work diligently, washing your hands before opening the medicine cabinet and the doors under the sink to quickly gather everything you’ll need.

When you look at Josh’s face, his brow is a little furrowed.

“How did you know where all that stuff was?” You feel your heart sink, your scalp getting hot. Is he on to you? Why is he suspicious? You have to think of an excuse, and fast.

“Everyone keeps their stuff in the same spots... Where else would someone keep the neosporin and bandaids?” It’s easier to distract yourself and wipe his cut clean than it is to make eye contact with him. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds- instead he hisses at the burn of the antiseptic wipe.

“I guess that’s true.” He chuckles and you feel an immense relief. He chatters on as you finish bandaging him up, not stopping. You eventually finish, patting his shin and standing up.

“Now please. Stop riling up the dog.”

-oOo-

“So then he YELLS,” Sam shouts, enthusiastically telling you a story about the day they all had. Dinner is winding down, a few of you still slowly finishing your meals. Josh interrupts to correct him immediately.

“I didn’t yell, I raised my voice. Am I not allowed to raise my voice?!”

“No, he fucking screamed at the guy.” Jake mumbles calmly into the rim of his glass before taking a sip.

“He really did! I mean it. I swear. He starts laying into the guy. Really giving him a piece of his mind. Fuck this, fuck that, you know how he is when he gets mad,” Sam goes on as you sit back in your chair to sip your wine, eyebrows raised, watching him animatedly talk with his hands and arms as he stands at the head of the table, one leg up on the chair as he goes on.

“I was frustrated,” Josh corrects again, tilting his head with an attitude and a hidden smile before taking a bite off his fork.

“Yeah yeah. So he’s giving him a talking to. And he finally, FINALLY finishes, and the line is dead fuckin’ quiet. Dude wasn’t even THERE, the call fucking DROPPED.” He slams his drink down, laughter erupting from Danny and even a slightly embarrassed Josh.

“And that’s why you were all in a sour mood when I got here?” you ask, standing to get a refill on your wine and flip the record. They go on bickering amongst themselves as you pour, their banter eventually dying down.

Once you make your way to Sam’s record player you flip the vinyl, turning the volume up slightly now that dinner’s over. They begin clearing the table, working together seamlessly as they always do.

All of your options for dance partners are occupied, so you choose the next best option, Rosie. You pat your belly and she gets the hint, hopping up on her hind legs and leaning her front paws on you. You take them in your hands, swaying gently to the music, slow dancing with her from side to side as she wags her tail. You swear her face is the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

What you don’t see is the way Sam is watching you from the spot where he’s standing in the kitchen. His eyes are full of adoration, a happy, blissful grin on his face as he’s frozen in time, committing the moment to memory.

More importantly, you don’t see the way Josh is looking at Sam. He watches his younger brother as he approaches to place two glasses on the counter, but stops moving as if the slightest movement would send the moment crashing down. He takes in Sam’s expression, his eyes following his taller sibling’s gaze to where you’re standing, blissfully unaware, slightly wine drunk and dancing with a dog.

Josh clears his throat when he realizes what’s going on, sending the world spinning on its axis again though Sam could have sworn it was just stopped.

Danny leaves shortly after dinner, eager to call his girlfriend on the drive home. It��s around 10 when Josh reads the room and suggests he and Jake leave, citing his severe exhaustion and need to go to bed immediately. You don’t think twice, but he’s now aware of what’s going on and knows it’s time to go.

“Please text me when you’re home!” you shout from the kitchen as Jake and Josh leave through the front door. You’re doing your best impression of someone who’s leaving soon, nursing the glass of wine in your hand that you said you’d finish before you left. Little do they know, you’re both just waiting for the sound of Josh’s jeep backing out of the driveway.

-oOo-

You’re standing outside of your apartment, your rolling suitcase next to you. They’re late. You can only imagine how difficult it is to get all four of them into a car on time, so it’s not quite a surprise, but you’re still annoyed you woke up so incredibly early. Josh’s jeep flies into the parking lot at 6:47, tires squealing, despite the arranged time being 6:15. Jake jumps out of the back seat to toss your suitcase into the trunk and let you slide into the middle seat, sandwiched between Jake and Sam. You feel nauseous almost immediately, and it doesn’t subside until you arrive at the airport. You’re not sure if that’s due to the lack of coffee, Josh’s driving, or the discomfort of sitting between two brothers you’ve slept with (in the last month.)

The flight is direct, and you’re seated next to a stranger thankfully. You take advantage of the cushy first class seats and nap for most of it, waking for a meal and snack before resting some more. It’s incredibly easy traveling with them- there’s a van waiting for all of you as soon as you grab your luggage from the carousel.

It’s a unique experience sitting with them all in the green room after they sound check, watching them in their element as they decide on a setlist and do their own pre-show rituals. Josh, writing and doodling. Jake strumming quietly on his acoustic, not necessarily practicing, but likely distracting himself. Sam is snacking and drinking, seemingly unphased by the fact they’re playing a show soon. Danny is calm and collected, happy-go-lucky, enjoying a beer while he scrolls on his phone.

Things start to pick up and they split off into their dressing rooms, getting their hair and makeup done. You’re taken by a friendly security guard to your seat in the small venue- there’s a second floor balcony where he leads you to your seat on Jake’s side. It makes sense; when he planned the trip you were still seeing each other. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the guilt and feelings as you watch the crowd beginning to funnel in. The girls running to the barricade, the way they take pictures of the stage to share what their view is. You smile, not sure how to describe the feeling in your chest. What’s the word for how it feels to have something everyone else wants?

Whatever it is, it only gets worse when they take the stage. The venue is so small that you’re sure they can see you- it’s taking all you have to not sit slack jawed watching them play. You can’t tear your eyes away from Sam’s hair shining in the light, his long fingers effortlessly moving along the frets and keys. The way he has such an air about him as he lounges on the bench, drinking a cocktail makes your head spin. It’s hard to look away.

But when you do, you see Jake. You’re enamored by the confidence he has onstage, as if he didn’t have enough day to day. He’s covered in sweat halfway through, his hair wavy and messy, reminiscent of what it would look like after an hour spent together in bed before he would kiss you goodbye and hop in the shower.

He catches you staring and grins. He makes a show of himself, stepping out to the furthest part of the stage, staring holes into you. He only does it for a minute, not drawing too much attention to you from the fans, but from behind where he’s sitting at the keys, Sam’s on high alert. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks red, your heart beating in your ears somehow louder than the music.

You’re relieved when you’re tapped on the shoulder as Jake takes out his harmonica during the encore. That probably would have stopped your heart if you had to watch it for any longer. The guard pulls you out during the last song so you’ll miss the crowd, which you appreciate. He leaves you in the lower concourses of the venue and you look down the hall at the doors presented to you. You could play it safe and hide in the green room, or sneak into a dressing room. The only question is whose.

-oOo-

“I didn’t think I’d find you here..” you hear, almost a purr from behind you. You sit up straight, whipping around to look at the dressing room door.

He strolls in, shutting and locking the door behind him. He’s shimmering with sweat, his hair sticking to his face, his pants unbuttoned. You’re silent, taking all of him in. He’s radiating confidence, glowing, yet stoic. He stands at the vanity of the dressing room, using a towel to wipe his forehead.

“C’mere.” It’s a short, mumbled command, and your body immediately obeys. You make your way towards him, slightly wary of what he’s going to say and do.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He’s not even looking at you, sipping his drink, looking around the room.

Your reply is weak and absolutely dripping with guilt. “I did.”

His hand reaches up to push your hair from behind your ear, his finger trailing down your chest as he lowers it again.

“Looked like it.” He lets out a huff of a laugh, unsmiling.

“I-... I was…” You’re cut off when a strong hand grips your chin and jaw. He’s looking directly in your eyes now, his stare intense and laced with mischief.

“You were what?” He smirks just the slightest bit. “Go ahead, lie. Tell me you weren’t watching him. My brother.”

You take a shaky breath, your heart racing. “Sam…” is all you can let out, pleading, though you’re not sure what you’re pleading for.

His eyes look you up and down- he takes in your tight patent leather skirt, the way the high waist hugs you just right, and the low cut, ripped fender t shirt across your chest.

“You miss him?” His hand goes to your waist, grazing along your figure. “Wanna go down the hall and then come back to me when you’re done? You like him better?” You try and shake your head in his grasp. He chuckles at the way you’re reacting to his touch. “You want him?”

You’re absolutely stunned at the side of him you’re seeing right now. The drinks he’s had onstage have mixed with the high of performing and the jealousy over Jake to create the most dangerous cocktail. You feel heat pooling between your thighs. You’re so red and flustered you’re sure he can tell what he’s doing to you.

“No.” It’s a whisper. You’re treading carefully.

He leans close to you, his lips on the shell of your ear. “Who do you want?”

“You,” you say, almost a whine, frustrated that he even has to ask. At your word, he spins you around, his hand pushing your head down to bend you over the vanity. You look at his reflection, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you from this angle. He slides your tight skirt up slowly, his eyes never leaving your body. You can’t look away from his face, his eyes, the way he drinks in every inch of you.

When your skirt’s out of the way, he stares for a second longer, a palm resting on the roundest part of your ass.

“You sure?” He’s being a smartass now, his smile sly. You nod eagerly in response.

He doesn’t like that answer, because he smacks your ass, taking you completely off guard. “Words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. I’m sure. You, Sammy. It’s you.” Your words spill from your lips like an urgent prayer, full of need and desperation.

It’s all he needs to hear. He quickly pulls down his pants, then all but rips your panties down and they land on the floor.

He’s up against you in just a second, one hand in your hair, the other around himself, running himself past your entrance with a cold-hearted chuckle. “You get all wet watching my brother onstage?”

“No, nononono.” You’re watching his face in the reflection as he’s looking down at himself about to enter you.

“Then what was it?” He continues teasing you, holding back what you want and at this point, need.

“It’s all for you. Just you.”

“You like when I’m a little mean? Ruins your panties when I treat you like a little slut?” He tugs on your hair, wanting an answer. You nod against his hold on you, backing yourself up against him, trying not to cry out. He hums, as if he’s pleased with what he’s done to you.

It’s the greatest relief when he starts to press inside you, sliding in with a smooth, slow thrust of his hips. You can’t look away from his face in the mirror; his brows are knitted, his hair falling in his face, his eyes are closed as he takes in the feeling of you around him. You’re left breathless at the way his pinkened lips part, a delicious moan falling from them once he’s settled deep inside you.

He stays still for a moment before his eyes open and he gradually pulls out of you, the slow drag of him pulling a whimper from your lips. He snaps his hips, knocking all the air out of you, pulling you up by your hair.

“You better stay quiet. Don’t want anyone to hear, do we?” If you couldn’t see it in the mirror, you could have heard his smirk. He picks up a moderate pace, just the way he knows you like, and you bite your lip trying to keep any noises from escaping. It’s like you’ve been waiting forever to feel him, pining for the feeling of him stretching and filling you, but it’s only been a few hours. You don’t think you’ll ever stop craving him.

He’s moving consistently, his hold on your hair pulling you back to meet him. The pressure of the angle sends him dragging over the sweetest spot inside you, already nudging you towards the edge. You know it’s not going to be that easy tonight. You can see the madness in his eyes. The only sounds you hear are the voices of the crew working outside the door, boxes and crates being pushed and wheeled around, and the obscene sound of his hips meeting yours, wet, lewd sounds giving away how much you’re enjoying yourself.

“You’re getting so tight, pretty girl,” he murmurs quietly, the words leaving his lips with a smug smile. “You think you deserve it?”

Your eyes are pleading and desperate, begging him through the mirror. “Please…”

He pulls out of you in a flash, spinning around and lifting you onto the vanity. You lean your weight back on your hands, looking down to watch as he rushes to sheathe himself back inside.

“Want you to look at me when you cum,” he mumbles, his hands squeezing your upper thighs so tightly you’re sure they’re bruising. You’re looking down at him thrusting inside you when he smacks the outside of your thigh, hard. Your eyes shoot up to his face, pupils blown out. “I said, look at me.”

You don’t dare look away now, his flushed face determined as he stares down at you, so close to cumming. Your eyes don’t leave him until you hear it- four loud pounds on the door.

“We’re going to the busses, let’s GO!”

It’s Jake’s voice. Your eyes are panicked and wide, but Sam ignores him and doesn’t stop. He leans down close to you, the angle sending him deeper inside you. You’re absolutely unable to keep quiet, whimpers escaping your throat with every thrust.

“You better.. Stay fucking quiet…” he pants, his necklace dangling in your face as he drives you closer to your peak. “I’m not done with you.”

The pounding on the door comes again. “LET’S GO, ASSHOLE.” He doesn’t let up. You’re about to cum and know you can’t stay quiet.

“I’m-... I’m-” You try to tell him quietly, hoping he’ll save you and slow down, keeping you crying out and ruining it all.

“I’m a little fucking busy,” Sam yells back at the door as he pounds into you, picking up his pace. You gasp for air and you’re falling over the edge.

A sound starts to escape you, but before it gets out, Sam’s middle and ring fingers are shoved in your mouth, partially down your throat, his face close to yours. Your eyes are panicked as you’re no longer able to breathe.

“Quiet.” He seethes through his teeth as the banging on the door starts again. You’re clenching around him, unable to breathe, eyes squeezed shut. Your hands are gripping his forearm for leverage, nails sinking down into his soft skin and marking him red. It’s a gift to watch his face, his eyes squeezing shut as he finishes with you, his hand eventually leaving your mouth and coming down to your shoulder, pulling you closer against him. He breathes heavily against your cheek, spilling inside you with quiet, strained moans for only you to hear.

He catches his breath, holding you close, staying inside you just a bit longer. He grabs a towel to clean you up, being extra cautious.

“Careful. I didn’t take my fucking… stage pants off… wardrobe will kill me..” He backs up, laughing and murmuring as he steps out of them with some difficulty and lays them over the chair beside him.

You take a second to adjust, realizing… it’s Sam. He’s himself again, and you smile sweetly up at him. You’re sure your mascara is running and your hair a wreck, and when you turn to check your appearance and pull your skirt down, you see you’re correct. It takes some effort and Sam’s hairbrush to get you back to almost normal, and by the time you’re done, he’s in his plaid comfy pants and a white t shirt.

“You okay?” he asks, cupping your cheek and placing a gentle kiss to your lips.

“More than okay.” You reach on your tiptoes to kiss him again, punctuating the statement.

“I’m gonna go kick Jake’s ass. Maybe… sneak into the green room while you have a second, yeah?” He places a kiss on your cheek before flying out the door. You give him a few seconds before popping your head out, looking both ways, and heading down the hall.

Part 8

#danny gvf #forbidden twins #greta van fic #greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van smut #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #josh gvf #sam kiszka #sammy kiszka #samfkiszka

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r0sa4077 · 9 months

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2. Egwene al'Vere

Art credit to MyCKs

#wheel of time countdown #wheel of time #the wheel of time #rand al'thor #aes sedai #perrin aybara #matrim cauthon #lan mandragoran #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #wheel of time fanart #the wheel of time books #wheel of time show #the wheel of time season 2 #wheel of time season 2 #wheel of time spoilers #amyrlin seat

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ashtrayfloors · 7 months

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I Was Around (Nobody Knows)

so you're in love with your best friend & you don't know how to tell her. take a walk down Polaris Avenue & you'll be transported to the sort of childhood you never quite knew, an adolescence half-fantasized that you sorta remember when dreaming of fireflies, soft serve cones, bike rides & skinned knees. that life you never had lives on this street—it's not that nothing bad ever happens here. there are bullies & math classes just like anywhere else, & sometimes you're grounded for life for wrecking your dad's prized lawn. sometimes the ice cream man vanishes or you find a garage band playing the most perfect tune & you never get to hear it again. but even when your heart is disintegrating the radio has the saddest song to soothe you & a bus driver who takes you past the sites of his own broken romance, & if you megadose on riboflavin you can turn back time. even if it's hot & you're so homesick it's got you stapling polaroids of your old house to your new one & you're just waiting for October, you can cross your fingers & wish on the strongest man in the world. you can always drink an Orange Lazarus or confess it all to the voice on the other side of the ringing phone, & when it rains— when it rains, it smells like summer.

—Jessie Lynn McMains, from forget the fuck away from me (Bone & Ink Press, 2019 — available in print or digital form)

#jessie lynn mcmains #poetry #forget the fuck away from me #indie lit #the adventures of pete and pete #my writing #when it rains it smells like summer #was having pete and pete feels after i posted that stuff last night #so decided to post my pete & pete inspired poem

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nice-bright-colors · 4 months

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Saturday, and all the shit that went wrong today:

Slept in, because I didn’t fall asleep until 4:00 AM. Missed my morning window for the gym.

Then proceeded to miss my early afternoon window for the gym.

Had a lengthy conversation with The Wife ™️ about all sorts of issues I’m having. Mostly about how I haven’t brought in that much money the last few months. Plus how much we’ve been spending the last few months.

Ironically then bought a $65 water filter for the refrigerator, because we just got an email saying the management company isn’t covering them anymore. Cost of materials and products is still on the rise yo. Finally got the fucking beeping to stop.

Attempted to download and upgrade my navigation in my Subie. Then the entire Starlink system froze and would not shut down and reboot. Turns out the “unplug it and plug it back in” method for a car is to disconnect the negative terminal on the battery. It worked, and probably saved me $75/ hr at the Dealer to get it fixed.

I only have (1) beer left in the house, so I’m drinking up all the vermouth in the refrigerator. But at least I now have a backup camera that works in my car. Problem is I don’t want to go to the liquor store or any breweries, because money, well and Saturday night people.

Did I ever mention there’s no such thing as (1) drink in my world?

I haven’t shaved in (11) days. Maybe if I surprise her with that option she’ll want to straddle my face later. Fingers crossed, but I wouldn’t bet the farm.

I have created a long reading list of books for this year, hopefully I’ll get some extra income soon to make that a reality.

Now I have to figure out how to order prints online via my local camera shop…so she can finish her shadow box project for Jack with pictures of Maggie. I miss the old kiosks that were broke down have the time.

What did we ever do before digital cameras and back up cameras in car? I know, I know … now get off my lawn.

Rescheduled my photography trek to Sunday (sunny & warm), now I just need to figure out where I want to go, and what I want to shoot. Then again, something is probably going to fuck up that program come tomorrow.

Something always fucks up my program. I’m just so tired of living in between the fucking of the programs.

Would you look at that…my glass is empty. Time for another little drinkie poo.

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mourntheantagonist · 2 years

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Harringrove Week: Day 5

prompts: hurt/comfort & skull rock

Eighteen and Life

warning: suicidal thoughts and neil hargrove

for @ihni <3

read on ao3

If he thought about it long enough—something he tried not to do—he knew, at the end of the day, the only person he had to blame was himself. He’d say it to himself, staring up at the bright ceiling of a hospital, that if only he’d known that the horrors of the quaint little town were far worse than its lack of a beach and excessive rain, that he wouldn’t have taken that summer job at the community pool. He would have taken the two grand he had stashed underneath the passenger seat of his car and hightailed it out of Hawkins the very second he turned eighteen. He would have set sail for California, and never looked back.

But that wasn’t what happened.

No, what happened was, he saw an opportunity. He told himself, just a couple more months. He’d work all day long, keep the cash hidden away, and be at home as little as humanly possible. He would leave at the end of September when the pool closed down for autumn with nearly double the earnings.

It was the sin of greed, he figured. He’d give all the money back if he could.

Hindsight’s always 20/20, ain’t it.

It was 1985, he was eighteen, his sights were set on California. He had a savings of over three grand.

And then he had a hole in his chest.

Now it was 1986, he was nineteen, all his cash went up in flames along with his precious Camaro in a mall parking lot. And he was stuck in Indiana. Stuck under his father’s roof.

And it was all his fucking fault.

He had no car, no money, hardly even the ability to walk. He’d learned from a very young age to never let himself rely on anybody, least of all his father. But a four month long hospitalization and a quickly dissolving marriage later, Neil Hargrove became all Billy had.

And for a moment there, it was sort of okay. Billy would call it a grace period. The first couple of weeks he was back at home from the hospital, Neil had become an entirely different person—well, not entirely different. Billy remembered this person in vague flashes with a nostalgic haze. He remembered those first few years, when he was just three years old, before his dad had been drafted, when he was still the man his mother chose to marry and have a child with.

It wasn’t much like the memories he had of his dad chasing his mom around the front yard with a garden hose, the two of them full of laughter and smiles, it wasn’t that good. But, it was normal, easy, just like the normal and easy of sitting around the dinner table, chatting about their day, and sitting around the television watching the San Diego Chargers play.

It was easy. Neil left him in his room most of the time, allowing him to get all of the rest the doctors demanded of him. He’d even bring in food or water and set out his pills for him, and somehow, in the stupidly hopeful mind of his that couldn’t stop remembering those days out in the front lawn, he let himself believe that he had turned over a new leaf.

That was until the first medical bill came in the mail, and the five digits printed in bold on the piece of paper turned into five digits, balled up in a fist, the novelty of it all finally wearing off.

They were broke. And that was Billy’s fault too.

He had to just remember, whenever he started feeling sorry for himself, it was all his fault.

Every time Billy thought, it couldn’t get worse than this. Every time he was laid out on the floor, hearing the crack of a belt creating lashes and opening up old scars, all because he’d tripped and spilled the garbage all over the front porch when he was trying to take it out…Every time, it was worse every time, which meant it wasn’t something he could just get used to, like he used to.

Neil didn’t have to worry about leaving bruises, they just blended in with all the rest, and nobody cared anymore anyway. Nobody cared when they thought he was dead, and nobody cared when they found out he was alive. Billy had nobody, and he could only guess that was his fault too.

Nobody cared if he lived, or if he died. Hell, maybe that was Neil’s master plan all along. Beat him within an inch of his life, not enough to kill him, just enough to make him want to kill himself. Neil could collect his life insurance policy that way, pull himself from the debt that Billy put him in—the debt that was Billy’s fault.

Part of him thought he might just owe him that much. That same part of him, the one that was sure to remind him how it was always his fault, had him standing just three feet away from the quarry’s edge, tossing empty beer can after empty beer can into the still water below. He stood there and listened, counting the seconds it took for the can to make contact. Five seconds, he counted. Maybe six if there was a strong gust of wind.

He was much heavier than a beer can. He estimated it would take just two seconds for him. Just two seconds, and it would finally end.

But his feet stayed glued to the ground, comfortably settled in the footprints made from standing in one place for nearly an hour. Weirdly, it was the first place he felt like he truly fit, his boots snug in the gravel, stuck to the earth, where he belonged—not plummeting to the water, floating in thin air, like he felt he should.

Or maybe he was just too much of a coward. That would have been his fault too.

In any case, the quarry no longer became a place of refuge for Billy. Not like it used to be. Not with the rain of April and no car for cover, not with the overwhelming urge to hurl himself over the ledge. Nothing was the same anymore. His home, for all the pain it caused him to be there, was the only real place he was ever allowed to call his, and how shitty was that?

As much as he loathed his mother for walking out the way that she did, he couldn’t blame her anymore. She saw her chance, and she took it. Billy didn’t take his chance when he had it. He let greed and optimism overcome him, and he got what he had coming for him.

Billy had become hardened, much harder than he’d been before, going from stone to steel, but even steel could become scratched, wounded, scarred up until he was completely undesirable, only to be sold for scrap. He’d become harder, yet more battered, and more broken, because his dad only got stronger as the bills kept coming in along with the letters threatening to freeze his bank accounts and seize all assets. He found joy in scratching the steel.

Billy couldn’t be at home anymore. It was only a matter of time before he had that ripped away too.

And again, he reminded himself that it was his fault.

With weak legs—bruised and bleeding—he ran from the truck lights pulling into the driveway. Even made of steel, he was too weak for another hit. He knew he’d die, just like he thought he had on Independence Day.

Funny, it was the same day he lost his independence forever.

He decided he'd much rather die getting torn apart by a pack of coyotes than by his dad. He couldn’t let him win, not like that, because Billy had to believe that some part of this was his fault too.

He ran towards the trees, deep into the woods, far away so that he’d be dead before anyone were to find him. He was too much of a coward to let his feet off the ground at the quarry, so the creatures of the forest were his only option—his second chance at freedom.

It wasn’t cold, not like it had been that night at the quarry underneath the fall of rain, denim jacket soaked, hair soaked, shivering in the fifty degree breeze, hoping the wind was strong enough to carry him those three feet forward. It wasn’t cold like that, but it also wasn’t warm. It was just…easy, comfortable, and Billy didn’t like that. It meant it would take much longer.

Billy trudged through the sticks and dirt, wincing with every step. Every part of his body hurt. The only part that felt good was the feeling in his stomach by just knowing that it would all be over soon, and he would never have to step foot in his home ever again. Neil would be free from debt, he would be free from life. It felt like a fair trade.

Billy just kept walking, against the pain, against the fear of the deep woods, he just kept walking. He had no idea how long he’d been walking. His watch had been stolen and sold to pay the electric bill, and every tree he passed looked exactly the same as the one that came before it, and he didn’t have the sun to tell him the time of day. The sky was only full of stars, and Billy was no astronomer.

He walked until he stumbled upon it like a bad omen. Skull Rock. It was fitting enough, he thought. He’d let his corpse rot away, leaving behind a skeleton, another skull to play to its name. Part of him wondered if his body would make it to that point. How decomposed would he end up by the time his body was found? Would anyone actually be looking for him? It wasn’t like anyone cared the first time he supposedly died. He found a little bit of a tingly feeling surge in his chest that a couple would come and find him in just a few days, looking for a private place to make out, only to see his mangled body and recognizable head of hair. At least he’d hope they’d recognize him, make him feel a little less alone, even in death.

Maybe they would just leave him there. Pretend they didn’t see anything. He wouldn’t be worth their time and effort.

Maybe he’d become one with the earth. Maybe it would be better that way.

All Billy knew for sure was that his legs were tired, and he could feel the blood seeping through the fabric at his knees. A scab must have opened up.

He took shelter underneath the covering of the rock, laying his back against it, letting his legs lay flat against the dirt. He took shelter and he waited. He waited for the animals to catch wind of the scent of his blood. He could hear the coyotes howling. He knew they had to have been close by.

He didn’t have a plan anymore. He’d chosen his spot. He played with the skin on his hands—knuckles that never bled or bruised anymore, the one part of his body that was free from pain. He never hit back. He never defended himself. He didn’t know if it was smart or just weak. He’d been made of steel, covered in scratches, rusted and worn, and he was so incredibly small.

He played with the skin on his hands and he cried, tears dripping from swollen purple eyes, dripping down cut cheeks. He looked like a wreck, he knew that. He’d hoped the coyotes would mask the damage. Much more dignity in going down by a wild predator than a father—though, he wasn’t too sure how different the two were to be honest.

He played with the skin of his hands, he cried, he waited. He ignored the aches and pains and his blood-soaked jeans. He sat in the dirt, and he stared at the underside of the rock. He looked at all of the initials carved into the stone of all the people who had snuck into the deep woods just to lock lips. C + J and V + M and T + C and J + N and…no. No he wouldn’t let his mind go there.

B + S, B.S. Bullshit. It was bullshit. It wasn’t carved into stone. Nothing but a fantasy. Nothing but a curse. Nothing but a way for the universe to torture him just a little bit more.

It wasn’t real. It never happened.

Though, that was his fault too. Always the coward. Always the asshole. Always the guy who ruined everything good. He was just a tumor that needed to be cut out.

He heard the leaves rustling and branches breaking. It was time. It was time for him to go. It was time for him to be free.

He watched, eyes following the source of the sound, waiting for glowing eyes to appear in the distance like stars in the night sky. Like angels coming to rescue him. He clutched the medallion around his neck, and thought of sweet memories, what little he had of them.

The sound crept closer and he closed his eyes, like a coward, searching far and wide for the good memories. Garden hoses in a front lawn on a sunny day…the Chargers making the playoffs…Max calling him her brother for the first time…Steve smiling at him in the parking lot after their last game of the season…

How pathetic.

He brought his knees to his chest, no longer able to feel the pain, just the sensation of his stomach in his throat. He was scared. He didn’t want to die. He just didn’t see how he had any other choice.

It was too late to go back. The coyote was just around the corner. He just waited for the howl, the sound he’d die listening to.

“Hello?”

He flinched at the sound. Billy didn’t know coyotes could speak English. He figured it was just him losing it. The moment of crazy before the crash.

“Is someone here?”

It was that same voice again. Distinctly human. Distinctly familiar. Too familiar. Painfully familiar.

It was just insanity. Perhaps the coyotes were already tearing him apart, to flesh and bone, and it was his way of coping with the pain. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe he was in Heaven. Maybe he was in Hell.

Steve would be in both. He was both. Heaven and Hell.

“Don’t move!” he heard the voice—Steve?—shout, “I’ll kill you!” He sounded scared, much more afraid than Billy, and that said a lot.

Billy did as he was told. He didn’t move. He kept his head down, let the tears keep falling, and waited—waited for the illusion to go away and for the coyotes to finally attack.

“Billy?”

The coyotes knew his name now.

By sheer force of habit, Billy looked up to the calling of his name, seeing no bright glowing eyes of a predator, just Steve. Deep chocolate brown eyes and chestnut hair, wielding a bat full of nails that he recognized, and had him pressing his thighs together as some kind of innate reflex.

If Steve was real. He was scaring off the coyotes with that thing.

Billy just shook his head and looked back down, stupidly hoping he’d just go away. Actually, expecting him to go away. He knew it was Billy. He didn’t care about Billy. Nobody did.

But he didn’t leave. Billy knew that because Steve had a flashlight, and he was pointing it directly at his face like a spotlight, the light bleeding through his closed eyelids.

Steve had illuminated the mess that was himself.

“Holy shit dude!” Steve shouted, quickly approaching him on the ground, “What the hell happened to you?”

Steve’s hands were on him, gripping his shoulders tightly, and he felt it. The pain felt real. The touch felt real. It made zero sense at all, because Steve wasn’t supposed to care. He was meant to turn a blind eye just like everyone else. Just like Susan. Just like every cashier at the grocery store who could see beneath his tightly pulled hoodie his purple tinted cheek. Just like his coach when he had to ask not to play skins because the welts on his back had not yet faded. Just like Max, who was too small to fight for him, but could have said something, who said nothing. He couldn’t blame her for that. He could have said something too.

He was blaming others. He was forgetting that it was his fault. It was always his fault.

“Billy! Can you hear me!?” Steve was shaking him. “What the fuck happened man?”

Steve wouldn’t leave him. It didn’t make any sense. Everyone left him, always.

Billy couldn’t help but start crying again. Tears flowing freely, saturating the denim of his jeans that weren’t already stained with blood and dirt. He was whimpering underneath the force of Steve’s touch, quiet but still audible, embarrassingly so. He could tell Steve could hear it even though he couldn’t see it as the tight grip of his shoulders had let up, fingers no longer digging into the sore muscle, instead gently rubbing up and down, creating a calming warmth that ran down the length of his arms.

“Can you please talk to me?” Steve asked, his voice less frantic and more calm, but a hint of panic still present that Billy had been able to pick up on, it was a tone he knew well. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question Steve. Billy could only let himself look up, just for Steve to shine the light in his eye and get a good look as an answer to his question. Maybe he’d leave him be then, let the coyotes have their dinner.

He didn’t expect to feel Steve’s hand move from his shoulder to cradle his jaw, eyes wide and sad, just barely visible under the moonlight in the shade of the rock fortress. “Shit.” Steve whispered, as if he was only saying it to himself. “Listen, my car isn’t too far from here. Let me help you get home.”

Billy automatically shook his head, not at Steve’s offer, rather as a correction.

“I don’t have a home.” Billy said, voice nothing but a broken breath, cracked and raspy—so numb and so assured. He might have had a house, but he didn’t have a home anymore. Not even the rock that shielded him from the sky that he was ready and prepared to make his grave wasn’t a home.

“Fine! The hospital then!” Steve shouted. “Just let me get you out of here.”

Billy shook his head again, burying his face in his knees again, not wanting to look at Steve anymore. He didn’t want to have to watch him leave. “Please, just go.” he said.

“What? And let you die out here?” Steve asked.

And Billy didn’t answer. Yeah, he thought. Just let him die. He pushed Steve, told him to go away, not because he wanted him to, not because he wanted to die, but because if he was the one to push and shove and force him to leave, then he wouldn’t have to admit that Steve walked away just like the rest of them.

Steve didn’t walk away, again, he didn’t move, and the idea that what was happening was real was seeming to be less and less of a possibility the longer Steve hung around because why would he? Why would Steve, of all people, care?

Maybe he was just to avoid having a guilty conscience. That’s all.

But then Steve did let go. Billy could no longer feel his touch against him and Billy had to force down the urge to reach out and stop him. But instead, he just kept his eyes closed and hidden behind his bloody knees, not wanting to have to watch him walk away. He listened closely for his footsteps. He listened until he couldn’t hear them anymore.

The footsteps distance didn’t increase anymore than three feet, when the sound transformed into more braking branches and a loud huff as something heavy hit the floor. Billy looked up, just allowing himself to catch a quick glance, peeking over his knees. He saw Steve, still there, sitting on the ground across from him with his back against the other side of the rock.

“I told you to go.” Billy said, zero fight left in his voice, so clearly tear stricken and broken, no amount of force behind his vocal chords could hide it.

“Do you seriously want to die?” Steve asked, sounding almost dumbfounded, stupid, like he couldn’t see a reason why Billy wouldn’t want to keep on living.

Billy, again, didn’t answer, because for some stupid reason the answer was no. It made it all just that much harder. He wished he could have just jumped off that quarry. It all would have been so much easier.

“Billy, would you please look at me?”

No. He shook his head. He couldn’t.

Steve let out a long sigh. “You look like shit.” he said, “I’m not leaving.”

Billy couldn’t even hear the howling anymore. “You scared off the coyotes.” Billy said, his voice dry and absent of emotion, so matter of fact.

Steve let that marinate for a few seconds. Billy could hear him, picking up twigs off of the ground and breaking them in half. “Was that your plan?” he asked finally, “Let the coyotes take you out?”

Billy allowed himself to nod, just shielding his eyes to avoid the humiliation.

“Hate to break it to you,” Steve said, breaking more and more twigs with each passing second, “The coyotes here tend to stay away from us humans. You’re more likely to be taken out by a rattlesnake.”

Billy wouldn’t admit that there was a part of him that knew that. That would mean he was totally admitting to being a coward, that he never intended to die. He wasn’t sure he could live with that.

He just wanted out.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

Fuck. He said that out loud. Didn’t he?

Billy decided just to double down. It had reached that point—nothing left to lose. His dignity was already gone.

“I just wanted out,” he said it clear, “alright?”

Steve didn’t have to ask him what that meant. He already knew. He knew that Billy was weak, that he was a coward.

“Why?” Steve asked, his voice soft and almost caring, “After all you went through to survive, why?”

It was a good question. He could have given up then. He’d seen the light more than once, and yet he’d fought so hard against it. He fought so hard to survive and for what? For this? For him to wind up feeding himself to the coyotes…or the snakes…whatever would kill him first.

He could answer the question. He didn’t know the answer.

He started to cry again. He needed Steve to go. He was only making things harder.

“You don’t have to die to get out.” Steve said it like he knew his whole story, and maybe he did. Maybe the blood all over his body was enough, like a story written out in red ink. The statement was loaded, heavy, and it hit him like a punch to the face.

Billy shook his head, because that couldn’t be true.

Nobody cared about him.

Steve was sure acting like he cared about him.

He couldn’t let himself believe it though. It would hurt far too bad if it were to wind up not being true.

“Let me take you home, Billy.” Steve said it again.

“I don’t have a home, Steve.”

Steve’s hand had found his knee, feeling the blood, the pressure stinging against the open wound. Billy didn’t flinch, didn’t wince. The pain was almost nice, in some odd way. Proof he was alive, maybe. Or maybe it was just because Steve’s touch could never hurt him.

“Not your home.” Steve said, “My home.”

Steve crawled towards him, removing his hand from his knee and reaching for his chin. To pull his head up and make him look at him—look him in the eyes. Billy was so easily lost in them, so big and dark and beautiful. It was enough to make him forget about the world, if only for a moment.

Steve gently padded away at Billy’s rapidly forming tears, making his face grow hot from the utter humiliation from crying like a baby in front of him. “Come with me.” Steve said, so gentle and soft and he didn’t deserve it.

“Why?” Billy asked, his voice so broken, “Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I care?” Steve asked, confused.

“Nobody cares.” Billy said, again, so matter of fact, “Nobody ever cared.”

Billy was waiting for him to tell him it wasn’t true. He was waiting for him to completely dismiss everything he knew to be a fact. Because at the end of the day, nobody stood up for him, not even himself. Even he himself never cared.

“I’m sorry.” Is what Steve said instead, and Billy felt like his airway had been completely cut off with the way he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Nobody had ever apologized to him before. He never had been owed one. Steve didn’t owe him one.

“Don’t.” he said, he could barely get the words out, pitch rising in the octave with an involuntary vocal crack. He had to take a deep breath to settle himself down enough to speak. “Don’t pretend to care.”

Steve moved in closer, practically holding Billy’s head in his hands, Billy’s neck was no longer doing any of the work. All Billy could do was close his eyes to avoid Steve’s gaze, but he was so lost, so entranced in his eyes, it almost felt worth it to let him pretend to care, if only it meant that he could look at those eyes for another second longer.

“People care about you, Billy.” he said, “I care.”

Billy took in a deep breath, breathing in Steve’s words like they were the oxygen.

A person who didn’t care about him wouldn’t be wiping the tears from his eyes, would they?

Billy felt something, deep in his stomach, in his legs, in his bones. His skull was rattling, his stomach was fluttering, his legs were tingling. There wasn’t any pain, like he was floating and numb and free. Free and lost in Steve’s big brown eyes, that were just so close. Steve was just so close, and Billy didn’t know what he was doing, not without his dignity left to protect him and keep him from doing something stupid.

He just kept hearing Steve telling him that he cared about him, and he let himself believe it, too quickly, and too much.

Steve was right there, within his grasp, holding his face in his hands, wiping the tears from his eyes, telling him that he was worth caring about, contradicting all the things Billy allowed himself to believe.

Steve shut out the voice in his head, constantly telling him that everything was his fault. Maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe it wasn’t his fault.

Maybe Steve did care about him.

Before he knew it he was moving forward, closing the already short distance and planting a shaky and desperate, teary and bloody kiss to Steve’s lips. He began outright sobbing on contact.

It was quick, because Steve pushed him away, and Billy felt his heart sink directly to the floor. He ruined it. He had a good thing, and he ruined it.

It was all his fault.

He was bawling, and Steve was still holding his head in his hands and Billy couldn’t make himself understand. “Shhh,” Steve hushed, “it’s okay.”

How could it be okay? Billy ruined it.

Steve was pulling him in close, into a hug, cradling his whole bloody and battered body in his arms, running his fingers through his hair and Billy could only cry into his shoulders, no Will to fight left inside of him anymore. It vanished a long time ago. He reveled in Steve’s touch for as long as it would last before he rescinded his offer to take him home.

Then Steve was pressing kisses to his temple, and Billy was more confused than ever. It felt too good to be true, but too real to be fake, and Billy didn’t know what to do with it other than to keep crying, and cling onto Steve as tightly as he possibly could. He gripped his jacket with all of the strength his hands had to offer, and he leaned into every soft kiss Steve placed in his hair.

“It’s going to be okay, Billy.” Steve whispered into his ear, wrapping his arms around him tightly and squeezing just that extra bit, adding pressure and making him feel warm. “Everything is okay.”

Billy didn’t believe it. Not fully. But, he didn’t want to let go of Steve, he didn’t want to die, he wanted to believe what Steve was saying was true. He wanted to believe that it was okay. He wanted to believe that Steve cared about him. He wanted to believe that it wasn’t all his fault. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was his guilty conscience. Billy put aside the maybes, and leaned into hope for a change.

“Come on,” Steve said, “I’m gonna take you home.”

Billy didn’t let go of Steve. He took his hand. He followed him.

He let Steve show him how much he cared.

#harringrove #harringroveweek #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh #fanfic #late again #i know #shhhh

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sidrial · 1 year

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What is money?

simple... normal barter ... I mowe your lawn so you give me a dozen eggs from your chicken

But what if I don't want eggs?

What if I know what I want?

What if the thing I want is made by our neighbor?

If there are 3 or more of us we pick something that that can be found or made somewhat cheaply

(Coin, printed $, digital currency, shaped chocolate, etc)

We start to assign it value.

30 minutes of mowing the lawn = 10 chocolates

2 eggs = 5 chocolates

(Or whatever)

Over time pricing becomes more consistent and this helps improve its usefulness

#money 💰#finance #what is money

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hamaylfabrics · 3 months

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https://www.hamayldesignerhub.com

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monkeymeghan · 2 years

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Friday, August 5

That morning I opened up my Verizon wireless app to look at my bill. I decided to check the rewards tab to see what was available. I saw that Imagine Dragons tickets were going to go live to claim that afternoon. They are my eight year old nephew’s favorite band, but tickets were hundreds of dollars so my brother said he couldn’t go. I set an alarm for a few minutes before it was set to go live and went about my day. That afternoon I was confused when I heard my alarm going off. I’m glad I set a name to the alarm because I’d completely forgotten about the tickets. I opened the app and prepared to pounce as the last two minutes counted down. I immediately tapped the button as soon as it became available and got the tickets!! I was completely in shock. No way I had just snagged these tickets! I took screencaps of everything along the way because I couldn’t believe it. I was told that I would get the tickets in my email within three days. Then I texted my SIL… I hadn’t read the fine print yet and wasn’t 100% sure it was actually tickets…

Monday, August 8

I got the email and was even more shocked. What I had assumed would be lawn tickets were section 102 row H. Eighth row!!!

Tuesday, August 16

I FaceTimed with my nephew to tell him the good news. I’d printed out the tickets. Now these won’t get me in because they’re digital tickets, but I needed them for my plan. I held the paper up close and asked what it said. “Imagine Dragons”. “Yep!” I pulled back so he could see the rest of the sheet of paper and asked if he knew what they were. “Tickets” (it hadn’t clicked) “yep, and we are going on Thursday!” I’ve never seen him smile so big. He was speechless and was squeaking. It was adorable. He was like “they’re my favorite band!!” And couldn’t stop thanking me and giving me “air high-fives”. It was so sweet and absolutely made my day.

#nephew #imagine dragons #concert #tickets #verizon wireless #super ticket #pnc bank arts center #facetime #family #personal

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fruit-berries-herbs · 1 month

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"The dandelion is the only flower that represents the three celestial bodies of the sun, moon, and stars: The yellow flower resembles the sun, the puff ball resembles the moons, and the dispersing seeds resemble the stars.

The dandelion flower opens to greet the morning and closes in the evening to go to sleep.

Every part of the dandelion is useful: root, leaves, flower. It can be used for food, medicine, and dye for colouring.

Up until the 1800s, people would pull grass out of their lawns to make room for dandelions and other useful “weeds” like chickweed, malva and chamomile.

The name dandelion is taken from the French word “dent de lion” meaning lion’s tooth, referring to the coarsely-toothed leaves. 🦁

Dandelions have one of the longest flowering seasons of any plant.

Dandelion seeds are often transported away by a gust of wind and they travel like tiny parachutes. Seeds are often carried as many as five miles from their origin!

Birds, insects, and butterflies consume nectar or seeds of dandelion.

Honey from bees pollinating dandelions is quite delicious. 🐦 🐛 🐜 🦋 🐝.

Dandelion flowers do not need to be pollinated to form seeds.

Root of dandelion can be used as a substitute for coffee.

Dandelion is used in folk medicine to treat infections and liver disorders. Tea made of dandelion act as a diuretic.

If you know dandelions, they’ll grow shorter stalks to spite you.

Dandelions are, quite possibly, the most successful plants that exist. They are masters of survival worldwide."

~ Author Unknown

Art by Laron G. S. via Midjourney (PM Laron for digital prints)

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sidewalkstamps · 1 month

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Southern California Home Builders (Photo taken by Rachel Hughes in 2023 around Silver Lake in Los Angeles, CA)

They owned property in Los Angeles, El Cajon, San Diego, and Tulare County.

Apparently this legal understanding stems from the California appeals court case Southern California Home Builders v Young: "the right of the corporation to recover from those to whom corporate assets may have been unlawfully transferred does not affect the statutory liability of the directors who made the unlawful distribution, unless the corporation, in the exercise of the first right, causes the replacement, in whole or in part, of what was taken from the corporation. In that event the liability of the directors would be diminished proportionately or expunged, since the corporation would be entitled to what was taken and no more. "

In 1913, they placed an advertisement selling shares of the business in the Santa Fe New Mexican (Santa Fe New Mexican, January 28, 1913, pg. 3, New Mexican Printing Company, accessed via the University of New Mexico UNM Digital Repository).

This photo, entitled "Building a new bungalow" is from the Herald Examiner Collection held by the Los Angeles Public Library. It shows the "construction of one of five new bungalows built in one week on Eighty-third Street, by the Southern California Home Builders."

As of 1917, the Southern California Home Builders had their headquarters at 321 Walter P. Story building, at the southwest corner of Broadway and Sixth streets (610 N. Broadway) in downtown Los Angeles. They only paid $50/month for rent, which also included the use of the telephone and the "valuable services from an experienced manager, Sydney B. Brown" (born in Carthage, Missouri on January 15, 1884). Pretty crazy that would be included, so I feel like I must not be understanding correctly. He collected rents, handled insurance, kept houses in good condition for rental or sale, and handled the "payment of taxes, assessments on properties, interest payments on mortgages, renewals of mortgages and collection of payments on trust deeds and other collections." Brown was also an agent for so many other companies in the Story building, including New Jersey Insurance Co of Newark, NJ; British & Federal Fire Underwriters of Norwich, England; Southwest Farming Co.; Repubilc Casualty Company of Pittsburg. It seems Brown ran all of these operations out of his own company, Sydney B Brown Co. with several employees: a telephone operator (Laura V Small, who lived on Laurel Canyon), a secretary (Mrs. Minnie T Leavitt, who lived on N Normandie Ave.), and someone else who worked in the insurance department (Lolah Boal of Alhambra). While the company's phone number was "Bway 24," his home phone number was 10783 (Los Angeles Director Co's Los Angeles City Directory, The Los Angeles Director Company, Los Angeles, CA, 1921, accessed via the Los Angeles Public Library).

They "closed a deal whereby a nine-room residence at 1527 Hayworth avenue, in Hollywood, was sold... to Margaret Robinson. Sydney B. Brown had charge of the deal." However, when they rented Burbank Hall to hold an annual meeting, they couldn't because the secretary had the flu and "there was not sufficient stock represented." At that time, the president of the company was named Charles A. Sessions, McCullough Graydon was VP, M. T. Leavitt was secretary, R. N. Earl was treasurer, and E. Fossler was director. Later that year, the company had an "assessment sale" and apparently it "showed the largest percentage that had ever been paid at any stock sale... The company is now considering the increasing of rentals" - I have no idea what that means. Nonetheless, I know the business wasn't doing too well in 1919. It was already "the second time that most of this corporation's assets were wiped out."

Quick interlude from some information about Sessions. He was born in 1843 in Michigan and died in 1933; he is buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale, CA (Findagrave.com). He was married to Mary Ellen Jay and had a son named Horace, who was a Private (though I don't know in what).

Another tangential person is Thomas Chalmers Vint. He was born in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1894 but had moved to Los Angeles, CA by the time he attended high school. He went to UC Berkeley and graduated with a BS in Landscape Architecture in 1920. He had also spent a semester at the Ecole des Beaux Arts at the University of Lyon, France and studied city planning at UCLA in 1921. He eventually had a four-decade career with the National Park Service! But, while in school, so I assume around the same time as the above folks where involved, he worked for A. S. Falconer, who designed bungalows for our company of focus! He had also worked as an assistant to Lloyd Wright.

The below are advertisements they took out, which show they both built homes but also underwrote insurance policies for fire and automobile. You'll also see their logo which is in their contractor stamp - rare to see a logo like this in a stamp!

Another fun find is this war bonds advertisement, which was partially paid for by Southern California Home Builders.

I don't know what ended up happening to the company. But many decades later there was a (seemingly unrelated) Southern California Home Builders Association.

Sources not listed in-line:

Albuquerque Morning Journal, February 9, 1913, Journal Publishing Company (1913), accessed via University of New Mexico UNM Digital Repository.

American Globe: Investors Magazine, Volumes 15-16, 1917

The Codes of California: As Amended and in Force at the Close of the Forty-third - forty-fourth Session of the Legislature, 1919-1921, Bender-Moss Company, 1922.

The Credit Crunch and Reform of Financial Institutions: Hearings, Ninety-third Congress, First Session, United States Congress House Committee on Banking and Currency, U.S. Government Printing Office, 1973.

Pioneers of American Landscape Design II: An Annotated Bibliography. Bimbaum, Charles; Fix, Julie. National Park Service. 1995. Clemson University Libraries.

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